It's now Thursday January 22, 4 days since marathongate. I am still on crutches, still able to put very little weight on my right leg, but there are some signs of improvement and I'm confident that a few weeks of rest should set me straight.
Jill has already decided to do the Olathe Half-Marathon, in Olathe, KS, a neighboring town to Overland Park at the end of March, along with several friends. She's been universally congratulated at work ever since the race, and has become a pied piper of sorts, inspiring those around her to attempt what she has already accomplished. Her long-term goal is a full marathon of her own, though she thinks next year might be more realistic than later this, where Chicago had been eyed as a potential destination.
I of course will not now be able to do the same race, but will, I think, enjoy being on the other side of the wall cheering her and her pals on. Obviously I'd prefer to be competing, but as I enjoy the whole atmosphere of a race, I'll take that as the next best thing.
As for me running again, assuming I can once more take to the streets in 6-8 weeks, my first race will be the 4-mile trolley run in late April, here in Kansas City. It's the largest 4 mile event in the country, with over 15,000 competitors expected to line up. Jill did the run last year, and I met her at the end, and for me, this was perhaps the biggest reason I finally completed my first marathon a few days ago. It was the first time I'd been at a race that large and the atmosphere, the faces on the finishers, the joy on Jill's face as she crossed the line, even the free food at the end, made for an atmosphere that I found intoxicating, and led me down the path I've been following ever since.
I've told those that are interested that I will one day run another marathon, though I suspect it will be an occasional event, a once a year or once every couple of years type thing, just to prove I can, and to keep it as the special distance. I'm not looking to dilute these ultimate experiences by doing too many, nor am I looking to render myself lame by the age of 45. The marathon is both terrific and terrible, and I'm committed to treating it with the necessary reverence.
I do however think that running races is something I will continue to keep in my life for the foreseeable future. I'm officially addicted. Whether it be a 5k, 4-mile, 10k, Half-Marathon or something more exotically measured, you'll see me regularly lining up and exorcising demons with hundreds, if not thousands of others. At 35, I've rediscovered something beautiful.
That, and the t-shirts are useful souvenirs.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Aftermath
Jill was waiting for me at the finish, a very welcome sight, but her face told of her own sufferings. She finished her Half in 3 hours and change, and was rather disappointed with how it had gone. Personally, I don't think she had anything to be sad about. She got her medal too, and did something that she'd never done before. I wished she were happier, but as the day went on, I think she did start to realize the achievement more and feel better about it.
Also, she was in much better shape than me. I somehow made it back to the car and drove back to the hotel, but after a few hours of leg stiffening, I simply couldn't put any weight on the right leg at all. Fearing I would have a very hard time making it through three airports and two flights the next day I finally decided I had to seek help. An urgent care facility was open close by, so we went and spent two and a half very long hours in a soulless facility filled with coughing children and bored orderlies. The doctor, who it must be said didn't exactly do a thorough examination, determined it was "probably a torn muscle", said he saw it in marathoners all the time, and sent me on my way with a prescription for hardcore ibuprofen and a pair of crutches.
The crutches certainly helped keep weight off the leg, so they were a relief, and finally, at around 11pm, we got back to the hotel room and went to bed, knowing we'd have to be up, for the second night in a row, by 5am the next morning.
Here's a tip for you. If you want to get through an airport quickly, go on crutches. Fake it if you have to, but seriously, take note. I had been dreading the trip, but it was just about the smoothest travel experience I'd had. Assistants were only too willing to provide wheelchairs, which, in addition to getting through the airport quickly, also get through such nightmares as security lines in double quick time. No-one cares when a person in a wheelchair jumps the queue. On top of that, the check-in woman upgraded our tickets to give us free TV on the flights, and even changed our seats on the first flight to the first row, making it easier to disembark. It was awesome.
So I made it home, damaged but alive. I fulfilled my dream, though not quite in the way I'd hoped, and yes, I think in time I would like to try again, good health permitting. I won't run another one unless I feel 100% at the start line though. It's now Wednesday, three days later, and I can still put almost no weight on the leg. In fact, if it doesn't improve in the next couple of days, I will seek a second opinion on the extent and cause of the injury.
