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.