The Journey of 26.2

I knew I was really on the hook to complete this journey when I announced to my friends and family that I'd be there and begged for their moral support. The finish line was a long ways away, and some friendly faces along the course couldn't hurt. So still full of doubt, I went down to the expo and registered. For the marathon.

Now, one thing I learned during the race in Atlanta was it is essential to know exactly where the finish line is because spectators are unreliable sources of information. So, after the expo, I decided to drive the course in my car to get the lay of the land. Perhaps it was a bad omen when I got lost several times, gave up after mile 20 and headed home. I had been driving for over an hour and hadn't crossed the finish line. I tried to push the negative thoughts out of my mind.

But by the night before race day, full moon rising, I felt like a dead woman walking. I had been sentenced and would be facing my punishment in the morning. I tried to go about my normal activities and not sit around worrying about the journey ahead. I laid out my race day wardrobe, affixed my bib, and taped my name on my shirt then went to bed. Since I started running a lot, I am happy to say, I've slept well. Luckily, insomnia did not strike the eve before the race. At the very least, I'd be well rested.

When I woke marathon morn, I was nervous. I could not eat my standard pre-run breakfast. Food made me nauseous, but it was essential fuel. I ate as much as I could stomach, got dressed, then hit the road. I was running late, but had plenty of time to make it to the starting line on time. I was well on my way when I realized I left my watch at home. There wasn't enough time to turn around, so I had to forego the watch. Would it be a good thing to not know how fast (or slow) I was moving? I was on the fence.

It's true what they say. There is an amazing energy surrounding an event such as this. As a first time participant, I knew it would be an emotional roller coaster. As the national anthem was being sung at the start, I had to hold back tears. It was going to be a warm day, and it was best not get dehydrated before the race started. As the starting gun was fired, smoke and confetti blew in the high winds. The elite runners were well out of sight by the time I crossed the starting line, but I was officially on my way.

Quite honestly, those first few miles were a blur. The throng of runners surrounding me propelled me forward with an inexplicable momentum. Before I knew it, I was approaching mile 5 and that old leg pain started rearing it's ugly head. I knew I had to pace myself if I was going to make it, plus it was time to dip into my stash of pain remedies.

Nothing worked really well, or at all. By the time I was approaching mile 9, and that oh-too-familiar loop around the lake, I was second guessing my decision and questioning my sanity. Just past the 10 mile mark, the fire truck arrived on the scene. A runner down on the course, requiring emergency attention. The sound of sirens became all too familiar by the end of the day. This did not bode well for my optimism.

In fact, by the time I hit the half way point, I was ready to hang it up. A finisher's medal was not enough to propel me to the finish. The weather at this point was unforgiving. The sun had emerged, and temperatures rose into the 70's. Perfect for watching, not running a marathon. Then there was the wind. Gusts of up to 20-30 mph, and around the lake (miles 9 to 18) it felt like it was always in your face. I wanted out.

I'm not sure how, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I knew at this point that every step I took was one step closer to the finish. I remember looking around me and thinking the throng of runners had thinned considerably. Time was ticking, and I was being left in the dust. At each milestone, as my pace continued to slow, I had to reset my expectations. Realistically, would I make it?

As I approached mile 18, I realized I was entering unchartered territory. In all my training, I had never exceeded an 18-mile run. And, thanks to my injuries, it had been two months since that last 18-miler. They say you hit the wall around the 18-20 mile mark. Well, quite the opposite happened to me. It was at this point, that I knew I would somehow make it. I didn't care how long it took. I was going to finish.

Those final miles were not easy but at least I was in good spirits. I developed this mantra that I kept repeating to myself... the more you run, the sooner you'll be done. Yes, that was my motivator. I wanted to be finished more than anything. When I finally saw the 25 mile marker, I thought just over a mile to go. I wish I could say I ran the rest of it, but my body wasn't having it.

It was at the 26 mile marker with the finish line within sight when I knew I was there. As I ran towards the finish line, I could feel tears rising again. Tears of joy, tears of relief that it was finally over. I had completed my marathon. It was such an unbelievable experience and incredible journey. For the first time in months, I feel as though I can finally, truly rest.

AAA Tucson

That's my nickname for that little town out west. The MLB team where I grew up has a farm team out there. Listening to the sports report on the news I'd always hear mention of AAA Tucson. So, it kind of stuck. Little did I know that I'd narrowly miss calling that place home.