That doesn't mean I regret pushing through and finishing. As I've mentioned before, I might do more marathons, but I'll never do another first marathon, and it has been my experience that mental scars are more difficult to recover from than physical ones. If I'd dropped out, I'd be forever regretful. The way things did go, while I have allowed myself to occasionally second guess some of the decisions I made during training, I'm satisfied that I did everything I possibly could have done on the day of the race and pushed myself beyond the limits of which I felt capable.
I think with the passage of time, and after my leg heals, I will grow to cherish this experience every bit as much as if it had gone perfectly and I'd registered a sub-4 hour time. I've proved I can do it the hard way. I've proved that I have the character to complete a bad marathon as well as a good one. I've proved that it means more to me to hurt myself succeeding than protect myself failing. I believe it has been a life changing event.
I will probably post another one or two entries with some final thoughts, then likely will wrap this blog up. Writing this, like running, has been a very personal experience that I expect few, if anyone else, will have been interested in, but on the off chance someone did stumble across this at some point, I'd be curious to know what you thought and if you'd shared any similar experiences in your own life. If not, well, as with the running itself, it's something I think I'll enjoy looking back over and remembering what turned out to be a very cathartic time of my life.
Also, she was in much better shape than me. I somehow made it back to the car and drove back to the hotel, but after a few hours of leg stiffening, I simply couldn't put any weight on the right leg at all. Fearing I would have a very hard time making it through three airports and two flights the next day I finally decided I had to seek help. An urgent care facility was open close by, so we went and spent two and a half very long hours in a soulless facility filled with coughing children and bored orderlies. The doctor, who it must be said didn't exactly do a thorough examination, determined it was "probably a torn muscle", said he saw it in marathoners all the time, and sent me on my way with a prescription for hardcore ibuprofen and a pair of crutches.
The crutches certainly helped keep weight off the leg, so they were a relief, and finally, at around 11pm, we got back to the hotel room and went to bed, knowing we'd have to be up, for the second night in a row, by 5am the next morning.
Here's a tip for you. If you want to get through an airport quickly, go on crutches. Fake it if you have to, but seriously, take note. I had been dreading the trip, but it was just about the smoothest travel experience I'd had. Assistants were only too willing to provide wheelchairs, which, in addition to getting through the airport quickly, also get through such nightmares as security lines in double quick time. No-one cares when a person in a wheelchair jumps the queue. On top of that, the check-in woman upgraded our tickets to give us free TV on the flights, and even changed our seats on the first flight to the first row, making it easier to disembark. It was awesome.
So I made it home, damaged but alive. I fulfilled my dream, though not quite in the way I'd hoped, and yes, I think in time I would like to try again, good health permitting. I won't run another one unless I feel 100% at the start line though. It's now Wednesday, three days later, and I can still put almost no weight on the leg. In fact, if it doesn't improve in the next couple of days, I will seek a second opinion on the extent and cause of the injury.
That doesn't mean I regret pushing through and finishing. As I've mentioned before, I might do more marathons, but I'll never do another first marathon, and it has been my experience that mental scars are more difficult to recover from than physical ones. If I'd dropped out, I'd be forever regretful. The way things did go, while I have allowed myself to occasionally second guess some of the decisions I made during training, I'm satisfied that I did everything I possibly could have done on the day of the race and pushed myself beyond the limits of which I felt capable.
I think with the passage of time, and after my leg heals, I will grow to cherish this experience every bit as much as if it had gone perfectly and I'd registered a sub-4 hour time. I've proved I can do it the hard way. I've proved that I have the character to complete a bad marathon as well as a good one. I've proved that it means more to me to hurt myself succeeding than protect myself failing. I believe it has been a life changing event.
I will probably post another one or two entries with some final thoughts, then likely will wrap this blog up. Writing this, like running, has been a very personal experience that I expect few, if anyone else, will have been interested in, but on the off chance someone did stumble across this at some point, I'd be curious to know what you thought and if you'd shared any similar experiences in your own life. If not, well, as with the running itself, it's something I think I'll enjoy looking back over and remembering what turned out to be a very cathartic time of my life.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Marathon - Part 2
A lot of thoughts were going through my mind at this point. In no particular order, here were some...
