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I did it. My first half-marathon and I hit my target of 1:45:12. And all it took was 14 weeks of training, a week of healthy eating, and cutting back from five packs to one pack of cigarettes a week. I felt it was too dangerous to my health to cut back on the drinking, so I kept booze in my training diet. I ran a 8:06 mile the whole way, with a negative split-time. I placed around 500th out of 2355 in the Men’s Division.

But honestly, without those Kenyans, I’d probably have placed in the top 100. Actually, I don’t think Kenyans bother running the half-marathon. It’s more of a warm-up for them. Considering how easy marathons are for them, I can’t imagine why they would even bother running a half, unless its for practicing their sprinting skills

There was one point in the race that I remember clearly. The hardest part of the race, found itself in the center of Stanley park, where we had to run up Prospect Point, which would be better described as a mountain, rather than a point. Two-hundred feet in elevation, and about a mile of winding road leading up to the apex, I felt my legs burning through lactic acid; almost like the way I burn through credit cards.

With the top of the hill not in sight, I never knew when it would end. I just knew that I was continually going higher and higher.

Finally, after reaching the top and cresting over that monster hill, I felt absolutely amazing. It was the most exhilirating feeling in the world, only to be compared with crossing the finish line. I look back at the race, and remember looking down ahead of me from the top of the hill, seeing hundreds of people running down the road, flanked by giant, majestic Redwood trees in the drizzling rain. The serenity and silence of the scene was tranquil and peaceful, occasionally interrupted by the wretching of fallen comrades at the side of the road.

With the toughest part over, I only needed to keep my legs from giving up on me. Overcome with pain, I came into the 12th mile ready to quit. With only one more mile to go, my legs were screaming to be let go. The last mile started with another brief hill which was going to be the TSN turning point.

Just as I was about to stop, from behind me I heard someone say, “Hey man, don’t stop now, you’re almost there!”

I turned around and it was the same guy that I had been running with off and on during the grueling hill-climb. A complete stranger before the race, but now a comrade in arms. We had been passing each other back and forth, and he had caught up to me at my moment of self-defeat. I looked at him and his face was smiling, as though he had already finished the race.

I saw that look, and I wanted it.

I wanted to be able to look like I just finished the race, completely finished the race, without stopping. I was fueled with a renewed energy and picked up my pace to run beside him to the finish line. With five-hundred metres to go, he burst forward and I followed suit. I forced my legs to do what it told me it couldn’t and I ran as fast as I could, screaming out a war cry I once heard in Mongolia.

I crossed the finish line and stopped dead in my tracks. I raised my arms up and turned my face up to the grey skies above letting the rain drops fall on my face and yelled out, “Undefeatable!” I’m not certain which was more awesome: finishing the race, or yelling that out behind the five-hundred other people that just crossed the finish line ahead of me. I was, however, slightly disappointed to find that there was no ribbon to break through. They should have a ribbon for each person, in my opinion.

Rich found me at the end and snapped a photo. I was wearing my Allen Iverson arm-warmers which I deftly made out of a pair of nylon socks. I didn’t look so much as a runner, as I did a baller. I’m certain people were all wondering if I was trying to find a basketball on the race course, rather than actually running this half-marathon. Perhaps next year, I will in fact bring a basketball and dribble for 13 miles.

Two weeks ago, I ran in the Vancouver Sun Run and did it in 50:11. This year, I signed up in the 0:00 to 44:00 group, which is generally restricted to Kenyans and cheetahs. Somehow, they seemed to think I was one of the above. Still, I was only 6 min off my mark.

I’ll be running in the Vancouver Half Marathon this Sunday. It’s entirely possible that I might not be able to stop running and somehow, end up in Toronto at the end of it. Twenty-one kilometres of pavement and (hopefully) sunshine. Apparently, there are water stations and more interestingly, sponge stations, along the race course. Sponsors welcome and donations are accepted!