Pride Cometh After A Fall

I was going to recap yesterday's 5k. I'll still do that this week. Today's initially innocuous run just took precedence in my tiny brain, though. Fair warning: there are some gross photos and fairly raw emotion included. Drama? Yes. Long-Winded? Mmm. Hm. Tempted to keep reading? Probably not.

If you prefer to spend your time reading something funnier, lighter and more intelligent, please visit my sissy's new blog and enjoy this post.

Having not run more than 17 miles since my mess of a marathon in December, I planned to knock out a solid 20-miler before this much-anticipated event. Training has been solid. Other than some overall fatigue, I've been feeling great. So, when preparing for this morning's long run, I set a goal.

Keep it easy, but finish with an average pace you'll be happy and confident about. That actual number's not important to the story, but I had a small range in mind.

Unfortunately, even after a relaxing night, good sleep and plenty of hydration, I woke up feeling pretty groggy and un-motivated. Coffee helped and I was out the door with little trepidation. It was (Florida) cool, very damp and foggy. The morning was still dark, quiet and almost silent. Everything was shrouded in creepy, heavy mist and it was too early for even die-hard dogwalkers to be out.

not quite as dark as this run ,but you get the idea

A lot of my runs begin this way. Normally I enjoy the peace. It's a chance to clear my thoughts, plan my week, set small goals and focus on happy moments my family and I have spent together, recently. Today, though, the dark miles passed very slowly, both physically and mentally. Yesterday's race was taking it's toll on my legs and I ran out of happy-go-lucky way too quickly.

Sunrise happened and helped my mood, immensely. And then it didn't. Oddly, for me, I felt very lonely. While most of my runs are solo, I was suddenly craving company. There were overwhelmingly ugly feelings of jealousy towards my running buddies I knew would be enjoying their miles with friends, today.

where were all these guys when I needed them?!

 

Then my phone rang. Sometimes, while "in the groove", the distraction can be a slight annoyance. Today's call was perfectly timed, though. My dear, sweet husband wanted to know where I'd be so he and the boys could come offer "on-course" support. We picked a place and I hung up with a smile to replace my former, sour frown.

 

Miles 8-14 were mostly a blissful blur. I threw in a challengingly faster mile, turned on my audiobook and looked forward to seeing my guys in a short while. The weather prevented me from even working up a real sweat. My legs were getting achy and fatigued, but in a good and normal way. The city was wide awake, finally, and the bevvy of new activity around me was a welcome distraction.

 

When I came up to The Husband and Middlest, sans vehicle, I realized they'd be hoofing it with me, for a bit. That brilliant idea was such an awesome surprise! Middlest rode his scooter (not so fast!) in front of us, and The Husband and I caught up on fun stories while he tried to slow his (much fresher) legs. After a couple sips of water, I left him with my half-full handheld as it was getting annoying to carry. With less than five miles to go, and the temperature being so lovely, I'd be fine without any more fuel.

 

They honked, waved, cheered and drove back home. I returned the wave and rallied my heavy legs to finish this run strong.

Quick disclaimer : "strong" and "fast" are not interchangeable, in this particular context. I'm a firm believer in the benefits of running my long days at an easy pace.



 

I'd gotten about a quarter-mile away before I tripped on a minuscule crack in the sidewalk.

 

My body went flying and skidding. As was the case with my last fall I simply didn't have any spare energy to try to stop the crash. I slid on my palms, scraped my arm, hip, knee and hand.

 

Two things registered, immediately.

1. OW!

2. There was a line of cars waiting to pull into the church entrance where I was hideously sprawled and a dozen or so congregation members, in the parking lot, staring at me in horror.

 

Fact Number 2 got me to my feet faster than I could've ever imagined. I surveyed the important damage (Garmin ok? Ipod still as intact as ever?) ,while I ran away from the humiliating scene. My body, while bruised and stinging, was still moving as it should be. That fact, along with the realization that my phone was in the handheld water bottle I'd sent with my husband, forced me to continue this run I so desperately wanted to abruptly end.

