public dancing and the half marathon no one knew about

During my last California sister visit in October, I decided to sign up to run a half marathon with Bri in February. I've secretly always wanted to cross it off my bucket list, but mostly it was a perfectly great excuse to plan another weekend getaway.

Well, in October February seems an awfully long ways away. So naturally I didn't feel the pressure to begin "training". (which I desperately needed, as the longest I had run in a good 2 or 3 years was 2 or 3 miles.) Then, like a blessing from heaven, Bri found out she would have to work the weekend of the race. So we called off the trip, and the non-existent training.
Alas, around Christmas we found out that Bri actually wasn't working, and the half marathon was back on. Like a curse from hell I tell you.
So I had basically one month to train, and it turns out there isn't really a "from couch potato to half-marathon in 4 weeks" guide. Sedentary living doesn't exactly transition into long distance running, shocking I know, so I took a very apathetic approach.
This was going to be comical at best, and at the very least, it would be a secret. I told essentially no one, because of course if no one knows than no one can hold you accountable and harass you about "being prepared". blah blah.
I arrived in California. Spent a wonderful day in Disneyland dancing for pictures in front of large crowds with no shame, blissfully ignoring my impending doom the next morning.

Race day came. I spent the first couple hours of that morning feeling so nervous I was certain I would throw up. My bib says MY NAME! I found this so concerning. I had done such a great job keeping this a secret, and now perfect strangers were going to know the name of the girl who got picked up by the bus who picks up the slow and the sad. This was supposed to be good-humored but anonymous failure, and my name was going to ruin everything!
Then, in a wave of uncharacteristic positivity and maturity, I decided I was officially the worst running partner for Bri, and I was going to be excited, and happy, and at least begin the race with dancing and laughter. Before I knew it, we had ran 6 miles, and I still felt great. I mean, we are SLOW going, and strangers are saying things like "Great job Brooke!" and "Keep it up Brooke!" which makes me extremely uncomfortable and happy at the same time, but I'm feelin' good and I am having fun.
Yes, mile 9-12 were a little rough. It was hot, we lost sight of the ocean. I can feel the blister forming on my heel, but it's nothing I cant handle.
Mile 12-13.1 felt awesome, I was able to sprint it out to the finish line and was honestly surprised with the amount of pride and euphoria I felt. GO ME!
I instantly couldn't bring myself to walk like a normal human being, but I collected my medal, a warm banana and limped my way back to the hotel like a freaking champion.

There was never a moment during the race that I felt like I couldn't do it.
So far nothing has been as physically, mentally, and emotionally draining as hiking the 17 miles of The Narrows, where I learned my limits the hard way, and was forced to push past them. And because I survived that beautiful hell hole, I can do anything! Except a marathon. Never a marathon.
{I feel like it should be noted that my experience in the Narrows says more about my lack of athleticism, endurance, and mental health than the hike itself. It could be the easiest/best experience of your life, and if so, I commend you.}

All sore muscles, and blisters in account, I still loved running this race! I will absolutely do another one, ideally with a bit more training.