Pain, Pride, and Well, More Pain...

Well, it's that time again. Time for an update on the going-ons in my life down here in ole Cedar for the summer. Things have been going good overall. I have been working at the Lin's Pharmacy, working towards my Pharm. Tech. Ceritification. It's been interesting, and I'm learning alot so far. I love how much the Pharmacists here know. I hope to someday get to know near as much as they do. I've been very blessed to get to work with two different Pharmacists and it's really great to be able to learn from each of them. They both do things differently of course and it's great to pick up things I like and don't like that they do so that I can someday implement them into my career and be as good at my job as possible. Hopefully the tech certification will be enough to get me into the school that I want to get into. Here's to hoping in December, right?

So, quick update on my grades, I ended up pulling high enough grades to keep my scholarship for my final year. YAY me!!! I'm not exactly proud of my grades this last semester, and I could have used a higher GPA while applying for Pharm school, but I'm still grateful to have all 4 years of my undergrad almost completely paid for.

Anyway, so here's the story that I'm sure you've been waiting for, or maybe not, who knows. My marathon story. I wish that I could say it was as good as my half story, or that I had as much pride in it as I did for that. Unfortunately I can't, but here it is anyway. So as any long time follower of this blog knows, I have been planning to run a full-marathon for about 2 years now, but it seems that something always gets in the way of my training. This year, after injuring my foot before the half and the trying to give it time to recover, I lost some of that time. It started really getting managable again around January, about the time that school started again, and so the training began. Of course, since it was early, I only included short runs, between 5 and 7 miles. I did good on this for about a month, so now we are in February. At that point my dad signed us up, and I felt like I was going to be ready because I had been doing good with the training. Then shortly after that the semester decided to completely swamp me, and everything but trying to keep my head above water school wise pretty much took a backseat. Unfortunately that included training. So my training dwindle, I kept telling myself, "I still have time, I'll be fine, once things kind of slow down I'll get some serious running done." Well, things just kept going and before I knew it I only had a month left before the run. Now granted, I should have gotten serious at that point, but things just didn't seem to work out, there was always some reason that I couldn't fit in any really serious runs in, and then it was too late.

Maybe a week and a half before the Marathon, I caught one of the nastiest bugs I have had in a very long time. I don't know what it was, but man was I sick. My head was constantly spinning and pounding and my stomach never stopped hurting. It was not very fun and didn't help much with preparing to run.

The day of the race dawned (figuratively as it was about 330 in the morning and the sun had yet to show it's face), and I loaded a bus filled with others with high hopes for there own several hours of insanity. We stood around a campfire while waiting for the race to start, and I could feel my dread building even more than it already had. What was I doing there? I didn't belong there with all of those people talking about their goals of under 4 hours. I simply wanted to finish (meaning 6 hours), and I wasn't even sure I could manage that. I wasn't prepared, I wasn't ready, and I knew without a doubt that this was going to hurt. But there was no going back. There was no getting out of it. There was no bus to take me back down to my bed that I had so insanely left. And so, filled with complete abject terror, I moved towards the starting line as the time drew near. I put in my headphones, turned on a book, and the gun sounded and we were off. I started off feeling decent about it. I was keeping up a pace that would have put me finishing around 5 hrs and 20 min. I was feeling okay about it. I hit a good stride around 4 miles, then some rolling hills between 7 and 9 that kicked my butt. I also hit some intense hunger around mile 7 as well. Note to potential runners, eat a good breakfast before the run. You will need it. Between miles 9 and 11, I was feeling pretty good again. I passed everyone who had passed me between 7 and 9 and made up a little of the time I had lost on those miles. Then I hit around mile 12 and I started to get really light headed, a residue of my ridiculous bug. I lost a little more time but I kept pushing on. I passed the half marathon start at almost exactly 3 hours, slower than I would have liked, but still on time, and things went down hill from there. I pushed on walking and running up until mile 15, but between my hunger, my spinning head, and my tensing calf muscles my body was starting to give up on me. I wish I could push my body to it's limits rather than the ones my brain sets, because I know that my body has alot more to give, I just don't know how to make it get there.

Anyway, around mile 16 I was still fighting for it, but then the six hour pacer walked by me and let me know that if I didn't finish in front of him I wouldn't get a medal, and with that, the fight went out of me. I'll admit it, I just flat out quit. I could have kept running some but realizing that I could push all that way through the pain I was then feeling and it wouldn't even count?!? I just gave up. At that point, I didn't try to run anymore, but I kept walking. It sucked because after the 6 hour pacer the aid stations closed down, meaning that after mile 18 I no longer was provided with water, but what can you do. I walked, and walked, and took off my race number because I was tired of people telling me good job, when I felt like I was doing anything but. I'll admit it, I was ashamed of myself. I didn't finish what I had set out to do. But I was still walking. Around mile 23.5 I was hot, thirsty, and my legs were starting to kill, I still planning on walking those last three miles, giving it everything I had not to break down, and then it happened. I was attacked by a flock of birds. I am being dead serious. A group of birds all came out of a hedge and started dive bombing my head. Now seeing that I am actually terrified of birds, that was the last straw. I lost it. There was no more left in me to fight with. And so at mile marker number 24 I stepped into the shade and there I waited until my parents, realizing I wouldn't make it, came and picked me up. So, I made it 24 miles of my first marathon. I'm frustrated with myself for not finishing, but honestly, with the training I had I shouldn't have even made it that far, and after how I feel today, I don't feel so bad.

Today I can hardly walk. My muscles are killer sore and the whole side of one foot is a blister. Basically, I'm not frustrated that I didn't finish in 6 hours, because I know that my body didn't have it in it to do it. It wasn't just me being weak and quitting. Granted, I should have trained more, but I didn't, and I did my best. And now there is next year. I will train this time and I will finish. Of course, after I can finally walk again.

But my dad and sister did great. My dad finished in under 4 hours, and my sister finished the half in 2:45. Go them. I'm proud of them. But now I will limp my way upstairs and crash, hoping that I will be able to walk at work tomorrow and won't be teased too terribly bad.