 

When I reached the 16th mile, and remembered that the next few stretches would be full of tall (Florida) hills, I finally paused my watch and fully stopped to survey the damage. I guess I was hoping that it was much less benign than I thought it was? I stopped the exploratory searches when I saw this:

spoiler: I survived and took pics after the run

 

While I now, rationally, realize it's simply a scraped knee, at that moment it was enough to drive me to actual tears. Frustration (why does this keep happening to me?!), Embarrassment (which isn't an emotion I generally succumb to), Exhaustion and Defeat overwhelmed me. Glancing up the steep hill, I saw people coming, so I slowly and sadly stumbled on. The thought crossed my mind to ask them if they had a phone so I could call my husband for a ride. By the time I reached them, though, my stupid crying fit was over and I'd decided to keep running. My pace was abysmal, my spirit was dead and my freaking bruised hands hurt like a b*#)%!

 

With everything now aching, inside and out, I shakily managed to switch my ipod back on to drown everything out with some music. When it started filling my ears, brain and heart, it was like a switch was flipped within me, as well.

 

I picked up my head, focused on the wisdom of Van Halen ("Right Now? It's Everything!") and my form, and destroyed the next hill.

 

Now, well into the seventeenth mile, I stopped looking at my watch but remembered my earlier goals for this training run. My legs started churning out beautiful-feeling movements but my breathing stayed soft and easy.

 

When Dave Grohl started singing about his "Hero", there wasn't a doubt in my mind he was referring to me.

 

Thinking back to my very first 20-miler, and the overwhelming sense of emotion and pride I felt when I knew I was going to finish it strongly, I started to get choked up, once again. That run had been prior to my injury, . While I'd managed to heal and get my fitness to a place where I could giddily complete my very first marathon, I'd very rarely felt "back", during my subsequent runs.

 

Here's the thing about running. It can, without warning or provocation, turn into an absolutely spiritual experience. It's not something you can plan or force. Some miles, some races, some impromptu jaunts with friends, just totally morph into something that cannot be explained without sounding like a complete dork. This, obviously, doesn't stop me from trying...

 



When I finished today's 20 miles, and realized they were, overall, even faster than my pre-injury ones(complete with fall and blubbering like a baby!), I couldn't decide whether I wanted to holler, cry (again) or just let my proud smile overtake my tired face.

 

So I did all three.

bruised & bloodied hip

 

curious about how I managed to scrape the palm AND back of the same hand

 

 

 

 

 



Day 21, The Final Chapter

Only 3 more days of Adventrageous. My gift to all of you will be No More Daily Posting.
You're welcome.

Chapter Four: The Aftermath

 

I drank some cold water and got quick recaps on how the half and full had gone for my peeps who'd already finished.

 

If you're reading this and know the people who were there, you already know everyone's results. If you're a reader who doesn't know those people, you probably don't care. Thus, we'll move on with wrapping up my story.

 

I felt awful for finishing in such a crappy, lethargic mood. The Husband, my sister and her in-laws had all been waiting to cheer me on. I did my best to smile and not look like a total jerk. It's unlikely that I was successful with that, but I did make an effort.

my attempt at "chipper"

 

The Husband walked with me over to the medical tent to get some bandaids. They had me stand very still while they sprayed the biggest scrapes with some antiseptic junk. One medic asked if I wanted a banana and a few seconds later I had one, in hand. While they were trying to clean dirt and road bits out of me I was apologizing over and over for how disgusting I was and thanking them repeatedly.

 

Suddenly I couldn't figure out if my eyes were open or closed. As I was trying to decipher this new development, I managed to wheeze "dizzzzzy"...or something like that. I was plopped in a chair and ice bags were strategically placed. Turns out it's not healthy to run for hours then stand, completely still, in the sunshine.

 

So, that was pretty cool, too.

 

My sister wheeled her stroller, complete with my lovely niece, into the public restroom with me when I was all bandaged and could stand again. She was unlucky enough to get to hear me ramble on, completely without filter, about the race. Here's how the restroom scene broke down :

 

Good news: I'd packed an entire change of clothes and one of these magical delights! I can still vividly recall the relief I felt after peeling off my dirty stuff and replacing it all with clean, dry, non-matching items.

