I ran the MEC Calgary Race #1 Half Marathon last weekend with a dirty, dirty hangover. I went out for happy hour after work the night before, which turned into happy-5-hours. I reasoned that drinking wine was technically carbo-loading, that the 21.1 km that awaited me the next day was not a goal race and that IT WILL BE FINE. I sloppily made a bowl of pasta and ate it at 11pm before setting my alarm for 6:30 am and drifting off to sleep.
The next morning I was able to execute my typical pre-race routine of fueling with a Tim Hortons coffee, bagel and (one, the secret is one) timbit, along with a liter of water on the drive from Banff to Calgary. I felt horrible, but could still stand to bear my existence. I did know that I would be able to complete the race but that I was about to undergo some serious self-inflicted punishment. My expectations going in pre-hangover were for a time between 1:35 and 1:40 and I decided I would still push for that from the start, and adjust if my hangover decided to punch me in the gut (which it 200% did).
I thought I got away with murder when I hit my first km in 4:17, ahead of pace (goal pace was closer to 4:30-4:45 min per km), and it didn’t feel that horrible. I AM YOUNG AND INVINCIBLE! I eased my pace by choice for the next few km’s to make sure I wasn’t going out too fast but it quickly ceased to be a decision to slow down and became forced. My body said NICE TRY LIZ and my tummy coiled itself into the gnarliest case of gut rot I think I’ve ever experienced. I AM OLD AND DECREPID! Luckily for me there were aid stations every 2.5 km and I was able to keep the hangover stomach gremlins at bay enough to keep a decent pace by walking through each station and throwing back a cup full of nuun and/or water.
I had time to reflect during this ride on the pain train. I was definitely disappointed in myself that I had treated my body like shit. As a runner you invest in training hard, eating well, stretching and a myriad of other things that make you feel good, which I think makes hangovers feel even more stupid, and this one brought me down lowwwww. During the race I also thought about the last post I wrote and how I wanted to try and turn this boozy debacle into something positive. At the halfway point I realized I was in second place, with the lead female in near sight and I used that as motivation to do the very best I could under the circumstances. I could not go back and un-drink all the wine, and I was having trouble keeping the pace I needed to even make it under 1:40 now, but if I could just keep that speedy lady ahead in sight then I could at least hold on to something. If there is one good thing to take away from this, I’m pleased with how I sucked it up; and it did feel justified to suffer just a bit. I finished in an official time of 1:40:08, 20 seconds behind first place, 17 seconds from a personal best.
I have to admit, I am relatively impressed and surprised by the time I was able to do considering the state I was in. But I am certainly not proud of it, and that’s too bad. On one hand, I don’t want to take myself too seriously, I went out and had a really fun night. It’s a little funny that I inflicted this disaster upon myself. But on the other hand, I am disappointed and left feeling embarrassed, like I am seriously too old for this shit.A shameful feeling of self-sabotage lingers, and I know that I could really hurt myself if I pushed my body to that extreme under those circumstances again. Luckily, there are many more races to be run.
My thoughts bounce between the extremes of “dude – stop taking yourself so seriously” and “you are an irresponsible moron”. Every time I end up with an apocalyptic hangover (it doesn’t happen very often, but OH JEEZ when it does), especially when it interferes with me completing or at least enjoying a run, I really question what it would take to completely eliminate alcohol from my life and if it would be worth it to avoid these lows; to not have to feel the way I felt about myself on Saturday. The truth is that the social implications of being a non-drinker really freak me out. I feel like I would lose a certain social bond with people, that I wouldn’t feel like I fit in to a lot of social situations. 99% of the time I drink responsibly, happy hour actually only lasts an hour, a glass of wine on date night, an après-ski Caesar (double, extra spicy duh). I wonder to which point I am willing to endure the odd bad day of hangover shame that comes with being someone that drinks occasionally, knowing that despite my best intentions, sometimes it turns into too many.
What shall I take away from this, erm, ordeal? Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, maybe I’m not, maybe there is a better middle ground to be found, maybe I should embrace it and channel my time towards training for the beer mile. I can probably assume that my goal between 1:35 and 1:40 would actually have been very attainable if I had spent my evening hydrating, resting my legs, eating pasta and sleeping LIKE A NORMAL LOGICAL PERSON. At this point, I won’t make the claim that I AM NEVER DRINKING AGAIN, but I will sure as shit promise that I am never doing a hungover half (or any hungover race for that matter) again.
This one time I went running 