As promised, the weather for yesterday's Harrisburg Half-Marathon was perfect. Cool and crisp in the morning, warming up as the sun came up. Leaving the hotel at 6:15, shivering from a bit of a chill in the air, I knew that conditions would be ideal.
With Karen at the wheel, we crossed the bridge to City Island in less than a half hour. The registration 
tent was well organized and efficient and I picked up my packet and timing chip with ease. Of the four half- and full marathons in which I've participated, this one had the most swift registration process and the easiest access with parking. Granted, this was also the smallest of all those (around 800 participants), but still well worth the praise.
I did a quick jog to warm up and took my place toward the front of the pack. By golly, no one looked at me like I don't belong -- they smiled, said hello, and were all quite friendly. It was a bit smelly, though. I don't recall ever being at a starting line that smelled so much like a gym locker. I know I made sure to wear a clean shirt!
Everything was right on time and at 8 a.m., and we were off. I had told Karen that, if all went well, I'd be at the finish line at 9:26.
The course led us around City Island first and then over the bridge to the path on the waterfront of the Susquehanna River. The greatest challenge on these narrow paths was passing and allowing others to pass. At some moments, I was a little frustrated that I couldn't get around some runners and walkers; at other moments, I felt bad that people had trouble passing me. Both cases ended up being good for my pacing because the inability to pass forced me to hang back in the early miles and the runners creeping up behind me later forced me to push the pace a little.
A volunteer called out the time at the second mile marker: 14:42 as I passed. No surprise - I started too fast. My goal was a 6:36 pace and I was doing a 6:21. But I felt good and I remembered what my buddy and guru, Tim, had told me: Don't run according to the clock, run according to what your body tells you. So I kept it up and watched a guy in front of me. Keep him in your sights, I told myself, and you'll do fine.
We turned around and started heading north in the third mile, running under the bridge we crossed earlier. On the sidewalk along the river, Karen took this picture and asked how I was feeling. My reply, "I started too fast."
She quickly quipped, "Well, I'll see you at 9:25, then!" I love that girl.
The next four miles continued along the riverfront. Any time I started to think too much about my pace and my breathing, I looked to my left and enjoyed the beautiful scenic views of the river and the trees. Who knew Harrisburg was so pretty? Who, in New Jersey, knows anything about Harrisburg at all?
A clock at the six-mile mark read 39:18 as I passed, so I started doing the math. If I kept a consistent pace, I'd be at mile 12 at just under 80 minutes, giving me only six minutes to do the last mile. I also noticed that the guy on whom I'd kept my eye was much farther ahead. I needed to pick it up, so I took a swig from the Gatorade bottle I was carrying and increased my leg-turnover, trying not to expend too much more energy in the process.
Before heading back again, we did a little loop through the residential neighborhood just south of I-81. A volunteer called out the time at the 7.25 mile mark. I honestly don't remember what he said and, because it was such an odd mile marker, I became pre-occuppied with more math and fractions and decimals and...ARRRGH...JUST RUN, MAN!
As we turned onto Front Street to head south toward City Island (this time on the upper path along the road, instead of the lower path along the waterfront), I heard a woman running behind me say to her companion, "We're running at about a 6:30." On one hand, I felt better because I could stop calculating. On the other, if that was the case, then I was running too fast. Psychologically, I got tripped up. Can I keep this pace to the end? Am I going to fizzle out? As I was thinking that, the woman passed me. Did she speed up or did I slow down?
There were no more mile clocks. Just the other runners and my own unreliable sense of pacing. I tried to listen to my body. At the 10-mile mark, I administered the usual pep talk to myself: Just a piece-of-cake 5K from here. I picked up the pace and passed a few people, but that burst didn't last. By the 11-mile mark, runners were passing me again. Crossing the bridge at the 12-mile mark, all that was left to do was run around City Island again for the big finish. Coming off the bridge, Karen was there again, shouting words of encouragement and I knew it was time to make like a bread truck and haul buns (apologies to Kelly Barlow for stealing her phrase).
I tried to close the sizable gap with the woman in front of me. My insistence on catching up to her was less about competing with her and more about the idea that if I could catch up to her, I'd know that my final mile consisted of a decent speed increase. I didn't catch her, but I gave it a big push for the finish line. I can't say I gave it everything I had, like I've done in the past, because I saw the 1:26 on the clock and was happy to know I beat my previous time. Honestly, I didn't want to end the race in pain. I was getting what I came for and there was no need to hurt myself.
With 1:26:46 on the clock (and a final chip time of 1:26:44), I crossed the line and yelled, "Jersey representin'!" to let everyone know that a proud dude from New Jersey came to their race and finished strong.
I collected my finisher's medal and hugged Karen. She said, "You did it!" and asked me how I felt.
"Yes, I did it! And I feel great!" I said, as I thought about the marathon from May and how the feeling was exactly the opposite. Indeed, this is what I came here to do. The plan had been to run shorter races, rebuild my confidence, and get that great feeling back.
Done, done and, oh, so done...with a pretty groovy brown T-shirt, too. 
