Skip to main content

Pend Oreille Mothers Day Half Marathon

I didn't know what to feel as I waited for the gun to go off for the Pend Oreille Mother's Day half marathon in Newport just 6 days after a stellar race at Bloomsday. One thing's for sure: time seems to pass me by so quickly that I barely have time to write a recap before I've finished another event.

In hindsight, Bloomsday this year left me grinning. Just two weeks (See?!?!) after finishing the Boston Marathon, I felt so much more recovered than I have the last two marathons I've run. I crossed the finish line at Bloomsday was a personal best time, just 17 seconds shy of my 50-minute goal. I raced in Corporate Cup with the Royal Maniacs, blessed to be apart of a team whose members I work with each day. I enjoy them all. To top it off, we found out Monday morning we'd won our division.

This past Saturday, I had the opportunity to race in a small but up-and-coming race directed by Ken Eldore. He and his wife are the driving force behind the Priest Lake Multisports events. I have yet to participate in one of their races I didn't like. When I think of his events, I think of the wonderful scenery that each one imparts upon its participants. This race didn't disappoint.

The marathon started at 7am. A Boston Qualifier, ran out to a turn around before finishing in Newport. I (and 124 other half marathoners) had time to sleep in before starting our day on a bus that carted us to the start line approximately 11.5 miles out of Newport. We arrived at a small bible camp where Ken had a bonfire going to keep us warm until all three buses had arrived. Bryan and I warmed up, the national anthem played, and we started out on this scenic, flat course back toward Newport.

We positioned ourselves in the front. Mark Evans had already taken off with a young man on his heels. I decided to run only as fast as I had to. So, I ran alongside Bryan and right behind the first female, a well-paced member of the Swifts. When I say well-paced, I mean we ran 7-minute miles. Consistently.

Aid stations waited for us at every 2 miles. I only needed water at a couple and grabbed a GU gel at one to tide me over to the finish. What wonderful views of the Pend Oreille River. The river flanked us on the right, woods and farms on the left. A cool breeze wafted off the water and cooled my skin during the entire run.

By mile 11, I'd dropped my pacer and passed the second leading man to take second place overall. I no longer could see Mark ahead of me, but continued inching ever closer to Newport at a slightly faster clip than 7-minute/mile pace.

We finished in the heart of Newport, down "Main Street USA." Eric Ewing of Nomadz Racing waited for us at the finish, offering our official times. A young woman handed me a carnation and a medal, and I couldn't help but think what a great idea to recognize how important our mothers and families are. (This win was for you, Mama!) Volunteers had watermelon, oranges, bananas, and bagels available to help us refuel upon our return. I couldn't help but feel excited about my win, but even more encouraged by the tremendous potential in a well-directed, well-planned race. If you're looking for scenery and a great Boston qualifying race, consider this one.

Next up, Priest Lake Half Marathon.


Team BM cleaned up. Bryan placed 2nd overall male. 

Comments

  1. Hello Meghan, I'm new to your blog and just read through your Pend Oreille Mothers Day Half Marathon report. Excellent work! I'm now considering their marathon for next year. Could you comment on the temperature, sun exposure, and elevation during the event? I no longer reside in the NW but hope to run a more local event while visiting next year; however, I'm also looking for a course conducive to attaining a sub-three hour time. Any thoughts on this particular course or even others marathons in WA (either side of the cascades) or ID would be much appreciated. Thank you in advance, J

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My opinion...For what it's worth

My first Half Ironman 70.3 turned into Boise 29.3. I may be the only one to say that I respect the officials' judgment call on this one, because apparently, a few of my triathlete comrades lack sufficient brains themselves. The comments I'm reading on Facebook leave me pretty disturbed. Let me just put this out there: I entered this sport because it looked tough and challenging. It pushes anyone who enters these races to their ultimate limits and requires a demanding amount of time to complete the training necessary to succeed. I entered this sport because of the people. Healthy, smart, fit, inspiring, motivating. I can't think of a single person who has questioned my ability to participate in this sport. I entered this sport because anyone can do it. I passed people younger and older than me, some as old as 74. I watched one woman hobble along the run course, surely just on her first lap. She looked like her knees were going to cave in. Yet she was running. I did not ent

Pain loves misery. Misery loves company.

I remember running through complete darkness along the paved trail between Moscow and Pullman during my years studying at University of Idaho. Five years ago, my training consisted entirely of running. Cycling served as something to do on the weekends, and swimming didn’t even exist until my sophomore year. What I remember most, however, revolves around the early morning runs. I awoke at 4:30, donned my warmest clothes, started my GPS, and turned my headlamp on in preparation for eight to ten miles of farmland along a lonely stretch of highway. Running served as my outlet. I buried myself in 20+ credits of biology, chemistry, physics, and human anatomy courses to fill my time. And fill my time it did. So running every morning was my recourse to stay sane. Every. Lonely. Morning. It wasn’t until the thrill of riding my bike overtook me did I realize riding alone—training alone—hardly compared to the enjoyment of working out with other people. My dad always stressed the importance of r

Noosa Triathlon - The Grand Finale

I looked out into the surf and watched the waves churn and roll, crash, then churn and roll again. Supposedly, I signed up for this, along with the 7000 other athletes who stood on the shore with me, questioning their own sanity. These Aussies grew up swimming in this insanity on the daily, and their numbers far exceeded that of my fellow Americans. Nevertheless, I puckered up my American ass and tried to stand tall and confident to the waves. I watched Natalie Van Coevorden scheme and plan her strategy, pointing out toward the buoys. Not until the gun went off did I realize that plan involved running at least 100 meters down the shoreline before we jumped into the water. Interesting. I never would have thought to do that, considering my open water swimming experience in ocean rip and waves is virtually non-existent. When confronted with a situation such as this, I have learned to fake it. Pretend I know what I'm doing. I can do it. I can swim with the best of them. Then I jump