1. What would my friends and family think?
2. What about all the people who'd donated money for charity?
3. If I did somehow make it to the finish, would I be dead last?
4. Finish or not, how would I make it home, through two flights and three airports the next day?
5. What would I do if the left leg went out too?
The last question was a big one. Up until now, leftie was doing almost all the hard work, but there's only so much I could ask of it. Would it hold out?
I hauled myself up and kept going, resolving that I would not stop again for any reason. I knew I might not be able to start again if I did.
The next few miles ticked by slowly, but the ice bags and tylenol did help somewhat. It also illicited some sympathetic words of encouragement from onlookers. I ate my GU, went through the Scottsdale Art District I'd ambled so comfortably through only one day earlier - I was a little sad that I hadn't got to enjoy this part running. I'd been looking forward to that section ever since I'd done the drive through. Limping painfully through it wasn't how I envisioned it back then.
At mile 20, I started picturing myself back in Overland Park doing one of the routes I'd been running for the past few months. I always ran loops of 10k or less, so I knew exactly how far I had to go, and though I hadn't done it walking, I was at least vaguely aware of the fact that I'd never gone further at one time, walk or run, in my life than I had completed then.
The sun became a factor over the next few miles. I was by this stage at peace with the fact I was going to finish in a much slower time than hoped for. I started picturing myself as a heroic warrior with some serious injury, perhaps a gunshot wound, heroically making his way back to base camp to present news of the war to the General lest the battle would be lost. As my skin turned red and my eyes squinted, I walked down a wide open highway in an increasingly sparse crowd of runners and spectators.
At mile 24, I could feel the leg start to deteriorate more, but knew that with only 2 miles to go, it would basically take something like it falling off altogether for me to stop. Nevertheless, it slowed me down even more, and I started wondering what exactly I had done so wrong to deserve this.
At mile 25, another runner came up on my shoulder and said something - I don't even know what, but it was enough for me to strike up a conversation. He too was carrying an injury - a bad ankle - and seemed to come at the perfect time for me, being quite willing to keep me company the whole way in. We passed the last water station and grabbed a drink, and all at once, we saw the last turn into the Sun Devil stadium parking lot ahead. We turned, then turned again, and there it was... the oasis in the desert - the arch representing the culmination of 4+ months of hard slog in the cold, the heat, the rain and the snow.
Determined that my finish line picture would be of me running, I tried to break back into a run for the last few steps, but instead managed only a strange skipping motion, my right leg now able to take almost no weight at all.
My finish time, 5:46:07, was slower than I would have considered possible, yet I was far from last, with runners, walkers, joggers, and crawlers still coming in. I said goodbye to my new friend and headed straight into the medical tent for more ice, my biggest regret later that I hadn't secured his email address.
I had done it. Everything that I'd feared came to pass, and yet, somehow, I'd fought through it and finished my marathon.
1. What would my friends and family think?
2. What about all the people who'd donated money for charity?
3. If I did somehow make it to the finish, would I be dead last?
4. Finish or not, how would I make it home, through two flights and three airports the next day?
5. What would I do if the left leg went out too?
The last question was a big one. Up until now, leftie was doing almost all the hard work, but there's only so much I could ask of it. Would it hold out?
I hauled myself up and kept going, resolving that I would not stop again for any reason. I knew I might not be able to start again if I did.
The next few miles ticked by slowly, but the ice bags and tylenol did help somewhat. It also illicited some sympathetic words of encouragement from onlookers. I ate my GU, went through the Scottsdale Art District I'd ambled so comfortably through only one day earlier - I was a little sad that I hadn't got to enjoy this part running. I'd been looking forward to that section ever since I'd done the drive through. Limping painfully through it wasn't how I envisioned it back then.
At mile 20, I started picturing myself back in Overland Park doing one of the routes I'd been running for the past few months. I always ran loops of 10k or less, so I knew exactly how far I had to go, and though I hadn't done it walking, I was at least vaguely aware of the fact that I'd never gone further at one time, walk or run, in my life than I had completed then.
The sun became a factor over the next few miles. I was by this stage at peace with the fact I was going to finish in a much slower time than hoped for. I started picturing myself as a heroic warrior with some serious injury, perhaps a gunshot wound, heroically making his way back to base camp to present news of the war to the General lest the battle would be lost. As my skin turned red and my eyes squinted, I walked down a wide open highway in an increasingly sparse crowd of runners and spectators.
