Follow up: Dear Sweet Baby Jesus of Running (warning: expect some laughing and some tears)

17 Nov
"That's 5! Enough for a hand job!!"

“That’s 5! Enough for a hand job!!”

See that little blonde holding the sign...she's one of the reasons why I run. ❤️

See that little blonde holding the sign…she’s one of the reasons why I run. ❤️

Whoever said “If you dream it, you can do it” probably meant you actually have to fall asleep and dream it. Saturday night went like any pre-race prep for me with the exception of sleep (like not one bit of it). The wheels turned. My heart raced. The nerves wouldn’t settle. And then the alarm went off. So off I went.

Prepped and ready to go and totally feeling like donkey shit(I assume donkey shit doesn’t feel great…I don’t know this for a fact), I laced up and headed to the starting line. These are my thoughts and experiences:

Mile one was a warm up, and the run through the tunnel with the crowd felt amazing. I can feel the energy. But why the hell is my mouth so dry.

Mile two: It’s a little breezy. Why does my whole entire body feel like its got the prickles. I think I may puke. Look…there’s  the three hour pacer. I’ll stick with her.

Mile 3: I’m totally going to hurl. I’m dizzy. WTF? Why am I dizzy at mile 3. Am I dying. God!!!! Am I going to die at mile 3 behind pace. What a douche…who the hell dies at mile 3?  Pull your shit together! (I laugh at this now) I may not finish. How the hell will I pull off the New York City Marathon if I can’t get past mile 3…or if I die first.

Halfway between three and four…I had an enlightening moment because I saw her. My little girl. My amazing friends and my daughter were standing on the street jumping up and down and cheering. . She was holding a sign and looking proud. She is the reason I started running. The reason why I got healthy.  I need her to know she can do anything if she tries.  I can only show her because words are just words.  How the hell do I give up on that? I don’t…I just keep going.

So I stood a little straighter, gave them all kisses and off I go. That’s when things got a little more amusing to me.

Miles 4 and 5: Am I running in an effing Hurricane?  I am not aerodynamically shaped enough for this shit. This wind isn’t lifting me and my ass certainly isn’t flying. My hat is getting ready to go.  God, why can’t I just be a Kenyan today.

10K split:1:32:19. Dammit!!!!! I am way off where I need to be. Way off than my best. Fuck this wind already. I have screwed my goal. ( I really did drop the F bomb and I’m not sugar coating it.)

Then just over the bridge, I see the wheelchair competitors and I feel like such a dip shit and whiner. They endure struggles every day far worse than my measly 13.1 mile struggle and here I am feeling sorry for myself. So I put my big girl panties on and muddle through. (And no I didn’t physically put them on because like a good portion of runners, panties don’t work for me.)

Then goes the tough run down the beach. The wind was even more brutal but I like all of the others fought for the finish. At the ten mile mark an amazing man went in for the high five and my calf totally seized up. I have never experienced anything like that pain while racing. So I hobbled, stretched, walked a bit and knew I could run slower but that I couldn’t speed up or I was done. The medal is a bottle opener. I can’t fail and not get a bottle opener for crying out loud!

A mile before the finish line I get the magic text. Siri reads it to me and I cry like a baby. “Don’t be discouraged. You can still finish and we are all here at the finish line for you.” and then another “Lady, you got this-we believe in you.” Tears pouring, salt and sand on my face, that was what I needed to get me the next half mile.

A half mile before the finish I see an angel, well sort of ! My running coach’s amazing friend is there waiting to run me in.  He talks me through the last half mile pointing out every positive.  Our scenery, how brutal the wind was for  everyone, how amazing I was doing…that the finish line was coming. I was almost there.

And just like that I got through the finish line.  And yes as embarrassing as it is I did dry heave.   My family and friends were there. My bottle opener medal was waiting for me. And in that instant, I realized that my goal was the journey.  That for my next half marathon, I don’t want to think about my pace…I want to enjoy the race.  I want to enjoy the people, the signs, the cowbell, the scenery, the hurricane force winds. The more I concentrate on the time, the less I enjoy it.  And why the hell would I ever run 13.1 if I didn’t get to enjoy parts of it. By the way, I still want to be a Kenyan for the day…but only if I can look good in those runner speedos.

I would truly like to thank everyone who encouraged me. Siri read your texts to me unless you said the “F” word…she refused to read those. I got them all and they mattered. Special thanks to my cheering squad and family, my coach, and that “Crazy Ever After” blogger (http://crazyeverafter.com) who talked me though a rough spot on Las Olas.  My favorite after half marathon quote from her “Congratulations! That’s 5!! Enough for a hand job!!!” (Now you know why we’re friends, right?)  She is my first and forever half marathon partner in crime. Check out her blog. She rocks.

 

Quotes of the weekend:

“Not all races are PR performances, but they are all learning experiences and will ultimately make you a better runner.” LD

“Always have goals, both big and small, without them you are a rudderless ship in life, not just running.” LD

Peace out for now…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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