I’ve always said the hard, grueling races are the ones we remember as being the most important. In the moment, we may feel disappointment about falling short of a larger goal. But when we step back and see how we fought for every step when quitting seemed like a more logical option, we realize our strength and full potential.

I felt that way when I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in significant winds during Hurricane Sandy. I felt that way after the Kauai Marathon, running some of my fastest miles after conquering 3,000 feet of brutal hills in 90-degree heat.

I did NOT feel that way in Savannah. Every step was a struggle. Yet, at the end, I felt nothing remotely resembling personal victory.

It has taken me a while to process this race. When I talk to people about my original goals and then my actual time, the first reaction is that it’s a great time and one I should feel proud to have run.

But this isn’t about the time.

Sure, I was a bit disappointed to run five minutes slower than what I knew I was capable of running. But what I am most disappointed by was feeling weak instead of strong, defeated instead of fierce and above all, completely void of joy.

I felt so much strength and joy during my training cycle. However, I didn’t feel an ounce of happiness or fun at any moment during these 13.1 miles.

Let that sink in.

THAT is why I’ve needed some time to process this race. THAT is why I only ran one time in the two weeks following the race. THAT is why the outcome of this race has felt like a punch in the gut. It was supposed to be a victory lap to celebrate my amazing past three months of training and kicking ass at 15 months postpartum to achieve my strongest self. Instead, it was the one result I hadn’t planned on.

But there were some signs.

The Wednesday before the race, my calm confidence started to take a turn. My body felt tight and tired. I did my last speed workout the Tuesday before the race – my signature 6 x 400 meters that I always do the Tuesday before a race. I got a sports massage that afternoon as I always do early on race week. But things just felt off.

Every morning that week, I woke up feeling like I was 100 years old. I didn’t feel fresh. Instead, I felt like I’d just come off a 70-mile running week with a long 20-miler tacked on the end. To make matters worse, the weather forecast was really frustrating. I was trying to say it didn’t matter and I’d run strong regardless of the conditions, but inside I was irate. How is it possible that it will be a perfect 45 degrees the morning before the race and the morning after the race but 70 degrees and humid on race morning?

Maybe it will all come together when the gun goes off, I thought. I race strong and I typically feel good during races. It will be fine, I told myself. During my warm-up jog on race morning, my breathing was labored. Think positive. Think positive. It’s all mental.

But I knew in my heart that the race I had come to run was probably not the race that was going to transpire.

Given the small field of runners (1,200 total) and limited finishers faster than 1:45, I lined up at the very front. The race had begun. And from nearly the first step, I already knew it felt too hard. Just steps past the starting line, I visibly looked unhappy and felt the challenge of the miles ahead. That theme only continued.

I hit the first mile in 7:36. It was right on target with my race plan but felt way harder than it should have.

I maintained that pace through the 5K but was already yearning for a GU by mile 3. I kept telling myself I just had to try to stay consistent. I held on through the 10K, but by mile 7, it felt like the blood in my legs had been replaced with lead and my lungs had been wrapped in celophane. At one point during mile 8, I looked down at my watch and saw an 8:20 pace. I considered – very strongly – throwing in the towel. I could just jog the rest of the way in. In that moment, I truly wasn’t sure if I could make it all the way to the end. But I knew I had to try. I’d worked too hard to give in.

The rest of the way was just survival. Run one mile at a time and try to get to the finish. There was no fight in me. I didn’t have anything physically to give. I watched 1:37 come and go. Then, I saw the clock tick into the 1:40s. Both my initial goals were lost, so there was only one thing left to do – try to at least finish faster than my previous postpartum half marathon which was 1:43 at 11 months postpartum.

I crossed the line at 1:42:16. It was the worst I’ve felt racing in a long time. I collected my medal and went to wait for my mom to finish … and to go lick my wounds and try to figure out what the hell happened.

