Finishing 50 - Battleship Half Marathon, Wilmington, North Carolina

Fifty is a lot. Wise words uttered by my neighbor’s niece on his fiftieth birthday. Fifty IS a lot. Fifty pencils, fifty years, fifty miles, fifty presents, fifty toothpicks, fifty bucks. Fifty half-marathons. I wouldn’t have thought I could, or even would, accomplish such a thing years ago. But here we are.

My “number fifty” took place in Wilmington, NC, just a few hours east of where my mom lives in Fayetteville. Over the last 5 years of running races, I’ve traveled that-a-way to both visit and run, sometimes both on the same trip. During my 2018 quest to run a half every month during the year, the Battleship fit the bill for my November selection.

The first leg of travel was from Tampa to Charlotte on a Saturday morning. I was productive on my first flight, doing a little lesson planning whilst sipping a fresh Diet Coke. Oddly, I kinda like the Charlotte airport. Although it’s often super busy, I love the main atrium area with the high, bright ceilings. If I have to stick around awhile, I’ll scout out a rocking chair near the piano where I can watch the people go by, listen to music, and eat a snack. On this trip there was no extra time to spend taking in the scenery.

After Charlotte I ended up in Raleigh. Mom met me there and we drove straight to Wilmington, hoping to beat the cutoff for bib pick-up. I love this airport, too. It’s a small airport, but easy to navigate and the wood beams that support the ceiling are beautiful. The race posted on their various sites that they would have no race day pick-up. I sent a Facebook message to confirm the closing time and to plead my case a little that I just got off a plane and was on my way. Whoever was monitoring the feed responded that they’d stay open an extra half hour. Sweet.

We made good time to the small expo where I picked up my bib, bought a 13.1 magnet (to commemorate #50) and scored a new pair of Brooks Adrenalines for 20% off. We rolled out of the expo and drove the 82 seconds to our accommodations for the evening. Mom scored a rental apartment with an eighth floor waterfront view of the Battleship North Carolina. Directly in front of our building was a Coast Guard vessel with the battleship nestled on the other side of the Cape Fear River.

From there, a short few miles to the Harris Teeter for breakfast scones and, y’all know it, bacon. Back to the apartment to drop off the food and snap a few pictures of the setting sun over the battleship. Aside from feeling a bit rushed between airpot and expo, the evening and pre-race was going quite well.

We walked a block and a half over to the Front Street Brewery for dinner. Not only did Mom score a great view, but the location of our apartment was right in downtown where we had dozens of restaurant and food choices within waking distance. We decided on one of the world’s most perfect pre-race foods: fried pickles. Some sweet tea (it is the Carolinas, now), a few salads and a chimichurri steak sandwich with fries rounded out the meal. It was early in the day but the bar was starting to heat up. On a different day I might have liked to spend a bit more time there. The food was tasty, reasonably priced, and the vibe of the place was friendly.

It was early still but we went back to the apartment in the cool air to cozy up in our pajamas. The plan was to spend some quality time catching up on the patio while enjoying the view. And a glass of wine. And some red velvet cake from Harris Teeter. Although the apartment was comfortably furnished, it was lacking an essential item - wine glasses. We improvised with coffee cups. That’s perseverance.

I filled my Flipbelt bottles, laid out my gear and clothes for the morning and hit the hay just before 9:00. For a variety of reasons, I was beat. Even with the promise of the Daylight Savings time change and an extra hour, I was more than ready for rest.

After a great night of sleep I was up and moving within minutes of the alarm going off. Sleep, good sleep, is often hard to come by in my world. But I was Ke$ha that morning, wakin’ up feelin’ like P-Diddy. I made quick friends with my cranberry-orange scone and four slices of bacon, eating half of it before heading out for the one-block walk to the shuttle bus area. The race organizers had tour buses and school buses lined up at a hotel down the street. We waited only a few chilly minutes before boarding a tour bus. The driver called me by my cold-weather running code name, Batman, upon boarding. In cold weather I wear these fuzzy Batman pants over my running pants for warmth. I bought them for $5.00 off the clearance rack at a Wal-Mart before a race a few years ago and have worn them loud and proud since.