 

Bad news: I experienced another, new (to me) marathon treat! My foot cramped and deformed itself, so badly, that I almost screamed and couldn't figure out how to fix it. Holding onto bathroom stall walls, staring at your newly redesigned, throbbing, foot is every bit as fun as it sounds.

 

Good news: My sissy reached under the door to save the day. She massaged that dirty old thing 'til it looked human, again, and I could manage to get a sock on it. (thank you, again, sissy!)

 

We re-joined our group, in the middle of the field, to cheer on the other finishers. Everyone got to share their tales while we stretched and wished it wasn't getting so darned hot. Then, right after the 5-hour mark, the guy with the microphone announced that they'd run out of medals.

 

This racing company has a good and long-standing reputation, and I hope it stays that way. For real, though. How do you run out of medals? Their excuse was that they'd thought more people would drop out, due to the heat...

 

This meant the poor people who'd been running the longest AND in the most heat, were going to be sent home bling-less. Realizing we had three first-timers in our group, the decision was made to meet them at the finish line and give them our medals. Only after I'd happily passed mine on to my running friend, did I realize it was pretty blood-splattered. (sorry, Mike!)

 

When everyone was done, we went out to try to refuel, together. I had zero appetite, but enjoyed the company immensely.

beers and waters, all around

 

managed a few loaded fries

 

Went home.

Crashed.

Hobbled around the next day.

blah, blah, blah.

 

I'm still not in a real "zen" place regarding this race, so I'll keep my current thoughts to myself, for now.

 

Thank you, anyone who was there to support me, that day.

 

Thank you to anyone else who thought of me, that day, and/or read this whole saga. I am grateful for an outlet to recap all that mess and especially thankful that anyone took the time to re-live it, with me.

 



 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Day 20, Chapter 3

If you're not caught up on this saga, feel free to read chapter 1 and chapter 2.  Otherwise, lets all move on to :

Chapter Three: In Which I Bypass The Wall (and Hit the Sidewalk, Instead)

 

 

Cautiously optimistic about the reprieve I seem to be experiencing from my "internal issues", I took a peek at my Garmin after passing the 19th mile marker. I'd stopped checking, many miles ago, when the numbers were too disheartening and I was totally wrapped up in damage control.

 

What I saw gave me a glimmer of new hope.

 

While the 3:40 goal was a distant memory, I really could still pull out a PR. It took an inordinately long time to do the math, but I finally calculated that it would actually be possible to run only slightly faster than my current pace, for the remaining miles, and finish faster than I had in my first marathon. I was still pretty grumpy about the whole experience, but decided to pull it together, turn that (literal and mental) corner and finish this thing strong(ish).

 

Only there was a moving SUV in my way. (ha! You totally thought this was the sidewalk part, didn't you?!) 



I'm still not sure if the driver had accidentally gotten into the runners' lane and couldn't get out, if they thought they were pacing us or if he/she was simply a moron. (I guess that option would cover all the others, too) Regardless, it was ridiculous. The vehicle kept changing speeds and was taking up the entire lane. The only way around it would've been to run into oncoming traffic and I simply wasn't that smart desperate, yet.

At one point, after almost running into the bumper when the car came to a sudden stop, I sidestepped and received a disgusted yell and nasty face from another runner.

Really, lady? You thought, out of courtesy, I ought to throw myself into a Sports Utility Vehicle so as not to break your spectacular stride?

Wow. I thought I'd be over that little moment, by now. Apparently not.

Eventually the Surprise Car Obstacle was gone but my already sad pace had suffered, further. The heat was rising, the humidity was at about 100% (for real) and I was finding myself unable to take a deep breath.

Good times.

When I saw the 20th mile marker, I almost cried.

Here's the part I could never understand, until I'd been through a rough marathon. You will, potentially, lose control of your body and brain. I'd read other recaps and heard other stories about "I couldn't imagine how I was going to run that last 5k", etc., but never understood how someone could get to that point.

When I saw that I had a mere 10k left, of this Race O' Death, I nearly had a breakdown. The distance that would, sometimes, be a warmup for me, seemed utterly daunting.

How. the &*$^@ was I ever going to run for nearly an hour more?

