Portland Half Marathon: The mom rocked it

I haven't always been a competitive person.  I'm more of a "enjoy the game" kind of person.  I do enjoy competing.  I certainly enjoy winning.  And losing isn't exactly the best experience in the world.  But if I lose, I'm not going to go pout in the corner for an hour.    I'll say good job to the winners, and then I'll get over it.

I may also ask for a rematch.

I watch my first graders sometimes and am amazed by the lengths they will go to in order to be the winner.  The cheating.  The inconspicuous "rolling" of the die so that "oh my goodness it lands on 6 every time!!"  And then the tears, the anger, and the frustration that results from being the loser.  You'd quite literally think the world was about to end.  I wasn't that kind of kid.

In my early days, I'd say that my lack of competitive spirit is what held me back from reaching my full potential as a swimmer.  I was good enough to win the races, so I did.  But that's all I did.  I didn't push myself to go faster or try harder.  

I have a very distinct memory from when I was a late elementary school/early middle school swimmer that I think I've shared here before.  I remember swimming a race.  I remember winning a race.  Then I remember getting out of the water to the somewhat perturbed faces of my swim coach and mother.  My mother looks at me and says, "you're supposed to be out of breath when you finish a race."  Message received: when you try your hardest, it makes you tired.  You shouldn't finish a race breathing easy and looking like you just took an easy stroll through the park.

As a kid, I didn't get it.  I won the race.  What more did they want from me?  I didn't have that intrinsic desire to push harder and be better (at least not physically, academically was a completely different story).

Then I grew up.  And I found running.  And running isn't about winning or losing (I am willing to admit that I will never ever in my life come anywhere close to winning a marathon or half marathon, or any race distance for that matter).  Running is about pushing harder and being better every day.  Running is about giving all you have to give at any given moment simply because you can.  Running is entirely about that intrinsic desire to make yourself a better athlete and a stronger person.

Running is about everything that I didn't understand at those pre-adolescent swim meets.

And now, I understand it.  I understand that competitive internal drive.  In fact, I think I understand it much better than a lot of other things in my life.  I understand how to keep pushing myself even when I'm tired, even when it hurts.  I've learned how to battle that internal mental battle and come out on top (most days).

So when I toed the start line at the Portland Half Marathon this past Sunday, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hard to start the race knowing that it would be the slowest half marathon I'd ever run.  It was hard to be there, knowing that many of my closest running friends were looking down the neck of a full 26.2 or of a 13.1 that they were going to push themselves as hard as they could through.

But Sunday's race wasn't about me or my time goals or my constantly nagging internal need to push, push, push.  It was about this lady:

Mom!  And Voodoo Doughnuts!

Mom and dad come down to Orlando back in January to see me compete for the first time in a race, and they got a double one.  They watched me complete both days of the Goofy Challenge and were out on the course for hours, cheering and feeling inspired.  At the end of the fun-filled weekend, they both expressed interest in walking a half marathon.  And I told them that I'd be more than willing to walk it with them.

As soon as they mentioned it, I looked up some races and settled on the idea that the Portland Half would be a great starter race at a great time of year.  Unfortunately, dad had some previous plans that couldn't be avoided, so he had to sit this one out.

But mom signed us both up, and I got her a training plan as soon as I could.  She started training, aiming for a crazy fast walking pace (a 3 hour half).  She sent me her workout averages in the peak weeks of the season, and I was impressed with how fast she was walking her miles.

Then before I knew it, mom was here in Seattle, and after a drive down to Portland, it was race day.

Not my race day, her race day.

And I was ready to speed walk with her.  We meet a few other TNT teammates in the corral (I wasn't officially on Team for this event, but there were a large number of Teammates from Seattle who fundraised for this event and were racing on race day).  I had talked with another teammate of mine, Ceci, who was partially injured and looking to do the race in about the same time as us.  We found Ceci at the start and slowly but surely waited through the start waves of the other corrals until it was our turn.

Me and mom in the corral, pre-race.  Yes, I am that much
taller than her.

As soon as the race started, I realized that I would not be walking this race.  Mom took off at such and speedy walk that I had to jog to keep up with her.  The couple times I tried to stop and walk, there was just no way.  I'd be jogging alongside my speedster of a mother.

The Portland Marathon is a fantastically run event.  The start was really organized, and in the first several miles of the race there was plenty of entertainment.  As soon as you were out of ear shot of one band or musician, you began hearing the next.  There were DJs, bands, cheerleaders, a bell choir, a harpist, and even pirates (with a booming cannon...not the exactly the smartest choice for a race that was in memory of the Boston Marathon, but the pirates were quite funny).  I think some of the entertainers later in the course may have been random Portland residents (think Portlandia) who took it upon themselves to entertain the runners.  All in all though, I found the course entertainment to be way better than any Rock N Roll race I've ever done.

