I attempted 22 miles on Saturday. Weather was perfect and cool. I felt great. I’d hydrated, eaten well, rested as if this were the actual marathon. I took it nice and slow. I REALLY felt this was going to go well.
The pain started at mile 4.
The tears started at mile 5 when my pace went to hell because I was gimping.
The run/walk started at mile 6.
My mind started grasping for yet more ways around this:
Head straight for the pool.
Try a do-over in a couple of days.
Resume running right now and just see…
But I knew I had to pull the plug and let this one go.
I walked it in and, like so many other days this summer, bailed to the bike.
A couple of hours later I reconvinced myself I could “do” the marathon and spent most of the rest of the day with a fragile, hair-trigger temper (oh my poor family) entertaining then dismissing it.
Running a marathon when one is perfectly trained is hard. Why would I even consider doing one in my current condition? Lunacy.
It’s only a race and I’m not the first, nor will I be the last, to DNS due to injury. Still, I was surprised by how hard it was to let go. Maybe it was the quitting aspect. The surrender, even if it is much smarter to do so. Marathoners push through anything right? Through sheer grit and determination, we make it happen. But how? Why?
I spent the rest of the weekend prepping for and celebrating my mom’s birthday. Five sibs + spouses + 10 grandkids = house-full of peeps. Just the diversion I needed I think. Thankfully nobody uttered a word about running. I am thankful for that.