Possible Reasons for My Lackluster Race

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about why I felt so poorly during the race. I’m a strong racer that doesn’t make common mistakes like going out too fast or not fueling appropriately. I have a nutrition strategy that is as close to a silver bullet as I’ve been able to find, and I have an awesome coach who provided me with a plan that resulted in significant fitness gains over a 12-week period. Here are the factors I believe contributed to my disappointing race.

1. Too much intensity the week before the race: The week before the half marathon, I had three workouts that may have been too much for me within a five day period that close to the race. I ran 4 x 1-mile repeats, an 8-mile tempo run with 6 miles at tempo pace in the same hot weather conditions I experienced during the race and a 10-mile long run. I think that tempo run should have happened a week earlier and my repeats should have started to descend in distance a little earlier.
2. Time at my desk: During the work day, I sit at a desk all day, and lately I’ve barely been getting up to move around. I’ve been sitting Indian-style in my chair a lot, and I think that has contributed to the tightness and achiness I’ve felt in recent weeks.
3. Pre-race car ride: I made the decision to drive to Savannah solo the day before the race. I wanted to spend the least amount of time away from my daughter, so I hit the road on Friday morning after waking her up and feeding her. The 5.5-hour trip took about 7 total hours with traffic and stops. While I did get out twice to stretch and move around, it probably wasn’t the greatest pre-race activity.
4. Warm, humid conditions: I always tell the athletes I coach that they can’t control the weather so they need to stop worrying about it, control what they can control and make plans and strategies for what to do if weather becomes a factor and goals need to be adjusted. I am great at giving that advice and TERRIBLE at taking it. The plain truth is, I don’t enjoy racing in conditions above 55 degrees. If I want to excel in races, I must choose races that do not have such hit-or-miss weather conditions. Obviously anything can happen, just look at the recent Boston Marathon, but I do not have fun in humid/hot conditions … and part of running should be about having fun!
5. Inadequate aid stations: Last but not least, the only real complaint I have about the Savannah Women’s Half Marathon course is that their aid station set-up was not well orchestrated. The stations were not strategically located where most people take their nutrition, so when you need to take a gel around mile 4 or 9, there are no aid stations. Instead, they are too soon or too late (e.g. 3.5 or 5.5 or 10+). Furthermore, there were two aid stations that didn’t have adequate hydration. One where I really needed Gatorade only had water, and the one where gels were being handed out had no fluids at all – quite a miss since gels need to be consumed with water. Furthermore, the race said they would have lemon-lime Gatorade on the course, but there was blue and red Powerade being served. It was very hard to get down but I had to have it. This was the cherry on top of not feeling strong. I was dying for aid stations the entire race, which I’ve never experienced before. At the finish line my face and arms had salt on them, indicating I was not adequately hydrated or with the right electrolyte balance despite taking fluids at every station and consuming two gels.

The Silver Lining

Enough with the sob story, am I right? The race sucked. You live and you learn. There were wonderful things about the weekend, too. Like getting to spend it with my mom who also ran the race … and staying in an AMAZING historic house on one of the squares that slept 16 people. By the way, how amazing is my mom? She has run more half marathons than I can count after turning 60. She has also lost more than 30 pounds in the last year, and I couldn’t be prouder of her! Today is also her birthday!!!

The race details and logistics are great. I ran this race in 2015 and had a similar experience. The expo is unique and intimate. The swag is superb (we received backpacks, lip balm, a bath bomb and more). And the logistics are seamless.

I got to see my friend and Tampa training partner Joanna at the finish line who was in town for a girls’ weekend and got up to see me finish the race.

I ate the most amazing post-race meal ever that I didn’t even think about taking a photo of because I was so hungry: Eggs, two pancakes the size of my head, a biscuit, potatoes and bacon. Whoa! And then consuming an amazing pizza dinner that evening. Yum!

And, I slowly chipped away at improving my postpartum fitness and strength, with a minute improvement in my half marathon time from December. Baby steps are better than no steps.

So, there you have it. Savannah, you are a great city, but I’m going to take a break from running your streets for a while. I have a half marathon coming up in South Dakota in June, so stay tuned for what will hopefully be a better race.