As for the course, I heard that the marathon was beautiful, but I wasn't super impressed with the half.  The longest out and back was along an industrial street next to some train tracks.  I'd have to say that's my only complaint about the race though.  The rest was great.  I'm quite tempted to go back for the full next year.

Happy, blurry, speedy mom out on the course.  My phone
may have had a coating of sweat on it that caused
the fuzziness.

While mom speed walked through the course, Ceci and I matched our pace to hers as best we could and kept on moving.  Because of a few loops and out and backs, we were able to see almost everyone we knew out on the race course that day.  We got to cheer for them from the other side of the road (many of them even twice).  For me, I truly enjoyed being in a position where I could focus the majority of my energy on looking for people and cheering on the crowds.  I wasn't focused on myself or my own internal battle.  I was focused on being there for mom for whatever she needed, and using the rest of my energy as best as I could to cheer others.

As people saw us, we got many cheers for "Tessa, Ceci, and Tessa's Mom!"  Mom decided that the next time we do a race together (yep, she said next time) she's going to put "Tessa's Mom" as the name on her race bib.  I like the idea.

In the final miles of the race, mom would run for a block or two just to mix things up a bit (which she also did during her training).  She never went more than a minute or so though.  But apparently as she picked up a running pace, Ceci and I inadvertently picked up our pace and then had a little trouble slowing back down again once mom was ready to walk.  I didn't realize this at the time, but we were helping to push her along just a little faster than she felt comfortable doing.

I did put out the reminder that this was race day, so it was ok to push a little harder than normal.  I wanted to be a good, supportive daughter, but the new-found coach in me and the runner in me that draws strength from pushing hard also wanted mom to push a little harder than her comfort zone.

Just before the final two tenths of a mile of the race, mom started jogging.  Ceci and I told her that we had to finish out the race with a run through the finish chute.  So we kept going, even when mom was ready to stop.  We pushed through with a run and crossed the finish line in an official time of 2:50:50.  Ten minutes faster than mom's intended race time.

Just look at that average pace.  There are people out there who
don't even run that fast.

And after the race, as mom "complained" about how hard I pushed her at the end of the race, I had one of those epiphany moments of life coming full circle.  I asked mom if she remembered those swim meet days, when she yelled at me for not being tired at the end of my races.  And I gently reminded her that you are supposed to be tired at the end of a race.  You are supposed to push yourself just a little bit harder.

How selfishly sweet that felt.  Almost like an "I told you so," but just the opposite.  A "you told me so."  A comment a mom once said to her young child that she thought was probably long forgotten.  No, no, no mom, the cards have changed hands.  I am happy to push you now.  You spent a lifetime pushing me to do better and be stronger.  I'm happy to do the same for you now.

Big smiles, despite the push at the end.

After the race, we hung around to cheer some of my marathon friends in.  Then it was back to the hotel to tap into the bottle of champagne that had been chilling in the sink all day (the Hilton in downtown Portland is NOT recommended--no fridge, tiny bathroom, unsatisfying view, all around not-so-great experience).

Notice that the champagne bottle has a regular cork in it.

After the corkscrew broke off in the bottle, mom then challenged herself one more time by spending 30 minutes whittling away the cork and prying it out of the bottle from the broken corkscrew end with just the small knife on the corkscrew.

If you think doing a half marathon is hard, try getting the
cork out of a bottle of champagne with a broken corkscrew
stuck in it.

All in all, I'd say this was a pretty amazing race.  Not because I pushed myself or PR'd or struggled in the mental battle.  Because I did a half marathon with my mom.  Because my mom got to experience something that is a big, important part of my life.  She got to be a part of the joy of race day, not just from the sidelines, but from the race course itself.  She got to feel the pride of not just finishing a race, but of finishing a race stronger and faster than she thought she ever would.  She got to experience the feeling of pushing yourself just a little more when your body says no.  It's something you can't really understand until you do it yourself.

So thanks, mom.  I know you didn't choose to do this race for yourself.  I know you did this, at least partially, for me.  I know that the training wasn't easy (or always fun), and I know that it probably pushed you out of your comfort zone a little further than you intended it to.  But if I've learned anything from marathoning, it's that the place that exists outside your comfort zone is where you find out just exactly how strong you can be.

Congrats mom!  You rocked it :)