Gosh, who would have thought a marathon would have taken so much out of me, physically, mentally, and emotionally. With that said, I'm happy to report that I completed the marathon! That's right, this body took me a whole 26.2 miles and I crossed the finish line.
And here's all the gory details: The Saturday a week before my marathon, I went on a quick, three-mile taper run...not even a mile into the run, I hit a piece of uneven ground and as luck would have it, I sprained my ankle. After screaming a couple of expletives, pain and disappointment induced of course, I hobbled back to my parents' house. After making my way to the chair and icing my ankle, I just burst into tears. I had trained so long and so far for this marathon and a week before, I sprain my ankle. Go figure.
The following Monday, I hopped on a plane to Orlando for a big work event, with my ankle wrapped tightly, still painful and still swollen. I got through the week, although on very limited sleep and not without some major travel disruptions (including a cancelled flight, waiting on the tarmac for an hour, another six hour delay, lost luggage, etc.). My ankle was still black and blue and still swollen, but I had put in so much effort and just couldn't let this injury sideline me.
So the race began...I felt alright, although my quads were super tight. Around mile nine, I re-twisted my ankle, which was painful. I kept running. At mile twelve, my ankle gave out again. I kept running. By mile 16 or so, I was hobbling/jogging, but I kept going. Around mile 22 I had a mini breakdown, wondering if the race would ever end. I started to tear up. I asked God to just help me through it, and as if he knew I needed it, a song that means so much to me, "Be Still," by The Fray started playing on my iPod. At that point, I just knew I had to keep going...and keep going I did. It took me six hours...should have taken me a little less than five, but with the ankle, I was just happy to cross the finish line. My friends and brother cheered me on the entire way - meeting me at every check point with their homemade signs, screaming for me to keep going, and even breaking out into song at one point - Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'." I couldn't have done it without them.
After the race, I could barely walk. My brother had to half carry me to the car and throughout the next few days I can honestly say, I have never been so sore in my life. I couldn't stand up or sit down without incredible pain in my legs. Even as I slept, whenever I turned over, my body would scream with pain. A week and half out though, I'm starting to feel better, although I still have some hip pain and oddly enough, my feet still hurt a bit in the mornings. My ankle is still swollen, although the black and blue has subsided. I'm still debating if it's worth heading to the doctor, because my gut is telling me I might have a stress fracture. I'm testing it out tonight at the gym, for the first time in a week.
Although my plan was to run one marathon and then stick with half-marathons and shorter, I'm not so sure that's the case. I really want know what I'm really made of and knowing my time should have been so much better, I think I'll starting training again come the spring. I can honestly say I'm not looking forward to the sores all over my back, the endless long distance runs, the gu chomps and gels...but there's nothing that compares to crossing the finish line knowing you just ran 26.2 miles - no one can ever take that away from you, no matter what the time was, no matter the circumstance...I proudly display my 26.2 sticker on my car, despite it all.
Until the next race . . .
