Chapter 1: Race Day Realizations

The day of my half marathon was filled with excitement and nerves. I woke up unexpectedly early, just twenty minutes before my alarm was set to ring at 5:00 am, two Sundays back on February 18, 2024. A barn owl's call echoed from a nearby tree, the sky still veiled in darkness. The nasal strip I had worn the night before had vanished into my bedding. As I stretched my feet, an unexpected pain shot through my left foot. I reminded myself that every long run, regardless of its ease or difficulty, seems to promise an unexpected hurdle to navigate. Unfortunately, this particular challenge emerged long before I even set foot outside.

The discomfort originated from my left metatarsophalangeal (MTP) joint, just a touch off from where bunions typically form. Although I had anticipated some discomfort, this was unwelcome and puzzling. I had rested for two days, and the pain was in the same spot where I had developed a severe blister ten days earlier after trying out my new race shoes. Instead of breaking them in as I should have, I excitedly ran in them right away. When I felt the blister forming during a treadmill session, I told myself to “power through.” Yet here I was, a week and a half later, inspecting my foot in the dim light of early morning, feeling frustrated.

Typically, I would be going to bed at this hour, but that morning, I felt a rush of energy. The night before, I had enjoyed a dinner of pesto pasta and Gatorade Zero and went to sleep around 9:00 pm after a long bath. My race day essentials were laid out on a crowded futon next to my bed: running gear, energy gels, and other supplies. I carefully applied a bandage to my foot before slipping on my socks, testing my weight as I paced around my room. The ache felt like a lingering bruise — reminiscent of the plantar fasciitis I had suffered from years ago.

“Are you ready, Hugo?” my sister asked.

“No.”

“I meant mentally ready.”

“No.”

I had read that if you feel completely prepared on race day, you might not be ready at all. This thought contributed to my answer, as I didn’t want to appear overly confident. I was about to take part in my first significant race, and the pain in my left foot felt like a manifestation of doubt.

Dressed in my all-black race attire, I made my way to the kitchen to brew some coffee, as I like to have a caffeine boost before a run. While the coffee pot brewed, I took a pain reliever and prepared a simple breakfast of oatmeal mixed with Greek yogurt and frozen berries. I consumed this directly from the pot, along with a cup of black coffee and a Liquid IV. After a quick foam roll session on my yoga mat to ease my hip flexors, I asked my sister for a quick massage on my tight shoulder.

As I stepped out into the chilly morning air, hype music was playing softly in my ears. The temperature hovered around 30 degrees Fahrenheit, which was particularly biting for someone like me from the southwest. However, I knew I would warm up once the race began.

On the drive to the race venue, I joked about the crisp air, quipping, “What a great day for an exorcism,” instead of “What a beautiful day for a run.” Conditions were indeed favorable.

Upon arriving at the El Paso County Coliseum an hour before the race, I noticed the beige buses lined up outside, waiting to transport marathon participants to their starting points. I had my sister pin my race bib (#2195) onto my attire.

Once inside, I found a spot near the men's restroom to warm up. I engaged in dynamic exercises to get my blood flowing — leg swings, squats, lunges, and more — interrupted by a few good luck messages from my Apple Watch. A photographer captured a moment of me flashing a peace sign, unsure of who would be taking the photos for the event.

As I surveyed my fellow runners, I could feel the energy building. There was a palpable buzz in the air — a mix of anxious breaths and quickened heartbeats. I recognized that many were in the same boat, navigating their own pre-race rituals. It reminded me of Broadway auditions I had experienced. Thankfully, I didn’t have to compare myself with others who could do the splits or recite Shakespeare.

Race organizers called for attention as the half marathon was about to begin. I jogged outside to grab a Gu packet and, as I prepared, I donned my gloves with a small pendant of St. Jude tucked inside, as requested by my mother. With everything in place, I headed towards the large inflatable arch that marked the start line.

Of course, I found myself in line for the restroom, which was moving slower than anticipated. The urgency heightened as a woman shouted, “Half marathon runners, the race is about to start! Leave now!”

Despite the chaos, I finally made it back to the starting line among the competitive runners, ready to go. With my sunglasses on and a layer of Carmex on my lips, we all faced the sunrise as the national anthem played. I queued up my "Half Marathon" Spotify playlist, knowing that a solid playlist is crucial. At 7:00 am, the race commenced, and we were off into the dawn.

“Start slow,” I reminded myself repeatedly. The reasoning was simple: if I lost control early on, it could spell disaster for the rest of the race.

The most vivid memory from that day is of the early strides, watching runners ahead of me exhale visible breath in the crisp air. I experienced what I like to call a “blackout,” where I became absorbed in the rhythm of running, surrendering my everyday self to a heightened version of me prepared for this challenge. This state of mind is something I’ve found comes naturally when in the zone.

My concentration was occasionally broken by the welcoming water stations staffed by enthusiastic volunteers, along with local residents cheering from the sidelines. Water stations were set every couple of miles, and the volunteers encouraged us with cheers. Their support still echoes in my mind.

I kept track of my body's sensations, ensuring proper form and breathing. By the time I reached Mile 6, I noticed that I was faster than usual, cutting a minute off my average mile time. I felt good and my breathing was steady.

As I neared the finish line, the energy surged. I sprinted past my supportive friends and family, signaling my triumph with a gesture of victory. Crossing the finish line, I was greeted with a medal depicting an “E” for El Paso, and I proudly learned that I finished 201st out of 1,408 participants. For my first race, I couldn't have asked for more.

After the race, I took selfies with my supporters and celebrated under the Michelob Ultra tent, where beer and food were served. I saved room for a treat later—a trip to a beloved Chinese buffet.

Once home, I checked my feet again. I was relieved to find only one new blister, and the pain in my left foot had diminished. Running 13.3 miles had worked out the stiffness I felt that morning.

The aftermath of such an accomplishment can feel anticlimactic, with the excitement fading into a mix of celebration and normalcy. Yet, the satisfaction of achieving something significant is rewarding.

You are more capable than you realize, and you might surprise yourself with your potential. Before pursuing something just to prove others wrong, remember that personal fulfillment is far more important. Challenge yourself for your own sake and know that someone out there, maybe even a stranger, is rooting for you. You've got this.

Chapter 2: Training Insights and Tips

Reflecting on my journey, I've learned that preparation is essential. For those interested in embarking on their first half marathon, I recommend a structured training plan.

To gain insights into what it's like to train as a beginner, check out the following video:

In this video, you’ll find valuable tips on training plans, running techniques, and shoe recommendations that can help you navigate your own path to race day.