Ok, so I suck. I haven’t blogged about several races. I promise to get better about it. I think the problem is that I’m so wound up about this lingering ankle issue that actually putting the act of running into writing scares me, as if I am inviting some bad karma into my life. Just to bitch for two seconds, I am in the prime shape of my life. My resting heart rate is in the low 40s. I work out, on average, 3 hours a day. So how is it one teensy tendon wreaks so much GD havoc on my life?!?!? I could run 100 miles IF I had one new ankle. And yet, so many people have perfect posterior tiabilii and they waste them. I’m willing to pay the black market price for a brand new one. That’s got to be at least worth 5k, right? The only solace I garner is knowing that Amy Sproston, one of the fiercest ultra-runners I know and respect, also has the same issue. But it’s not fair for two awesome, hot chick-a-dees to be out of a sport where there are so few of us to begin with…
Ok, so onto this race. Way back when my foot was in a happier place, I carefully selected the race that would be my 2010 Boston Qualifier. This coming year I get an extra 5 minutes because I am now on the “downside of my 30s” and when Boston is held next year, I will be (sob) 35. And every 5 years you get an extra 5 to 10 minutes. The good news is that my average marathon pace is in the low 3:50s but I need 3:45. So I picked this little race because a) I wanted a new state (Wisconsin), b) I didn’t want to chance Erie being 90 degrees again and c) it was ranked as a flat and low attended race. Just my cup of tea. So I bought the entry, bought my flight and hotel and then bought myself a sweet, major injury.
Now I know a good deal when I see one and this gem came at a mere 300$ TOTAL. I had already amassed well over that in rehab and MRI costs so who am I to turn down a bargain when I’m mostly out of the cast and can hobble about, right? I decided, much to chagrin of my physical therapist, that I would do this race. After all, IT’S GOOD MONEY AND IN THIS ECONOMY…!! She shook her head and moaned. With that, I felt I was granted carte blanche access to the 26.2 ahead of me. She didn’t say I couldn’t do it. She merely said I shouldn’t.
Don’t get me wrong. I flew out scared shitless. I had no idea what to expect. As usual, I also gave myself 6 hours and 50 minutes from the start of the race to the moment my plane flight home commenced. You can see the potential problem here, yes..? Anyway, I arrived and hit my hotel first to settle in before heading to the expo. The hotel and the surrounding area were pretty bland however, I found this little gem just across the street:
Ok, so onto this race. Way back when my foot was in a happier place, I carefully selected the race that would be my 2010 Boston Qualifier. This coming year I get an extra 5 minutes because I am now on the “downside of my 30s” and when Boston is held next year, I will be (sob) 35. And every 5 years you get an extra 5 to 10 minutes. The good news is that my average marathon pace is in the low 3:50s but I need 3:45. So I picked this little race because a) I wanted a new state (Wisconsin), b) I didn’t want to chance Erie being 90 degrees again and c) it was ranked as a flat and low attended race. Just my cup of tea. So I bought the entry, bought my flight and hotel and then bought myself a sweet, major injury.
Now I know a good deal when I see one and this gem came at a mere 300$ TOTAL. I had already amassed well over that in rehab and MRI costs so who am I to turn down a bargain when I’m mostly out of the cast and can hobble about, right? I decided, much to chagrin of my physical therapist, that I would do this race. After all, IT’S GOOD MONEY AND IN THIS ECONOMY…!! She shook her head and moaned. With that, I felt I was granted carte blanche access to the 26.2 ahead of me. She didn’t say I couldn’t do it. She merely said I shouldn’t.
Don’t get me wrong. I flew out scared shitless. I had no idea what to expect. As usual, I also gave myself 6 hours and 50 minutes from the start of the race to the moment my plane flight home commenced. You can see the potential problem here, yes..? Anyway, I arrived and hit my hotel first to settle in before heading to the expo. The hotel and the surrounding area were pretty bland however, I found this little gem just across the street:
Not only THE Appleton Curling Club location but one hell of a nice logo. Anyway, suffice it to say, that was about the extent of the excitement in this little place. It’s full of overweight people and Applebee’s. So it was early and I decided to strap on my walking cast and make my way to the the expo. I stood in a short line and then said that I’d like my number for the race. They looked down, and said “um is this for YOU!?!?!” and my heart sunk. Up to this point, I had still managed to log 50+ miles a week but mostly walking and any running was all flat on the high school track. I ran 10 miles for my long run the week before and ended up giving myself some of the worst blisters I’ve ever had. So I knew I had to go this one alone – just me and the shoe and the ankle. Frankly, I was really in a bad place. So I did what every good marathoner does – followed all of my voodoo magic and got the dinner I ate when I BQed last year, wore the same clothes (even the SAME PAIR OF SHOES) and bought my dry bagel for the morning.
Before calling it an early night, I made sure to document the awesomeness that is the runner’s schwag bag from this race:
Before calling it an early night, I made sure to document the awesomeness that is the runner’s schwag bag from this race:
That’s right – it contained tissues, notepaper, toilet paper and baby wipes. You see, this part of Wisconsin specializes in paper mills. Side note… find a race in Hershey, PA next time. Side side note – my co-worker Scott lives on the route. I was expecting to see him poke his head out and at least root me on at mile 5 or so. This XL roll of TP was the closest “Scott” got to my run. Boo, Scott Lacey, Booo!