At mile 24, I could feel the leg start to deteriorate more, but knew that with only 2 miles to go, it would basically take something like it falling off altogether for me to stop. Nevertheless, it slowed me down even more, and I started wondering what exactly I had done so wrong to deserve this.
At mile 25, another runner came up on my shoulder and said something - I don't even know what, but it was enough for me to strike up a conversation. He too was carrying an injury - a bad ankle - and seemed to come at the perfect time for me, being quite willing to keep me company the whole way in. We passed the last water station and grabbed a drink, and all at once, we saw the last turn into the Sun Devil stadium parking lot ahead. We turned, then turned again, and there it was... the oasis in the desert - the arch representing the culmination of 4+ months of hard slog in the cold, the heat, the rain and the snow.
Determined that my finish line picture would be of me running, I tried to break back into a run for the last few steps, but instead managed only a strange skipping motion, my right leg now able to take almost no weight at all.
My finish time, 5:46:07, was slower than I would have considered possible, yet I was far from last, with runners, walkers, joggers, and crawlers still coming in. I said goodbye to my new friend and headed straight into the medical tent for more ice, my biggest regret later that I hadn't secured his email address.
I had done it. Everything that I'd feared came to pass, and yet, somehow, I'd fought through it and finished my marathon.
The Marathon - Part 1
It's now Tuesday. I'm back in KC, and my marathon experience is over. I was going to write about it right after the race, but the truth was, I was too exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally. Yesterday I have less of an excuse for, but the travel home and the usual "getting home" type errands (picking up the dogs, getting food etc) got in the way then. So finally, now, here's the full account, and needless to say.... actually, enough of my yapping. Let's boogie.
The Rock n' Roll Arizona Marathon
Before the race, I was quite nervous. My leg was still causing me some concern, but I figured I surely wasn't the only one with a last-minute niggle. I needed to just shut up and run. If I'm honest, I knew that I was probably playing with fire a little by risking it. It simply didn't feel like my other aches I've encountered through training. It wasn't even that it was more painful. It was just different somehow.
I resolved to ignore it, and give it my all. My theory was that if I made it to the first major turn, at about mile 5, and felt OK, that I would probably be able to get through the run and then I'd deal with any injury afterwards, safe in the knowledge that I'd banked my first marathon successfully.
The gun went off right on time, and off we trotted. As I crossed the start line, I saw John Bingham standing with Bart Yasso and some others on a little balcony type thing a few feet off the ground. I took my hat off and waved it as I passed, and was pleased to see him recognize me, as he shouted "Hey man, looking good!" while I ran by.
The first mile or two went by uneventfully enough. Off to one side, I saw what might well have been the first person to drop out. He was stretching, and looking in some pain. Rather selfishly, I said to myself "Well, worst comes to the worst, I won't be the first person to drop out". My leg was feeling OK. I could certainly feel some pain, but it was confined to the inside shin and I didn't think it would restrict me too much if it stayed at that level.
Perhaps the most comfortable segment of the race was from about mile 5, when I made that all important turn, to mile 9. I started to feel very comfortable. I was maintaining an easyish pace of around 9:30/mile, but gradually speeding up as I found my groove, and I had some fun with a group of runners dressed in Foot Locker outfits who were giving out beads. I took their picture and received beads in return. I wore these for the next mile or two before they began to be a distraction, and so I took them off and presented them to a young girl who was watching from the side of the road.
Up until now, my biggest issue was my shorts. The elastic lining had long gone, and I think a combination of my weight loss and me having two GU packets in the back pocket made them very loose. I ended up having to hold the GU packets in my hands to avoid having to constantly adjust it. I peed in a bush at around mile 8 - every port-a-pot seemed to have a line - and motored on.
We went up a very slight incline at around mile 9 and a woman said to me "I guess this is the hill, huh?" - I told her there was another one at mile 24 to look forward to and sped off.
It was mile 11 when the problems started. I'd almost forgotten about the injury altogether but found out very quickly at that point that it had absolutely not forgotten about me. The pain started on the inside, suddenly becoming much sharper, and then the dreaded outside shooting pains started and my leg began to buckle. I tried running through it, but soon I was limping quite badly. At mile 12, with no improvement, I started to accept for the first time that I might not make it. I felt tears begin to accumulate behind my eye, and tried to tell myself that this too would pass.
