A 4:30 a.m. wakeup call on a Sunday morning hardly sounds appealing to even a somewhat sane person. Get up even earlier than I do on a regular work day? On my sacred day off? No thank you. I’d much prefer to sleep in, wake up slowly, enjoy a coffee on the porch with my pup and wander over to St. Pete Yoga for an 11 a.m. Restorative class. If I’m feeling motivated.
Questionable sanity notwithstanding, Sunday finds me blinking my way toward the kitchen and pouring the biggest cup of coffee I can manage to carry with both hands as I remind myself why I signed up for this: It will be worth it.
The Iron Girl Clearwater is in its 50th year and going stronger than ever. The half-marathon begins and ends in Coachman Park.
It’s only after I sign up that I learn Iron Girl’s go-to hashtag: #werunthisbridge.
Now, when I hear a motto like that, it sounds rather appealing. At first glance. And then I realize I’ve just signed up for a race that involves running up and down a steep bridge. Four times.
Hence my “questionable sanity.”
Life has been a whirlwind lately and part of me is really not sure what I was thinking signing up for a half-marathon. The stronger part of me, though, knows it’s going to be a a cathartic and therapeutic experience. And so I lace up my shoes, down another cup of coffee and head west — 13.1, here I come.
The Iron Girl Clearwater has a reputation for being an extremely well-organized race and I can tell as soon as I approach Coachman Park that is the case. I am not nearly as early arriving as I should be, considering I opted to pick up my packet on the morning of the race. This, combined with the fact that I am parking in downtown Clearwater, means a potential disaster (or at a minimum, a late and stressful start).
I find parking easily, though, and use the couple of blocks’ walk to Coachman as a wakeup for my legs. The previous night’s pre-race stress and nerves begin to transform into excitement and anticipation as I see my fellow runners: Women of all different ages, shapes and sizes make their way to the starting line. Today, this is my tribe.
There is barely a line for packet pickup and I have enough time to pin on my bib, ask a friendly stranger to spray sunscreen on my back and even drop off my swag bag before returning to the park to hear the national anthem.
The half-marathon begins promptly at 6:30 and my wave is out of the chute before a minute has gone by. Iron Girl has done a great job of providing race pacers — experienced runners who hold small signs to indicate a finish time goal. Anyone wishing to finish the race in a specific amount of time but has trouble maintaining a steady pace can join up with a pacer and run the race with (or near) them.
The race begins and after a mile or so I find my rhythm. The first few miles are dark — a nice reprieve before the looming Florida heat takes over — and the first bridge we cross is challenging but doable. One down, three to go.
I am relieved to see Port-a-Potties scattered every mile and a half or so; the last thing anyone wants is a bathroom emergency and no stall in sight.
The pace group I am running with is cheerful. Our lead runner wears an index card pinned to the back of his shirt that reads “Just Keep Smiling.”
And so I do. I smile through bridge number two, through the memories of half-marathons past. I smile at the osprey I see perched on streetlights and the beauty of the beach beside us. I smile at the fact that I am running this race and that nobody can take this away from me.
I smile through the tears that creep up more than once along the course of 13.1 miles. It has taken so much to get here: months of training through heartbreak, loss, exhaustion, stress. There is nobody waiting at the finish line for me today; nobody to take my picture or congratulate me on my hard work. Today, it’s just me and the road — and hundreds of other women who may be experiencing their own version of the same.
I consider this as I reach the 10-mile mark and begin to pick up my pace just a bit. We are here. We are together. And hell yes, we run this bridge.
In the end, it is absolutely worth it. The Iron Girl’s final mile includes a descent down the winding ramp of a bridge and I know it’s the decline but I swear I feel like I’m flying. Volunteers hold signs to cheer on runners; some even hand out headbands with Easter bunny ears stuck to them.
I bump into my pacer — whom I lost track of during a port-a-potty pit stop mid-race — and he cheers me on further: “You’re coming in ahead of time! Keep going! Keep going!”
My eyes well up with tears as more volunteers cheer from the sidelines. I know I am close; I know I can do this. I am laughing and crying and raising my arms in the air because that’s how I feel right now. A crazy-sounding goal that seemed insurmountable not so long ago is something I am actually doing right here, right now as my feet cross the finish line and I hear my time chip go off.
Hell yes, we run this bridge. And hell yes, it is worth it.
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This article appears in Apr 4-11, 2019.