This was a point-to-point meaning you want to park at the end so you don’t have to make your way back to the start to get your vehicle. So while I drove to the finish I made damn sure to be careful with the foot on the brake pedal. HA. 26 miles of pounding and all I could think about was “don’t push too hard when braking!” From there, we were bused to the start and I found myself lined up rather early in the queue. This race is fun – there’s a full, half and relay for it. Next to me is some small creature in the form of a 8 year old boy. He’s got a chip on his shoe and a number pinned to his shirt. I am floored – I say “hello – um, what are YOU running??” thinking that I’m packing my shit up and leaving if this kid is doing the full. He tells me in a squeaky, matter-of-fact voice that he will be doing the first leg of the relay. I ask how long his longest training run has been and he says “4.5 miles” in a way that sounds as if he’s permanently attached to a helium tank. I am in love. Not with him, mind you, but with the fact that this small child is everything I wish every little fat munchkin in America would be. Devoted, determined and destined to grow up as a marathoner or at the very least, trying to be one on an early Sunday morning. God bless him.
Boom, we’re off. It’s pretty uneventful – and why not? It’s flat as a pancake, ugly and generally just, well, like a bunch of people running. At mile 3 I have to stop for almost 3 minutes to adjust my homegrown “double” ankle brace because my foot is swelling and turning purple (note: do not layer ankle braces) I thought two together would work well. Around mile 12 I stop and chit chat with an aid-station person because she’s very nice and smiley and askes about my brace, which is now partly around my hand since I removed one. Mile 18 my ankle gets achey but I forge on. Mile 23 my foot is screaming but not in the “bad area” It’s on the outside and I’m afraid I’m potentially injuring something else now so I walk a while. Suddenly, it dawns on me. I am on target to get my BQ time. How did this happen? I stopped for minutes at a time, I’d been walking and now somehow, I was pretty close to exactly what I needed. Yet my foot HURT. And this was the first race of the season. I could push it but for what? An injury to an injury? For some race that I didn’t like back in April that was over-priced and over-hyped and one which I would have other chances to qualify for? No, it was not going to be today. And I was ok with that. Sometimes things just change, in a matter of seconds or minutes and today I changed my goal with one swift decision. It was now to just finish well, and be happy that I had made it that far.
I finished in 3:49, my second best time ever. In looking back I lost those minutes adjusting an ankle brace, talking to a nice person and hobbling along for a bit. Then again, in those minutes that ticked by, I was allowed to remember why I run these in the first place. Not to win. Not to place. Not to even show. But just to run. So that day, I was born to run. Mostly.
This was a point-to-point meaning you want to park at the end so you don’t have to make your way back to the start to get your vehicle. So while I drove to the finish I made damn sure to be careful with the foot on the brake pedal. HA. 26 miles of pounding and all I could think about was “don’t push too hard when braking!” From there, we were bused to the start and I found myself lined up rather early in the queue. This race is fun – there’s a full, half and relay for it. Next to me is some small creature in the form of a 8 year old boy. He’s got a chip on his shoe and a number pinned to his shirt. I am floored – I say “hello – um, what are YOU running??” thinking that I’m packing my shit up and leaving if this kid is doing the full. He tells me in a squeaky, matter-of-fact voice that he will be doing the first leg of the relay. I ask how long his longest training run has been and he says “4.5 miles” in a way that sounds as if he’s permanently attached to a helium tank. I am in love. Not with him, mind you, but with the fact that this small child is everything I wish every little fat munchkin in America would be. Devoted, determined and destined to grow up as a marathoner or at the very least, trying to be one on an early Sunday morning. God bless him.
Boom, we’re off. It’s pretty uneventful – and why not? It’s flat as a pancake, ugly and generally just, well, like a bunch of people running. At mile 3 I have to stop for almost 3 minutes to adjust my homegrown “double” ankle brace because my foot is swelling and turning purple (note: do not layer ankle braces) I thought two together would work well. Around mile 12 I stop and chit chat with an aid-station person because she’s very nice and smiley and askes about my brace, which is now partly around my hand since I removed one. Mile 18 my ankle gets achey but I forge on. Mile 23 my foot is screaming but not in the “bad area” It’s on the outside and I’m afraid I’m potentially injuring something else now so I walk a while. Suddenly, it dawns on me. I am on target to get my BQ time. How did this happen? I stopped for minutes at a time, I’d been walking and now somehow, I was pretty close to exactly what I needed. Yet my foot HURT. And this was the first race of the season. I could push it but for what? An injury to an injury? For some race that I didn’t like back in April that was over-priced and over-hyped and one which I would have other chances to qualify for? No, it was not going to be today. And I was ok with that. Sometimes things just change, in a matter of seconds or minutes and today I changed my goal with one swift decision. It was now to just finish well, and be happy that I had made it that far.
I finished in 3:49, my second best time ever. In looking back I lost those minutes adjusting an ankle brace, talking to a nice person and hobbling along for a bit. Then again, in those minutes that ticked by, I was allowed to remember why I run these in the first place. Not to win. Not to place. Not to even show. But just to run. So that day, I was born to run. Mostly.
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