It didn't.
I somehow managed to get through another three miles before the reality hit me. I walked through a water station and this time, couldn't start running again. My right leg simply had nothing left. I had completed the first half in just over 2 hours, but I knew I had only one chance of making it through the second half and that was to walk. In all the training runs and tune-up races I've done for this thing, from a 1 mile jog to a 20 mile long run, I've never onced stop to walk other than to get a drink, and now, here I was, finally at the race I'd been working to the whole time and I was walking with 11 miles still to go. It was disheartening and disappointing.
Initially I didn't feel too bad. I was limping, but mainly able to keep propelling myself forward, but by about mile 18, which seemed to take an eternity to come, I was badly struggling, my limps becoming more pronounced by the step. I began to fear the overcompensating would soon take its toll on my left leg. A medical tent was set up at this point, and, seeing my discomfort, a volunteer offered me ice, which I gratefully accepted. I sat down for a second, they attached two ice bags to my leg and gave me two tylenol. I told another woman I wanted to get back out there and she said "For sure", in a very certain kind of way, but I knew there was a chance I wouldn't even be able to stand back up, let alone walk another 8 miles to the finish line.
The Rock n' Roll Arizona Marathon
Before the race, I was quite nervous. My leg was still causing me some concern, but I figured I surely wasn't the only one with a last-minute niggle. I needed to just shut up and run. If I'm honest, I knew that I was probably playing with fire a little by risking it. It simply didn't feel like my other aches I've encountered through training. It wasn't even that it was more painful. It was just different somehow.
I resolved to ignore it, and give it my all. My theory was that if I made it to the first major turn, at about mile 5, and felt OK, that I would probably be able to get through the run and then I'd deal with any injury afterwards, safe in the knowledge that I'd banked my first marathon successfully.
The gun went off right on time, and off we trotted. As I crossed the start line, I saw John Bingham standing with Bart Yasso and some others on a little balcony type thing a few feet off the ground. I took my hat off and waved it as I passed, and was pleased to see him recognize me, as he shouted "Hey man, looking good!" while I ran by.
The first mile or two went by uneventfully enough. Off to one side, I saw what might well have been the first person to drop out. He was stretching, and looking in some pain. Rather selfishly, I said to myself "Well, worst comes to the worst, I won't be the first person to drop out". My leg was feeling OK. I could certainly feel some pain, but it was confined to the inside shin and I didn't think it would restrict me too much if it stayed at that level.
Perhaps the most comfortable segment of the race was from about mile 5, when I made that all important turn, to mile 9. I started to feel very comfortable. I was maintaining an easyish pace of around 9:30/mile, but gradually speeding up as I found my groove, and I had some fun with a group of runners dressed in Foot Locker outfits who were giving out beads. I took their picture and received beads in return. I wore these for the next mile or two before they began to be a distraction, and so I took them off and presented them to a young girl who was watching from the side of the road.
Up until now, my biggest issue was my shorts. The elastic lining had long gone, and I think a combination of my weight loss and me having two GU packets in the back pocket made them very loose. I ended up having to hold the GU packets in my hands to avoid having to constantly adjust it. I peed in a bush at around mile 8 - every port-a-pot seemed to have a line - and motored on.
We went up a very slight incline at around mile 9 and a woman said to me "I guess this is the hill, huh?" - I told her there was another one at mile 24 to look forward to and sped off.
It was mile 11 when the problems started. I'd almost forgotten about the injury altogether but found out very quickly at that point that it had absolutely not forgotten about me. The pain started on the inside, suddenly becoming much sharper, and then the dreaded outside shooting pains started and my leg began to buckle. I tried running through it, but soon I was limping quite badly. At mile 12, with no improvement, I started to accept for the first time that I might not make it. I felt tears begin to accumulate behind my eye, and tried to tell myself that this too would pass.
It didn't.
I somehow managed to get through another three miles before the reality hit me. I walked through a water station and this time, couldn't start running again. My right leg simply had nothing left. I had completed the first half in just over 2 hours, but I knew I had only one chance of making it through the second half and that was to walk. In all the training runs and tune-up races I've done for this thing, from a 1 mile jog to a 20 mile long run, I've never onced stop to walk other than to get a drink, and now, here I was, finally at the race I'd been working to the whole time and I was walking with 11 miles still to go. It was disheartening and disappointing.