My first job out of university announced a shut down and relo 3 months into my stay. Only the chosen ones would be offered a position to move with the company, and only the really special chosen ones would be offered a position in AAA Tucson, insert mild sarcasm here. It was 10 years ago nearly to the day when I received an offer to move to AAA Tucson. As thrilling an idea as it was, I couldn't fathom picking up and relocating to a city and state where I knew no one. I had family and friends in Texas, and while I wasn't a native of Texas, as the saying goes, I got there as soon as I could... more mild sarcasm... sort of.

I wasn't prepared to pick up and leave all that was familiar and comfortable behind. So, I began the job search, and in good time, found a position at my current company. Hard to believe it's nearly been 10 years. I've come a long way since then, and it's had it's fair share of ups and downs. But, I can honestly look at my position right now and say I am happy. Well, except for one thing.

AAA Tucson. It comes full circle. Business brings me here, and I finally got a chance to see the place that I could have called home. I made the right decision.

Dress Rehearsal

That was the plan. Rise and shine early. Eat my pre-race breakfast. Don my running gear. And hit the lake for one last loop before the big event. This was going to be my physical and mental equivalent of a dress rehearsal.

Well, we are in the height of college football season and what does one do while watching football? Drink beer and eat chips and queso. I am no exception. I did have the sense to moderate my cerveza intake and restrict the volume of junk food to a reasonable amount. But in the end, my stomach did not appreciate cheese dinner.

So this morning, I was moving slow. I decided for a short run, it was totally and completely unnecessary to rise early. I stayed in bed, and relished the thought of sleeping in guilt free for many weeks to come... as soon as this race was over.

While waiting for inspiration to strike, I compiled my official marathon playlist complete with songs that I will want to sing along to, songs to distract me from the pain, and songs to motivate me as I'm hitting the wall. "I'm Still Standing" by Elton John is strategically placed as I'm finishing the ever brutal mile 20. I synced my ipod and was ready to go.

As I started my last training run, I quickly discovered my playlist was hosed. Apparently the songs didn't transfer in the right order, so no rhyme, no reason. Precisely the reason for the dress rehearsal. So I can sort the technical difficulties out in advance because, God knows, I'll have my fill of other problems come race day.

In general, I had a serious lack of energy due to the stark diet this morning, but beyond that, I was feeling pretty good. My usual leg pain didn't appear until mile 7. Progress. By the time I was approaching the car, I cannot deny that it was hurting... alot. I kept asking myself why am I doing this? How am I going to do this? Today was 9 miles. Essentially, I need to do that plus two more next weekend. I must be insane.

Saturday morning rant

OK, you know when you don't want to complain about something because in the long run you know it's a good thing, but you just can't help but complain anyway? That's me this morning. It's Saturday morning and the dogs are outside (see previous post) and barking. Alot. It's before 8 am. My neighbors love me. To avoid alienating the entire neighborhood, I bring them in. They run to the front windows and continue barking. I open the blinds, and what do I discover? The objects of their torment. Dump trucks and gravel trucks lining the street as far as the eye can see, idling none too quietly. The city is making some much needed repairs and improvements to the streets and sewers in my aging neighborhood. I'm happy to see my tax dollars being put to good use in such a visible way and so close to home, really I am. But is it too much to ask that this occur at a more civilized hour?

Ahhh, nothing like the sound of idling trucks and that annoying beeping sound when they throw it into reverse to start the weekend off right.

I'd hop in the car and escape to my local Starbucks, but wouldn't you know it, there's a truck blocking my driveway.

Dogs and Icing

And I'm not talking about the fluffy white stuff you put atop your favorite cupcakes. No I'm talking about sitting stationary with a bag of some frozen substance (I prefer peas over the traditional cube) placed over the aching body part du jour for extended periods of time.

Now, lets step back a minute and discuss this activity in general. I hate it. Especially when it's 30-something degrees outdoors, and I'm struggling to get warm and cozy inside. But ask any athlete or athletic supporter (haha... the age-old joke from Grease), and they swear by it. In preparation for the big race, I have decided this is a necessary evil and have begun icing with zest.

I swear my dogs have a sixth sense about these things and know the precise moment that I'm most immobile. Because it seems as soon as I get the ice pack strategically positioned and the numbing begins, one of them casually strolls to the door. Rising and walking is a challenge at this point. The muscles and joints are beyond stiff. It feels like one false step will cause a muscle to tear or ligament to snap. Then of course, there's that ice pack which inevitably hits the floor the minute I rise. Every time.

