Resurrecting this old blog seems fitting. What happened between that last post in September 2014 and now? Not a lot of running, that's for sure.
Training went well in September 2014, and aside from some lower leg discomfort which was quickly remedied by a trip to the PT, I felt fantastic. I ended up running *the* best half marathon of my running career. No, it wasn't (quite) a PR, but it was the first time running the half distance that I truly felt comfortable. I tackled the hills like a boss and felt amazing.
I was on a runners high the whole week following the race: I tackled a massive hill workout, I did a semi-long run, and did an easy paced run that involved hills. At no point did I feel pain. 3 days later I stepped out for my 15 mile run. That's when my (running) world came crashing down.
I could tell within the first mile that something wasn't right....then it happened. A stabbing pain on the outside of my right knee. I'd walk and it would be OK. Try to run, stabbing kill-me-now pain. I had a marathon to train for and stupidly pushed on for 11 miles of agony. Stretching every few steps, limping, cursing, crying. Why was this happening???
A quick check in with Dr. Google and I was sure it was the dreaded ITBS. I called my PT and continued to stretch and all that jazz. One week later, I was signed up to run a half marathon. I started, but very quickly knew it was not going to happen. I took my first DNF. I sat on the bus and cried.
I worked intensively with a PT and Chiropractor, to no avail. Instead of getting better, things were getting worse. A *severely* inflamed IT Band issue turned into a hip flexor strain. By December, I couldn't even walk. It probably didn't help that I had just gotten a job in retail. And it was December. I was working on my feet about 50+ hours a week. I hadn't run in 2 months. Now, I couldn't even walk. But, I still had plans to attempt a marathon in early January.
Why? Well, I had talked a friend into going with me and she was going to run another race that weekend. The trip was paid for and I had really been looking forward to it. So, I drove myself to Florida praying for a miracle.
In my heart, I knew the outcome. I knew my level of pain on a daily basis. My only hope was that I could stay just ahead of the Balloon Ladies. I was in tears the night before the race. I knew it was not meant to be. But, I had my bib, I was there. Only thing left to do was cross the start line. I literally limped to my corral. To my surprise, it started off much better than expected. It wasn't pain free, but tolerable. In fact, my first 10 miles were under the minimum pace requirement. But, the pain rapidly started to increase. My mile time plummeted. I just barely beat the 16 mile sweep point. A medic was wrapping my knee when the balloon ladies passed me. I had to stay with them in order to not get swept. At this point, it was over.
I tried to stay with them, but they slipped further and further ahead. At the turn in to WWOS, I stopped. The bike medics called for a van while I sobbed uncontrollably sitting there alone on that curb. I was about to take my second DNF.
I think taking a DNF at Disney is a million times harder than anywhere else. At my first, I didn't get a medal. I didn't get a congrats, I was just left alone to deal with my disappointment. At Disney, you don't get that luxury. When I was helped off the medic van, I was asked if I wanted to go to the hospital (in hindsight, I should have). Then I was taken into the tent where a volunteer handed me a medal. I.LOST.IT. I sobbed and shook my head. I didn't finish. She offered again and I cried more and protested I didn't earn it. When I wouldn't take it, she put it with my things. I would not put it on. I also took my bib off. However, despite not wearing the medal or bib, it was clear that I was a runner. And, every.single.person I passed seemed to say "congrats". And, every.single.time I could feel my heart breaking all over again.
It took me a couple of hours, but then I found this sense of peace. I focused on what I DID accomplish. I had run farther than I ever had in my entire life. (My longest run ever had been a half marathon.) I was injured and hadn't run in 2 months prior to the race. But, I still managed to make it almost 17 freaking miles. Other than the pain in my leg, I felt good. My energy level and legs felt fine (aside from the injury). I know in my heart, that had I not been injured, I would have finished.
I KNOW I CAN run a marathon. I knew it as I sat on the curb crying and I know it today. I know that I can do it. That day just wasn't my day. And, I learned something else: Everyone who supported me on that journey was still there for me. Everyone was still proud of me for giving it my all. And, the world didn't end because I failed. It is true that you learn more from failure, than from success.
I ended up taking some time off to heal. It hasn't been a smooth return, but I'm working on it. And, I just signed up to tackle that marathon again. This time, I'll wear that medal.
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