Then I got hurt. Stupid ankle.
I went to the doctor last week. She told me not to run. I spoke with several friends and coworkers that know their fair share about sports medicine. They all told me not to run. The general consensus: Don't run.
So, what did I do?
I ran.
Ok let's just spare the lecture. I knew going into it that running was a poor and stupid decision. But I am stubborn. And my pride is easily bruised. A poor combination. I was trying to convince myself that I would take it easy and just listen to my body. But of course I didn't.
Before the race. What a perfect morning!
Around mile 3, feeling lovely!
1) Stop and not finish, listening to my body, and preventing further injury (no way in hell would I go for this).
2) Walk the rest of the race, giving my body a slight break, and hopefully preventing further injury (again, no way in hell I was going to walk 8 miles, no way).
3) Keep running, ignore common sense and logic, and regret it later.
I chose option #3. My rational at the time was pretty convincing, really... "I already hurts. It will hurt no matter what I do. So why not go for the gold, kick ass, and be proud of the effort I put forth?"
So, 8 more miles of agony. And I mean major agony. It was horrible. But I just kept replacing the thoughts of pain with thoughts of crossing the finish line in under 2 hours, and that kept pushing me along for another step, and another step, and another step...
Paige, Ashley and I kept together for a majority of the race. The first few miles were killer- generally between 8-9 minute miles. Right on track for finishing under 2. We were feeling great, but somehow gradually... slowed... down. The fans were few and far between. The cool, breezy fall day turned into a sunny, blazing, shade-free battle. The hills seemed endless. We were in good spirits, and were enjoying the run- but we definitely wanted it to be over.
As I rounded the corner toward the finish line, with about .1 miles to go, I saw the clock. 2:03. I wanted to cry. I didn't do it. I got angry. I sprinted, cursing myself, cursing my stupid ankles, and generally in a horrid mindset. I let myself be mad for about 30 seconds, then let it go.
Official Time: 2:04:11
Average Pace: 9:29
Maureen, Paige, Bruce, LaDell, Me, Ashley
Love my running posse!
Maureen kicked ass, beating the goal she set for herself. Bruce and LaDell of course ran like rockstars. Ashley was amazing. Paige, with this being her 1st 1/2 marathon, did spectacular. I am so proud of everyone. Such a wonderful, supportive, inspiring group. I am so grateful to have these people as a part of my life and training. Congrats, my friends!
Ok so, the ankles...
I went to the orthopedist on Monday. They took X-rays. Poked and pulled and pressed and wiggled my ankles. "Does it hurt here? How about here? What about when I do this?" After an hour, I was relieved to hear it is not a stress fracture in either ankle. Just severe tendonitis. Some tendon that starts mid-calf and connects to the bottom of the arch. I have high arches, so the tendon is strained; with these long distances, it is getting mad at me and hurting. How to fix it? Don't run for 2 weeks. Prescription NSAIDs. Ice. Compression. Physical therapy (have my 1st appt tomorrow morning). If nothing feels better in 2 weeks, they will reassess.
All I want to do is run. It is gorgeous out. I see runners trotting by and I am jealous. I want to feel the sun on my face and the pavement under my feet. This makes me realize how addicted I have gotten to this stupid activity. I need it. It is strange...
Ok fine, 2 weeks, no running. I will obey, Doctor. I promise. I just really hope this problem doesn't persist, because I WILL RUN THIS MARATHON IN DECEMBER. I WILL...