Initially I didn't feel too bad. I was limping, but mainly able to keep propelling myself forward, but by about mile 18, which seemed to take an eternity to come, I was badly struggling, my limps becoming more pronounced by the step. I began to fear the overcompensating would soon take its toll on my left leg. A medical tent was set up at this point, and, seeing my discomfort, a volunteer offered me ice, which I gratefully accepted. I sat down for a second, they attached two ice bags to my leg and gave me two tylenol. I told another woman I wanted to get back out there and she said "For sure", in a very certain kind of way, but I knew there was a chance I wouldn't even be able to stand back up, let alone walk another 8 miles to the finish line.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Courses
We decided a while back to drive the routes. The website advertised the course as "fun, fast and fantastic" or words to that effect. Yesterday we drove the marathon course, today, the Half, to see if they were telling the truth.
One thing we've noticed about Phoenix and the surrounding area is how wide open it is compared to Overland Park and Kansas City. The trees are usually tall, thin palm trees and there's very little shade anywhere, even in some of the built up areas. I'm loving the weather right now, but I have a feeling it would be too oppressive for me to handle in the summer. KC can be almost as hot as Phoenix in the summer, but it's much easier to find shade, and the heat is at least broken up by a few milder moments.
The marathon course is definitely flat, of that there's no doubt. The only bump I remember seeing was a short slope at around mile 23. It's hardly a hill at all but placed where it is on the course, it could be a little irritating. I wouldn't call the course hugely scenic, but it is kind of pretty in an old-west kind of way, with dusty colored roads and mom and pop businesses interspersed with fast food joints and the occasional residential section. Camelback mountain is in view for a lot of the course, and the last few miles are quite interesting, with the pleasant Art district of Scottsdale, a bridge crossing over the Salt River and a finish in the Sun Devil Stadium parking lot. I loved it.
The Half-Marathon course is just as flat as it's big sister, but takes a much more direct route to the stadium, a good percentage of it all on one road (McDowell). It shares part of the first mile or so with the marathon, but other than that is completely separate. There are a couple of little segments that almost seemed desert like in spots, with dunes and cacti dressing the sides of the roads for good stretches. These were my perhaps favorite areas of this course. It also passes by the Phoenix zoo, and affords a decent view into where the animals might potentially be milling about. There's no doubt it's less varied than the full, but that's probably as it should be. The full-marathoners pay more after all. :-)
The next post will be me telling you whether I succeeded, failed, or landed somewhere in between. That's if I can physically type at that point. What another fine mess I've got myself into.
One thing we've noticed about Phoenix and the surrounding area is how wide open it is compared to Overland Park and Kansas City. The trees are usually tall, thin palm trees and there's very little shade anywhere, even in some of the built up areas. I'm loving the weather right now, but I have a feeling it would be too oppressive for me to handle in the summer. KC can be almost as hot as Phoenix in the summer, but it's much easier to find shade, and the heat is at least broken up by a few milder moments.
The marathon course is definitely flat, of that there's no doubt. The only bump I remember seeing was a short slope at around mile 23. It's hardly a hill at all but placed where it is on the course, it could be a little irritating. I wouldn't call the course hugely scenic, but it is kind of pretty in an old-west kind of way, with dusty colored roads and mom and pop businesses interspersed with fast food joints and the occasional residential section. Camelback mountain is in view for a lot of the course, and the last few miles are quite interesting, with the pleasant Art district of Scottsdale, a bridge crossing over the Salt River and a finish in the Sun Devil Stadium parking lot. I loved it.
The Half-Marathon course is just as flat as it's big sister, but takes a much more direct route to the stadium, a good percentage of it all on one road (McDowell). It shares part of the first mile or so with the marathon, but other than that is completely separate. There are a couple of little segments that almost seemed desert like in spots, with dunes and cacti dressing the sides of the roads for good stretches. These were my perhaps favorite areas of this course. It also passes by the Phoenix zoo, and affords a decent view into where the animals might potentially be milling about. There's no doubt it's less varied than the full, but that's probably as it should be. The full-marathoners pay more after all. :-)
The next post will be me telling you whether I succeeded, failed, or landed somewhere in between. That's if I can physically type at that point. What another fine mess I've got myself into.
