Train Harder, Run Faster, Be Better

The night before a race, I usually have a variation of three possible nightmares:

1 – I overslept or got there late and missed the start of the race.
2 – I got lost during the race.
3 – I realize halfway through the race that I am not wearing running shoes, or worse, that I am actually butt naked.

I always wake up feeling relieved that it was just a dream, and check my 2 alarm clocks for the hundredth time to make sure that at least nightmare #1 doesn’t come true.

This particular race had a few close calls…

I wake up on time (5:30AM) and start my pre-race rituals:

I double check that my bib is securely pinned to my shirt and that my shoe tag is on properly, making a perfectly round circle with my bib number facing up (yes, I’m that anal).

Then I eat half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—which is pretty much the only thing I won’t throw up during a race—and save the rest to eat once I get there.

I lather Body Glide all over my feet and under my sports bra to prevent chafing and blisters.

I put on sunscreen on my arms, legs, and face (SPF 70, that’s right).

Then I do a mental checklist of all the items I need to bring: Garmin running watch, iPod, camera, iPhone (all fully charged!), dry change of clothes for after the race, jacket, old sweatshirt (to wear until the race starts and then throw away), sunglasses, half eaten PB&J. Check, check, check.

I take a cab to the start line of the Marathon, where there are buses that will take us to Golden Gate Park for the 2nd Half start line. After waiting in line for over 10 minutes, I get on the bus and breathe a sigh of relief. My relief did not last long, however. The bus driver went all the way to Ocean Beach, and then kept driving by the beach… for a while, for too long.

I start to panic a little. Where are we going? We already passed the park!

I glance at the folks around me to see if anyone else is freaking out, but they all look completely unperturbed. Two Germans are chattering loudly behind me, oblivious to the fact that we were obviously going the wrong way. Just as I’m about to reach for my iPhone and Google Map this disaster, a lady gets up and walks to the front of the bus.

Lady: “Excuse me, but I think we passed Fulton Street a while ago. Weren’t we supposed to turn there?”

Bus driver: “Really?! Why don’t you sit up here and tell me how to get there!”

I assumed he was being a smartass.

Lady: “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help, but I’m pretty sure we were supposed to turn there.”

Bus driver: “OK! Sit here and tell me how to get there!”

He wasn’t being a smartass. He was actually LOST!

I begin to panic. This can’t be happening. What?!?

The bus driver then executes a highly illegal U-turn and the lady guides him to the park, where the other buses are lined up. Crisis averted!

I later learned that the same thing had happened to two friends of mine, only their driver wasn’t able to find his way, and they ended up having to run 3 miles to get to the start line. Ouch!

Once I got off the bus, I started to get mad at the race organizers… how can they employ a driver who doesn’t even know how to get to the start line, when that’s ALL.HE.NEEDS.TO.DO?!

But my anger at the race organizers disappeared completely when I got closer to the start line and realized that they had HEAT LAMPS to keep the runners warm while they waited. HEAT LAMPS! BRILLIANT! I was so happy, I wanted to cry. I dropped off my race bag and walked over to a heat lamp, huddling with the other runners. Only in San Francisco do you need heat lamps in July. This weather is ridiculous! But I was so happy not to be freezing, that I temporarily forgot my bitterness for being cheated out of a real summer.

I chatted with some of the girls around the lamps and traded racing stories. One of them was running with her iPhone—something I’ve always wanted to do, but always find my phone too bulky. She said that her husband sends her encouraging texts at every mile. Awwww. She doesn’t get to see them until after the race, but just hearing the little “ping” once a message comes through, she said, is enough to give her a boost. How cute is that?

It’s finally time to line up. After a good luck hug from my running buddy Mick, I turn on my Garmin, throw off my sweater, and before it know it – BAM, the race has started!


I’m freezing. FREEZING. So I run faster to warm up. The first mile goes by and my watch beeps to give me my split: Mile 1 – 7:40. I’m off pace, but I don’t care. I’m feeling good, but wondering how long I’ll be able to hold a sub-8 minute pace. I do a quick inventory of how my body is coping… Hips/TFL? Good. No pain. Knees? Sore, but not too bad. Might go away. Back, shoulders, quads? All fine.

Mile 2 and I’m already slowing down. Mile 3 and I’m getting tired. WHAT!?


I’m messing with my iPod, trying to skip past old songs in my running mix and before I know it, the runners are being split into two separate directions. Wait, what?! Where do I go? I ask a race organizer, “2nd half goes this way, right?!?!” He yells, “YES!”

Ok, ok, whoosh. Thank goodness. But wait a minute, this doesn’t look familiar. Did I run this way last year? I start frantically checking other runners’ bibs. Most of them have a black bib, for the Full Marathon. Oh no, oh no no no no, I’m going the wrong way! Nightmare number 2 is coming true! I keep checking bibs, hoping and praying for an orange one indicating Half Marathon. I see an orange bib, then another, then another. I begin to relax until I notice that these are 1st Half Marathon bibs! Where are the other 2nd Halfers?!! Sheer panic. I begin to slow down. Of all people, of course I would be the one to get lost during a race! Of course! I’m still slowing down and seriously freaking out when I see a mile marker for 3.9 miles. I check my watch. 3.9 miles exactly. I wasn’t off course. Ahhhhhhh.

Relief and adrenaline give me a boost and I run another sub-8 minute mile. Miles 6 and 7 zoom by. Then my headphones stop working. I manage to get at least one side to work, which means that for the rest of the race, I have to switch the earbud from one ear to the other. I decide not to let it bother me. Miles 8 and 9 fly by. We’re running in the city now and although the crowd support is pretty weak, I’m still feeling great. Mile 10. Wow! I only have 3 to go! That’s insane. For the millionth time, I am reminded of how wonderful half marathons are… Knowing that I only have 3 miles to go instead of 16… that is a beautiful thing.

2 miles to go. I realize that not only am I going to beat my record from last year, I am also going to run under 1:50, which I had considered a long shot. That feeling… knowing that I was making myself proud, knowing that I could surpass my own limits, is just indescribably wonderful. That feeling is the reason why I am a runner. That feeling is what makes me want to train harder, run faster, be better.

If I could make 1:47, it meant that I had a shot at qualifying for Boston (according to the book Run Less, Run Faster, a 1:47 Half Marathon time is the best indicator that you’re ready to train for Boston).

I see the finish line, and then hear Coach Joe say “Go Natascha! Finish strong!”

I start sprinting. I cross the finish line with a huge smile on my face and try to resist the urge to hug everyone in sight. I did it! I made my goal! I’m awesome (haha)! Official time: 1:47!!!

After the race, I meet my running group at a local brewery, where I shamelessly consumed and entire breakfast pizza with goat cheese, spinach, ham, and an egg in the middle—it was the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.