26.2 miles OR how biology failed me terribly

this past weekend, i had the opportunity to take part in something i've never done before and may never do again, depending on whether or not madness descends the way it did this past winter: the marathon. despite having trained diligently for about 6 months, i had a lot of doubts about my ability to finish this thing. i mean, i'd never actually run that far before, though theoretically speaking, if you can run 20 miles twice, 18.5 miles once, 15 miles 3 times, and 10 miles 5 times, you should be able to finish this thing. for months, i followed my training program, even whilst ill and for a few weeks with a nagging pain in my rib cage. rain, snow, sun, in france, and sometimes with a hangover, i still went out and did my long runs every weekend.

so when i woke up on sunday morning to make it to my race, i was a whirlwind of indescribable emotions, the most prevalent being overwhelming regret. what was i thinking, for fuck's sake? how mad was i, really? i liken it to that ridiculous scene in "anchorman" when will ferrell jumps into the bear pit, looks around, and exhales "i... immediately regret this decision."

all those feeling aside, nothing quite compares to the energy of running with 8,000 other people, particularly at the beginning of the race. it's absolutely palpable, the anticipation. and being in the back, there are no sideways glances or traces of that desire to crush the competition. we all actually know that are only adversary is ourselves, so we smile, and think about the task ahead.

in the course of this endeavor, i learned a few interesting things. the first is that i'm actually awesome at the 10k and the half marathon. no joke... i didn't walk other than through the refreshment stations, which the guides actually suggest. it's better to slow down and take in your food and water, as you'll only be losing a few seconds by having something, as opposed to crashing altogether. my 10k clocked in at under and hour and my half at just over two hours.

then something... let's call it "ironic"... happened to me. my knee gave out around 23km. i don't really know what i did to it, but it's definitely a mess. i blame the 5km of cobblestones we're forced to run on in the first 13km. regardless, this is significant for a few reasons. the first one is 10 years of soccer without a single knee injury. my ankles were a mess, but i never threw out my knee. the second is that i've been training for 6 months and in all that time, my hips bore the brunt of the pain. and thirdly, this incident chose the super-convenient time of right-in-the-middle-of-the-race to happen.

so there i was, 17km to go, knee fucked to hell, and a weird pain slowly flowing down my shin. awesome, shin splints, yay! true story, this was one of those weird situations in which is was really painful to run, but almost equally painful to walk. so i kept on. oh, there's a medic! i thought. maybe i should stop. but my mind raced through all the possible outcomes of this choice. mostly, that they would tell me that it was screwed and that i had to stop running to prevent further injury. i can't blame them, really. it's their job to tell me how not to hurt myself, and you really can't argue with the logic. "6 months down the drain, 6 months down the drain..." kept running through my mind. no, i couldn't stop. well, maybe just to stretch myself out to see if it would help. so i did, and tried a lot of different stretches, to no relief. it was a tendon or something like that... and stretching wasn't going to fix it. i only regretted sitting down because it made it so much harder to get up. kilometer 29... only 13 more to go.

around 32km, i saw my sweetie and my supportive roommate who made it out to old town to cheer me on. i sort of curse that he got pictures of me in that particular state.

the rest is all a blur, except that i remember feeling a bit deflated as i watched some guys run by pushing a jogger with someone who had a physical deformity... i'm sure they were all running for charity, and seriously, good for them, but i have to admit that it was difficult to know that they were running faster AND pushing something. 15 minutes later, i watched the 5:00 guy go by. this was discouraging only because i felt worried about how much longer this was going to last. nevertheless, i did manage to finish in under 5 hours, after my last push around 5km to go. i guess i just kept reminding myself of how many times i've run that distance before, and that it would all be over in less than a half hour. i ran that last stretch, my left knee throbbing and my brain frantically suppressing the multiple wishful thoughts of death crossing it with every step.


so where does that leave me? well, i've learned a few things. firstly, that i think that my shoes might be slightly too small, as all my toenails are now purple. secondly, that i think the future holds more half-marathons and 10k's, but only after my knee heals. and oh yes, the knee. i think what i did to it is probably a mystery, but most might find it amusing that i walk something like this:



except less un-dead, i guess.

ah, who am i kidding? i haven't learned anything. i'll probably do it again, just give me 5 years.