The Eve of the Marathon
In about 10 hours, give or take a few minutes, I'll be sweating my first few steps on the Phoenix streets. I'm expecting a painful first mile or two, though I have to say my leg has felt better today than it has in a while, which is encouraging. As long as things loosen up by mile 4 or 5, I'll be happy.
Today went quicker than I expected. Jill and I drove the Half-Marathon route (having done the marathon route yesterday), attended the Scottsdale Artwalk, enjoyed a relaxing swim in the OUTDOOR pool, and ate at the ever-reliable Olive Garden. Finally we came back to the hotel, pinned our numbers on our shirts, attached our tags and laid out tomorrow's gear. So, not much down time, though it wasn't overly taxing physically.
The nerves are well and truly here. I can feel the old ticker going double time already. Sleep might be hard to come by, though I do actually feel quite tired, so I might get lucky. Either way, we'll need to be on the road by about 5am, so it's not like I'm going to get that many hours anyway. To be honest, I'm grateful for the early start. Anything to reduce the tossing, turning and fretting.
Today went quicker than I expected. Jill and I drove the Half-Marathon route (having done the marathon route yesterday), attended the Scottsdale Artwalk, enjoyed a relaxing swim in the OUTDOOR pool, and ate at the ever-reliable Olive Garden. Finally we came back to the hotel, pinned our numbers on our shirts, attached our tags and laid out tomorrow's gear. So, not much down time, though it wasn't overly taxing physically.
The nerves are well and truly here. I can feel the old ticker going double time already. Sleep might be hard to come by, though I do actually feel quite tired, so I might get lucky. Either way, we'll need to be on the road by about 5am, so it's not like I'm going to get that many hours anyway. To be honest, I'm grateful for the early start. Anything to reduce the tossing, turning and fretting.
The Surprise
Jill's inability to keep even the smallest secret is legendary. I find it endearing, personally. It's an almost childlike excitement that leads her to almost burst at the seems with the weight and responsibility of guarding any treasured information.
Therefore I was totally blindsided when she announced last night that she had a surprise, and proceeded to present me with a file folder full of cards and emails from friends, family and the like that she had covertly requested and gathered without my knowledge over the last few weeks. In addition, not only had she managed to keep quiet, but everyone who contributed were similarly silent, a remarkable feat given the range of personalities and ages of those involved. I am usually alert to underground dealings and like to think of myself as having a good nose for this kind of thing, but I was utterly in the dark.
The cards and emails were all good luck wishes and messages, and some were remarkably thoughtful, frequently hilarious and invariably touching. I had just told Jill how I was slightly jealous of the amount of good luck cards and so on that she'd received for her race, which she posted all over the hotel room when we arrived, and then she uncovered this little treasure trove.
Without wishing to be cliched, sometimes I feel I've grown quite cynical and perhaps a little too worldy-wise over the last few years, so when something like this happens, it's hard to even know what to say or do, but it's rare I'm so moved, and, whatever happens tomorrow, I'm a better person for knowing the people I do, and especially for having the partner that I have.
Therefore I was totally blindsided when she announced last night that she had a surprise, and proceeded to present me with a file folder full of cards and emails from friends, family and the like that she had covertly requested and gathered without my knowledge over the last few weeks. In addition, not only had she managed to keep quiet, but everyone who contributed were similarly silent, a remarkable feat given the range of personalities and ages of those involved. I am usually alert to underground dealings and like to think of myself as having a good nose for this kind of thing, but I was utterly in the dark.
The cards and emails were all good luck wishes and messages, and some were remarkably thoughtful, frequently hilarious and invariably touching. I had just told Jill how I was slightly jealous of the amount of good luck cards and so on that she'd received for her race, which she posted all over the hotel room when we arrived, and then she uncovered this little treasure trove.
Without wishing to be cliched, sometimes I feel I've grown quite cynical and perhaps a little too worldy-wise over the last few years, so when something like this happens, it's hard to even know what to say or do, but it's rare I'm so moved, and, whatever happens tomorrow, I'm a better person for knowing the people I do, and especially for having the partner that I have.
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