Prior to this marathon, that thought just seems silly.
After the marathon, that thought just seems silly.
During the marathon...that thought made perfect, bone-chilling, mind-numbing sense.

It was then that I took my first walk break. Yes, you're reading that right. Other than the bathroom stops, I hadn't yet stopped running. At all. The smart person outside of my body was freaking screaming at me to keep running and squeeze out a PR. The mushy brain inside my skull, though, would just not allow it.

I couldn't remember a single mantra...couldn't really even remember why I was putting myself through this mess and had exactly zero happy thoughts, at that time.

even the thought of this little celebratory treat failed to improve my mood



Just after the 21st mile, or so, I saw a friend from the running group. He was walking. He and I had similar goals and training so the sight of him was simultaneously sobering and encouraging. I was extremely sad that he was in the same boat, but felt a bit better knowing I wasn't alone in my misery.

We talked a little. He asked if I had anything to eat. When I offered him the gel I had left he looked like he was going to barf. I quickly shoved it back in the pouch and tried to get him to run with me.

That lasted for about ten seconds. Somehow his deathmarch gave me strength, though, so I picked up the pace when he dropped back to continue his walk.

A PR was still within reach and I had my 14th wind! We turned off a side street and onto a pretty busy road. A duo in front of me came to a complete stop, so I hopped onto the sidewalk to go around.

When I fell, I didn't even really feel myself tripping or going down. I simply noticed I was suddenly skidding on the sidewalk, hitting both hands and both knees. I remember actually making an "OOF" sound as the little breath I had left was forcibly slammed out of me.

Without bothering to survey the damage, I shakily stood up and started running again. Just about the time I looked down and saw blood dripping down my legs, fingers and arms, I realized I still hadn't really caught my breath. That's when I learned Hard Fall + Extreme Fatigue = Projectile Vomit.

Blessedly, as I didn't have much left in my digestive system, it was very brief.

Show of hands : Who, at this point of the story, is dying to run a marathon with me ? For any of you with hands raised, let me give you the full picture all the horrified spectators got to see for the rest of the race :

I took one blood-soaked hand, smeared it across my sweat, snot and vomit-splattered face to "clean up". That attractive look, paired with the blood and dirt-caked knees, and clothes decorated with every other bodily fluid known to man brought on some pretty comical reactions. The cheery smiles and pumping fists slowly gave way to frozen hands and horrified gasps.

"GO...ohhhh.!" "Oh my. "
"You can DO...oooh. maybe not..."
"Only two more miles to....holy *%$#!"

My weirdly-wired RunnerBrain didn't know any better than to just keep shuffling towards that finish line. The knees that had taken the brunt of my klutziness, though, had other ideas. I almost fell, again, when they locked up, completely. I was unable to even walk. Scooting over to the side, I stopped to massage them until I could move, again. That happened about five times.

I finally just laughed. I'm sure that was the icing on the CrazyCake the onlookers were witnessing, but it felt good to just stop caring. After that, I really don't remember feeling anything else. Physically and mentally I was completely numb.

When I crossed the finish line, four hours and five minutes after I'd started running, I felt no emotion. I wasn't happy to be done.
I wasn't sad about my finishing time.
I wasn't even registering the exhaustion.

I half-heartedly grabbed my medal and hobbled over to meet my ever-patient husband, and spectating sister.

You didn't really think there wasn't more drama to come, did you?

Adventrageously Aching

Just a brief note, for Day 17.

The first half of my second marathon, yesterday, was perfectly and constistently paced.

The second half involved every. single. race nightmare you can imagine. (minus actual death, of course)

Right now, if you're thinking "but, surely that didn't happen, right?"

It did.

"but, wait...what about that? Did that happen, too?!"

It did.

Thank you for all of your cheering  and support, cyber or otherwise. Marathon Days are amazing, regardless of the outcome. I'm glad I have such a cool community to share these experiences with.

I'll leave you with a couple photos (don't look if you're bothered by blood). I'd love to leave you with a photo of my medal (Spoiler :  I did finish that thing!) but I don't have one. That story will be in the recap, too.

kinda fuzzy. My hand's covered in blood and cuts.

and my knees...