If I hobble over to the door and let the dog out, the second I get re-situated, dog #2 appears out of nowhere and hovers in front of the door. If I ignore them, they look at me with those pathetic brown eyes. How can I resist? Plus, what if they need to go? I mean really need to go. I don't want them going in the house, so I struggle over to the door, let them out, then return to torture myself on the couch.

They're content out of doors for oh, about 2.3 seconds. And mind you, it's 30-something degrees outside, so they can't possibly be left out there. Right? Nevermind the fact they have thick fur coats. So up I get again. Back to the door, ice to the floor, and let the dogs in. We do this over and over again. Why is it dogs are always on the wrong side of the door?

Finally they settle in and begin to entertain themselves. I get wrapped in ice once again. The numbing begins to have this great effect on my sore limbs. I feel no pain. I'm relaxed and beginning to appreciate this barbaric treatment, when damn, nature calls. Of course. I'm up again, my movement stirs the dogs, and back to the door they go. And so the vicious cycle begins... again.

They recommend 20 minutes every 2 hours, so at this rate, I'll be finished at a quarter to next Thursday. Perfect.

OMG!!!

I'm sitting here unwinding after another enlightening day at the office, laptop in lap, and in the background, listening to one of those home staging shows on HGTV, one of my absolute fav channels. They were discussing overhauling a mantle piece above the fire place, and I heard them discussing the use of a router. Anyone with half a clue would know they were discussing a wood-working tool... What's the first thing that came to mind when I heard the word router? And mind you, my ears totally perked up at the sound of it...

Cisco. Routers. IP addresses. Subnetting. Broadcast domains. Hop counts.

Arghh! I am officially a geek.

Have I lost my sense of adventure?

This thought crossed my mind today while I was at the office. I have a business trip next week that's forcing me into unchartered territory. Business travel in general is new to me. I made a career change earlier this year that made my comfortable desk job a thing of the past. Not that I'm now a door to door salesman, but certainly a trip or two a month isn't unheard of. But the nature of this trip is something I have never experienced. It's virtually a scouting mission, and I'm the technical expert. Right.

Not that I doubt my ability as much as I hate being ill-prepared. In my working world, I like planning, I like predictability, and I like organization. This trip is going to be anything but that. When I found out about it... the weekend after Thanksgiving I might add... I was dreading it immediately. It's almost as though I feel inconvenienced to have to leave my comfortable desk and home. And for what? To go on this trip which will undoubtedly result in no personal gain?

Well, as I was at my desk this afternoon and I had this a ha moment, I thought I have the wrong mindset. Happiness, satisfaction, all of those pleasantries in life are a choice. We have the power to change our circumstances. Instead of dreading this trip, I should be welcoming the challenge, the adventure of it all. Hence my decision du jour to run the marathon. I think it'll be a fun experience. I'm participating for the adventure of it all.

Funny how conservative we become when it matters. As adults, we often describe it as being responsible. But, I think when it comes down to it, we're just too cautious. We've lost our sense of adventure, and I am certainly no exception.

Grounded

Or not as the case may be. I have been given a reprieve and a bit more fuel to add to the I-am-a-hypochondriac fire. I made my way to the orthopedic yesterday, and after a series of x-rays and poking and prodding, discovered that there's nothing wrong with me. Awesome. This takes me back to a running stint a few years ago when I was convinced I had hip problems. Another trip to another specialist (surely I'm not to blame for our rising healthcare costs!). What did he tell me? The pain I was describing was not near my hips and get thee to a physical therapist. Uh, yeah... Innocent mistake.

I know I'm not completely out of my mind. I have been running in pain the last couple of months, but I'm beginning to think I'm a complete wimp. God help me if I ever face child birth. My mother after talking to one of her running friends told me that I simply need to tough it out. Plus a little ice, ice, and more ice baby. Alright, I've mentally embraced my limitations. I know I won't be breaking any land speed records, and I know it won't come easy. But in the end, I know I can do it.

So last night I went to pull the trigger. To register for the marathon online. And what to my wondering eyes should appear? Online registration is closed. If I'm going to run this event, I must go to the expo race day weekend and sign up in person. Yet another hurdle. The way I see it this event and all of its many hurdles are character building, and by the end of it, I'll have the toughest in town.

Less than two weeks to go... plenty of time to think, and rethink, and rethink it again...