I ran 13 miles and all I got was this artichoke

I like to call people names during races. Not in a mean-spirited way, but definitely in a competitive way.

Last weekend was the Artichoke Run, the third half marathon I've done, and this one was the most challenging, yet most rewarding so far. 

I started the name calling with "Mexico" a young man wearing a Mexico soccer jersey. He was running at my pace for the first 3 miles, which included an uphill battle along Pescadero Road, featuring 40 mph wind gusts and a steady rain. I wanted to beat him. Somewhere between the turnaround for the 10K-ers and the turnaround for us, though, he picked up his pace and just kept getting faster. 

Push it! Running the last few yards of the Artichoke 1/2 Marathon in Pescadero

There was also "Stompy." He annoyed the bejesus out of me. After about 4 miles on Pescadero Road, we turned around. The wind was at my back and I found myself sprinting downhill. Soon we turned onto a smaller road, surrounded and protected my massive Redwood trees. Stompy had a very different running strategy than mine. He would run at about a 8:30 or 9 minute mile pace for a half mile or so, then walk for a bit, then run again. I wouldn't have been so annoyed if 1) we weren't constantly passing each other and 2) he didn't stomp and tilt forward like a1 year old learning how to walk. I mean, that can't be good for your joints, right? On top of it, he was wearing a poncho which flapped in the wind (his other name was "Flappy"). 

The "Loud Girls" were nice enough, but I got tired of listening to their boring conversation, so I passed them. Ha!

"Black Clothes" was my target. I passed her and her friend along the Redwood trail, but she had a burst of speed and passed me during the last 2 miles. I held back for a bit, starting to feel the mileage, and her friend passed me a 1/2 mile later. 

All of a sudden I thought, "Jean, this is when it counts - not the first mile, but the last mile!" Yeah, I know...cheesy. But it worked. I passed her friend and set my sights on Black Clothes, now a good quarter mile ahead. I pushed and pushed, sprinting full force once we came around the last bend and the tiny town of Pescadero's flashing red stop light was in sight. I never caught up to her, but I definitely narrowed her lead.

The most inspirational person was "Old Guy." I'll offend my older readers, I realize, but that's what I called him. He was likely in his late 60s, maybe 70s and boy, did he have a kick at the end. I even told him at the finish line how impressed I was with his energy burst.

There was also Jean Machine. Not wind, nor rain, nor miles could stop her. I'd say that's pretty inspirational, too.