Sarah suggested I skip the blog entry until my sense of humor returns. It was a great suggestion. But I'm not sure when this will ever be funny for me. Congratulations to everyone who finished the SGM-- and more so to anyone, who even came close to their personal goals for the race. As everyone knows now, race day was a disaster-- not just for the lesser runners -- but a mighty challenge even for the mentally and physically superior among us. Pounding rain and 30 mph headwinds from the start never relented. We got on the busses at 4:15 and were treated to pouring rain the entire drive. We wore our trash bags once we got out, but it was was scary because we wanted to be close to the fire to stay warm (or put the bag over your head to keep it dry) but the wind blowing pretty hard and it sent the flames into unpredictable directions, threatening to melt the thin plastic to your skin if you stood too closely. An hour and a half later while waiting at the start, our heads were soaked to the skull. I was so sure it would let up. I did a small warm up run and could could feel the still tightness in my left hip/ham that hurt me so much on Thursday during my little 2 miler. When I hit the starting line and I knew immediatly the pain wasn't like my normal nervous hypocondria, pre-warm up stiffness. I spent 2 miles contemplating my footstrike becaue my left foot would not straighten properly (my leg foot bent at an outside angle and hurt terribly when I tried to keep it straight). It felt like it my leg would pop out of my hip joint. I stopped to stretch at mile 4 and tried to punch/massage my fist into the side of my hip a few times -- I felt like if I could just pop it back in the pain would go away and my foot would turn right. I ran slowly, I walked, I stretched and by mile 6, even though I was not terribly behind (time wise)-- my leg buckled and I fell. I got up fast, because I didn't want anyone to stop to help me, so I squatted on the side of the road while I thought of my options. I could feel that stopping was a bad idea in light of the soaking wet and cold. It was quickly becomeing a losing proposition all the way around. Did I want to run slowly, but finish in 5 hours and while risking what felt like serious injury? Or quit while I felt relatively whole so I could take on my overall goal of qualifying for Boston at a different race. I shook it off and got back in and ran a ways with a guy holding a full size flag pole for his brother in Afganistan and a friend's WWII veteren father who passed away last week. I tried to keep up the chat to keep my mind distracted. But he was running painfully slow and the distraction tactic wasn't working. At the bottom of the hill at Veyo a passing runner knocked me off balance and sent me into a puddle. Now my shoes and feet were wet . But, I didn't mind the hill. In fact, I venture to say that it's still my favorite part of the course. I knew the hill would force me into a comfortable running position. I was now thouroughly soaked by both rain and sweat (even under the trash bag). The wind blew the stinging rain into my eyes. It was unfortunate how strong and capable I still felt in spite of the pain and restriction in my hip going up that hill. I got to the top of the hill, and on the downhill could really feel the pounding even though I was not fighting the gravity and taking quick small steps. The pain was sharp and hard. I thought of all the downhill past mile 13 and imagined how I'd feel between mile 24-26. I imagined what I'd look like crossing the finish line in pain and hypothermic. I wondered if finishing, just to finish would improve my mental tentacity to endure real life trials not associated with the race-- things like-- raising teenagers, losing a spouse, or being uprooted from my home -- or if enduring pounding rain and pain was a misapplication of a precious and limited resources--time and energy. I have to say, I surprized even myself by calling it a day, just before the time board at 13.1. It read 2:13. I stopped and turned around and limped back toward the drink station. I don't know if I'll ever know wether it was a premature, or judicious action. But I do know it was instinctual and overwhelming. The tragedy within me was the realization that every other part of my body-- my heart, lungs, and legs definitely had 13.1 more miles in them--in spite of the conditions. Overall, it was a humbling and humiliating experience. I'm getting an X-ray tommorrow and will think about what to do next after that. Everyone, who finished this race deserves the utmost respect-- regardless of finishing time. The finishing line looked like a war zone. When the going gets tough, the tough, indeed get going. | 