The ride over to the battleship parking lot was about 15 minutes. We arrived with plenty of time. More than plenty, actually. It was breezy and cool in the grassy area next to the river. Many runners were huddled inside the gear-check tent. Music played from a small pavilion while runners stretched and warmed up and did all the things that runners do. I finished my last slice of bacon.

I wish I could say that I was giddy with excitement. A stomach full of butterflies and nerves as I took my place at the start line for my fiftieth half-marathon. Nope. Not really. I felt calm and ready. I felt accomplished and set to get out there and tackle another one. More than anything, I felt assured. I was confident my legs would carry me through another 13 miles. I’m not historically a runner. Not a childhood running prodigy, not a high-school or collegiate athlete. But I would line up on this day with a few hundred others, each of us running for our own reasons and in our own time, and I would finish it.

After a few words at the start from race organizers, the race got off to a quick start at 8:00 sharp. The weather was a cool 49 degrees and the skies were clear and blue. Within a quarter of a mile the course took you up the first of three bridges. This first bridge wasn't too steep, but within the next mile you hit the second one. Both bridges proved to be easy enough to manage. After the second bridge the course followed the river along a boardwalk and back onto the street where our apartment was located. After a few more brick and cobblestone streets downtown, runners made their way down streets lined with historic homes. This portion of the race burned off about four quick miles that seemed to just fly by.

Following the downtown streets we ran a few roads in a more industrial area before beginning the out and back portion on the north side of Greenfield Lake. This part of the course utilized both paved road and paved sidewalk through a suburban area. While the downtown sections were warm out in the sun, almost too warm, this section was shaded with plenty of mature trees and brought the temps back to a more comfortable level. These sidewalk trails meandered in and out of the foliage, including a few wooden footbridges over wet areas. I wished I either a) had better equipment to take pictures or b) had the patience to stop and take pictures of these beautiful courses I run.

The last few miles of the course backtracked through the industrial section and up an on-ramp for the final stretch. With just a mile to go we approached the last bridge. Just like the first two, it wasn't too steep, which is a good thing when you’re facing mile 13. I paused here. I gave myself permission to give up 48 seconds to take a picture, to take in the moment of finishing this milestone race while at the top of the bridge.

From the top of the last bridge, overlooking the Cape Fear River and downtown Wilmington.

The final mile back to the battleship was downhill, and pretty uneventful. On the approach to the finish, I ran a steady, slow pace. Not exactly sure why, but I didn’t feel any sense of urgency to finish, no giddy-up and go, sprint to finish, no final quarter-mile push. Two women who had been behind me picked up their pace to pass and finished just ahead of me.

I was greeted by a young marine who placed a medal around my neck and thanked me for running with them today.

Mom was there waiting for me at the finish holding my bag stuffed with fuzzy pants and jackets and a blanket for her in case it had been too cold while she waited. I run so many races alone, it was nice to have a familiar face at the end. I didn’t feel much in the mood for the pizza that other runners were busy stuffing into themselves, so I did the only other logical thing you should do after a good run. I grabbed a few orange slices and a beer.

That’s my kind of recovery.

This race was well-organized and the course was better than I expected. I enjoyed the changing landscape and was never bored during the 13 miles. The aid stations were adequate, although the finish line food was simple and lacked variety. The beer was delicious (priorities, people) and the medal is excellent. Surprisingly, the field of runners was smaller than I would have thought for the race location and time of year. Considering that this race wasn’t for any goal, and I had run a 20-miler the weekend before, I felt like I’d maintained a fairly even pace throughout and had a solid finish time.

So how do I feel “at 50”? Pretty good, I’d say. Sometimes I forget what that number really means. It’s not just the races, it’s all the training runs in between. All the nights I went to bed early. All the hours spent. All the laundry, the sweaty clothes. All the chafing. Good grief, the chafing… All the patience of my family during the last 5 years - following me to races, waking up early to go with me to the start. All the waiting for me to come home.

All of the glorious bacon.

I’m still tossing around ideas and goals for next year. What do you do when you hit the ripe old age of 50? Something will stick soon enough. Until then, I’ll just keep plugging along. I’ve got two races left for this calendar year: a full marathon followed by a half-marathon 7 days later. I have no idea how that will all turn out. What I do know is that I will finish those races, no matter what.

Likely, somewhere in the middle.