A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Women Run Pewaukee ...

Training is important. It's discipline. It's rigor. It's planning.

You understand why I'm not always very good at it, right? 

So it may come as no surprise to you that:

a) I don't follow a tried-and-true half marathon plan. I just wing it. 

b) I don't sign up for races too far in advance just in case the weather is crappy or I blow out a knee.

c) I frequently have to adjust plans because when you have no actual plan, everything's an adjustment. 

(Right now my friend HR Girl is either confused as hell because she can't comprehend living life in this way, convulsing in horror that anyone would live life this way, or simply rolling her eyes to the back of her head.)

As such, it may also come to no surprise to you that:

When I arrived in Pewaukee on Friday night to on-site register for Saturday's half marathon, I learned that there WAS NO ON-SITE REGISTRATION BECAUSE THE RACE WAS FULL. 

Wah wah wah. 

Hmmm.

Plan B? 

Go home, sleep in my own bed, and run 13.1 in my own neighborhood. 

That means no medal. No swag bag. No water stations every mile. 

Did I mention no medal? 

It's times like these that I appreciate my husband. He didn't bat an eyeball. No "You gotta be kidding me! We drove all the way over here and you can't run? Didn't you check the website?" from him. Instead, he said, "Well, I guess we saved $200 between the room and the race. Let's get some dinner." 

(And then he even patiently joined me for a "poor me" stop at Marshall's on the way home.)

I was determined to not let a little scheduling problem get in the way of my run, however. So I woke up, got ready and headed out for 13.1 miles. 

I ground it out. I ran the first 7 miles. I alternated running/walking for the 6 after that. Well, 6.3, actually ... without a fancy running watch, I had to wing the distance a little, too.  

It was warmer than I planned on. My injection site throbbed intermittently from Mile 5 forward. I had to stop to use the Skip's Friendly Village bathroom at Mile 5.5. I stopped to fill my water bottle at a neighbor's outdoor spigot at Mile 11. 

Somewhere around Mile 8, I pretty much decided that a full marathon just isn't in the cards for me. Not because I can't ... but because I don't think I want to. 

Then I managed to kick in a fast last quarter mile, crossing the imaginary finish line at the end of my driveway.

And it was done. My Unofficial Half Marathon. 

No cheering crowd. No man in a tux handing me a medal, a glass of champagne and chocolate as was supposed to happen at the official race. 

(My husband was on the lawn tractor spraying dandelions and I got nary a wave.)

I still got the first layer of my running gear tan. I still got stiff and sore quads. So, I think 13.1 is 13.1, regardless of location and window dressing. 

Right? Just between you and me, I'm not so sure.

Maybe we'll turn this into an annual event. I'll map out 5K, 10K and half routes. Next year, you can all join me ... 

... and I'll have Jim rig up a start/finish line. Beers, on me, when you cross it. 

I'd still really like a medal, though.