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Rock 'n' roll and RUN! |
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Monday, 21 January 2008 |
 The Benton Courier’s Jillian Duke, right, finishes P.F. Chang’s Rock ‘N’ Roll Arizona Half-Marathon in Phoenix with her friend, Beth Sauer of Tempe, Ariz. The runners finished the 13.1-mile race in 1:55.
I rocked!  Picking up their running bibs and other pertinent race information at the health expo before the Rock ‘N’ Roll Half-Marathon are the Courier’s Jillian Duke, right, and her friend, Beth Sauer.
Last Sunday I ran in the P.F. Chang’s Rock ‘N’ Roll Arizona Half-Marathon with my good friend, Beth. Beth lives in Tempe, Ariz., which is to Phoenix what Benton is to Little Rock. We became friends in eighth grade when we both lived in Flagstaff, Ariz., up in the mountains.
The 13.1-mile race began in downtown Phoenix by the state Capitol, and I have to say Arkansas has at least one thing on Arizona — a beautiful, traditional-looking Capitol. But I digress. The race then took us through Scottsdale and ended in Tempe by Sun Devil Stadium, home of Arizona State University.
Participating in this event was the most wonderful accomplishment of my life. When I returned to work, proudly wearing my medal around my neck, a co-worker said she would have thought marrying my husband, Ricky, would be the most wonderful event of my life so far.
She’s right. It was a monumental event, but completing the half-marathon was something I trained for and toiled over for no one else but me. I’ve never worked so hard for something.
It was 12 weeks of sticking to a workout schedule, even through the holidays. I began my Thanksgiving Day with a four-mile run, which made eating that extra serving of oyster dressing that much more enjoyable.
As the race approached, I was worried about two things: Running at a higher altitude and with a partner. Little Rock is about 280 feet above sea level; Phoenix about 1,000 feet. I have great friends and family here, but they aren’t runners, so I was hitting the streets solo.
Ricky and I arrived in Phoenix a few days before the race, which gave my body a chance to become acquainted again with the dry air. And Beth and I went for a short jog the day before the race to keep our bodies loose and test our running compatibility. Good thing we were a match.
In fact, you can just call us the running divas. That’s what everyone on the sidelines called us as they cheered us on during the race.
We wore matching pink T-shirts that read “running divas” on the front. Our matching pink and black short (very short) shorts said “track star” on one side. They were accompanied by black leggings. The back of the shirts read “flaunt it.” The announcer at the finish line noted that he had never seen two runners looking so good after running 13 miles.
In keeping with the theme, I thought it’d be cute to wear some thin headbands I found at one of my favorite stores. Beth wore the black one and I wore the pink glittery one, which Ricky said made it easier to spot us at the finish line.
“There were a lot of pink shirts,” he told me after the race. “But I saw your sparkly head come around the corner, and I knew y’all had made it.”
Maybe the headbands attracted the cheerers to us, too. I have a newfound respect for cheerleaders after competing in the half-marathon. They provided much-needed energy. We had our “shot blocks,” which taste like a combination of Gummy Bears and Fruit Roll-ups, to munch on for energy. But nothing could replace the applause, “Go, running divas,” and high-fives that Beth and I received along the way.
I imagine the various high school cheer groups, parents, spouses and children standing by to wave to loved ones went home that day pretty tired, too. I send them a thousand thank yous for their encouragement. I’m also so grateful for the many volunteers who kept me hydrated by handing me water at various miles.
Speaking of energy, music is always a good source — for me anyway. At each mile or so, a different band was rocking out. Even though my body was tied up in its running motion, I couldn’t help but clap, snap and bop my head in sync to the tunes.
Beth and I have only two complaints about the race: Some of the bands lacked pep. The music was great, but, for example, the blues doesn’t provide the necessary upbeat rhythm when running your heart out. And some bands weren’t even playing when we ran by. Come on musicians, we know it’s tiring. If we can run for hours, though, you can beat your drums and strum your guitars.
I saw some unexpected things on the route, which thankfully was much flatter from what I’m used to encountering in hilly Arkansas. I don’t mind inclines, but 13 miles of them? No, thank you.
About two miles in, I noticed on the ground single gloves, a pair of gloves and even sweaters. Beth explained (it was her second half-marathon) runners shed these things not worrying about ever seeing them again. She said following the race that Goodwill representatives come around and pick up the leftovers for their stores. Waste not, want not. Way to go, Goodwill!
Mile 10, or thereabouts, was tough. No music, no people cheering. But nothing a shot block or two couldn’t cure. That was the time Beth and I talked about things we haven’t had a chance to discuss because of the physical distance between us.
We had had a long night before the race. We got out of sunny Phoenix on Saturday and traveled two hours north to see our other good friend, Amber, and I wanted to show Ricky the place I called home from fifth to 10th grade. Ricky was intrigued by the landscape and how we went from 800 feet to 6,000 feet above sea level in an hour’s time.
The small (but growing) Route 66 town of Flagstaff greeted us with snow on the ground and atop the San Francisco Peaks. Amber doesn’t partake in snow sports, but she said it’s been a good season for skiers and snowboarders and sledders. We stuck to eating at our favorite burrito place and walking around the historic downtown. We had just peeked into the community theater that we all had volunteered for in high school and were on our way to more shops, when Beth’s husband, Eric, slipped on some icy steps and had a hard fall. A trip to the emergency room revealed two broken ribs.
Needless to say, the anticipated stress-free night before the race wasn’t so calm. Not running crossed Beth’s mind, but sweet Eric wouldn’t have it. “She’s worked too hard for this,” he said. Beth was a trouper and awoke that morning ready to run.
I awoke with Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” in my head. In a few short hours, it was over.
My sore legs couldn’t take away the euphoria I experienced after crossing the finish line. Chill bumps came over me; my eyes welled up with happiness. All I could do was hug my friend.
Before the race, Beth said, “Here’s the start to many more races together.”
I can’t wait.
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Razorbacks