Lessons - Rewritten Recap

REVISITED in an email to Joe:

At this point - my blog ended because some glitch in the system meant everything else went unsaved. Heartbroken - truly. 4. was referring to the gatorade I drank because I got nervous about the heat. My stomach ended up in a knot by mile 16. I should have trusted that I would be fine but I didn't - I got nervous - and I drank gatorade much earlier on than I normally would have.

5. was generally about how I am so much stronger than I thought that I was. Because I never gave up. I never got down on myself. I never gave in to the inner demons that can end a race. Around mile 5 I ended up meeting someone who was aiming for 6:50s so I ran with him for the next 14 miles or so. The bottom of my foot began to hurt at mile 11 and running over the metal grates added insult to injury. By mile 16 I begged my impromptu running partner to leave me because I felt like I needed to regroup and slow down a bit. Right about then I should have been taking my gel. He refused to leave me and told me we were running this thing together. I was pulled along for the next three miles until at mile 19, I decided to take the race into my own hands. I slowed down to 7 minute pace for the next two miles or so. By the aid station at mile 21 my legs had cramped so hard that I was barely holding decent running form and I realized that I absolutely needed to walk. I didn't give up. I acknowledged the mistakes I had made early on and took the necessary steps to get to the end of the race. Those steps were walking steps. I walked through the aid station at mile 21. Head up - still in it. When the long tables of water and gatorade ended, I started running again. Shuffling at first. And then running.
The next aid station I saw was like an oasis in my muscular breakdown of hell. I walked through this one as well. At this point, I was not allowing myself to walk unless I was at an aid station where I could at least be drinking or hosed down by water. In the midst of mile 23, I abandoned this policy as my running deteriorated to fits and starts. I watched a guy tear past me only to be on the ground begging for water less than 200 meters down the road. I walked around him while people rushed to get him aid and told him good job. And then I started running again. I began to dread the very thought of moving my legs... I wanted the race to be over so badly. Whenever I looked up at a mile marker, my heart sank lower and lower. For the first time in my life, I looked at three miles to go and thought that was an eternity of pain stretched out before me. I watched with detached remorse as the 3 hour pace group passed me at 23. I knew that goal was over. I didn't cry. I didn't lose it. I went over and over the only mantra that managed to stick in my head: You are doing the best you can. This is the best you can. This is all you have.
And then a miracle of bad mathematics and delirium occurred. I came upon the clock beginning mile 25 and my mind registered that 2 miles at 8 minute pace would put me at a PR.* Hope renewed. My heart skipped two beats and I threw everything aside. I took the cold wet towel from a volunteer that I had wrapped around my neck and threw it to the ground. I can still hear it make contact with the pavement. I started running again. And I wasn't stopping until the finish. The next two miles were pain like I had never imagined but they faded into a blur as I ran past the screaming crowds and powered up the final hill to the finish. People were dropping - literally dropping - but I was eerily in my comfort zone for those last 600 meters. I welcomed that hill with open arms and burning legs. I coasted under the finishing clock and barely looked at the time. I figured I had PRed based on the time on my not-so-helpful watch but I had forgotten to hit stop when I crossed the mat. All I cared about was I was finished. I was done. I had just run the fastest marathon of my life.



*I ran around 7:20 and 6:50 for the last two miles. If I had run two 8 minute miles, I would have been far over my PR. Thank you second grade math skills for failing me - you deceived me and gave me hope.

Lessons

I have not run the Chicago Marathon once. I have run it about a hundred times. You read that right. 1-0-0 times in my head. Over and over and over again. It is time to put the miles to rest and move forward. Perpetually move forward...

If I have to sum up my experience, it was a gift of several lessons to be learned. I now have a lot more knowledge both about myself and the marathon to take with me for next time. I am thankful I had this opportunity to run and to be humbled and to realize my body's limits and needs.

Some of these lessons are mundane but they should be listed now as I am fresh off the pavement and the pain is still in my mind and muscles.

1. Pop-tarts are no longer a sufficient pre-race food. It is time to grow up, let go of superstition, and embrace the nutritional advice that surrounds me day-in, day-out. Sugar + carbs = good. 0 grams of protein before a marathon = negligent. Yes! Negligent - my body can't care for itself and relies on me to make good choices. I failed to provide it with the fuel it would need from the very start.
2. Technology can only take me so far, always have a back up plan for when something goes wrong. So I have a fancy little gadget that tells me my total distance and calculates my pace so that I can turn my brain off. Well, when said fancy little gadget malfunctions, I need to be able to turn my brain back ON. That means, when I look at the gun clock at the mile markers, SUBTRACT time for chip time. Don't add. And have at least a vague clue of what the time should be.
3. Calories are important. I am not a machine. I am not able to just muscle through it or get to the finish by sheer willpower and hard work. I trained with gels for a reason. At mile 16 I decided that I didn't want the gel. I don't know if I was delirious, lazy, or my stomach was too knotted to get it down. But I ignored my better thinking that said to take it anyway. From now on, take it anyway! I don't care if it appears to be the most disgusting thing imaginable, EAT.
4. Never disobey the first rule of racing. Never ever ever try something new on race day.

My heart just broke - I wrote a long beautiful recap last week and it was ALL lost except for these first few points. Seriously I think my heart just hit my feet on the ground because it is no longer fresh and I cannot recreate my thoughts and I spent so long on it. When I feel up to it again I will rewrite what I can. As for now... I'm going to try not to be so angry. I don't think I have felt this way since I lost part of a term paper in college. This is actually more frustrating and upsetting because it is personal and it is not a discussion about gender theory and methodologies.