Greifenseelauf

So I have debated whether I should even post about this or not.  But the more I thought about it, the more positive of a spin I was able to put on it, in my head.  So, here I am, two weeks later, able to write about my success/failure of running my first half marathon.

I started training seriously in July.  I had been running at least once a week before that, starting in May.  But I was getting ready for the Zurich Lake swim, and so mostly concentrated on that.  As soon as that was over, I switched to running at least three times a week.  Good weeks, I would run 4 times, but I was trying to start out slow to prevent injury. ha! (keep reading, you will appreciate the sarcasm then)

My knees started aching after every run.  So I finally broke out the brand new running shoes I had bought in France last April.  What do you know?  No more sore knees.  But after about a week, I noticed a sharp pain in my heel every time I took a step.  Strangely, though, once I got running, the pain lessened considerably.  Or I just learned to block it out.  As soon as I stopped, though, it would kind of throb and ache for a while.  If I rested for one day, the pain would go away, I could run, and it would come back when I finished.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

I just kept ignoring it.  Until a few days before the race, when it was hurting all.the.time.  Even when I wasn’t running.  My running buddies told me to stay off the foot until race time.  Ice it, and just take some ibuprofen before the race.  (Which is technically against the rules, but I wasn’t exactly running for prize money here.)  So that is what I did.  Chris thought I was crazy to try and run on a sore foot.  And yes, it was still aching the morning of the race, but I was determined.  And besides, I had ignored on every other run, this would just be a bit longer. 🙂

My strategy was a simple one; try and keep up with my friends Julie and Jenni for as long as possible, doing a walk/run method.  They are faster than I am, so I knew I couldn’t keep up for the whole race, but maybe I could keep them within sight distance for a good while.  And keep running until I finished.  That was it. And the gun fired, and we were off!

I managed to keep up with Julie, who was running slow for my benefit, for less than one kilometer.  My foot hurt so bad, I just couldn’t go any faster.  But I was going, you know?  I kept falling farther and farther behind, but I also just kept going.  The route was lined with well-wishers, cheering us all on.  There were lots of volunteers passing out water, a Gatorade like substance, wet sponges, and even bananas!  That was really fun.  And the view was fantastic; through quaint little villages, farmers fields, along the lake.  I want to go back and ride bikes with the kids around it.  It was so gorgeous and peaceful.

And then at around 10 kilometers, so a little less than halfway, my hip slipped out of joint.  It makes sense, of course.  My right foot was hurting horribly, so I was compensation by putting more pressure on my left leg, which then caused my joint to slip a little.  It often does, actually, and I can usually just tip myself over in what looks like a very slow-motion cartwheel, with my unaffected leg high up in the air, until I hear the blessed “pop!” that means all is well.  The pain instantly subsides, and I am off again.  Well, I kept bending over, but it kept not popping.  So I would run a bit further, ow! ow! ow! ow!, then try and bend again.  Nothing doing.  So I gritted my teeth and decided that I would just tough it out until the end.  I had come so far, I wasn’t stopping now.

At 14 kilometers, and where there were a table of bananas, I almost quit when one of the volunteers asked me if I was okay.  But dang it, I was two-thirds of the way done, I couldn’t quit now!  So I just waved him off and kept going, right off the trail.  Some kids were playing with the marking tape, and had removed the barriers that had previously been up.  So instead of going left, I went right.  It seemed odd that there were no little UBS markers along the trail, like there had been the whole rest of the time.  But just as I got really worried, I saw in orange paint the same kilometer markings on the pavement I had been watching the entire race.  So I relaxed, secure in the knowledge that I was going the right way.  Yeah, not really.

At what I am estimating to be at the 15.3 kilometer mark, an official race car pulled up next to me and the helpful lady inside asked me if I knew that I was not on the right course.  No, I didn’t.  And that was it.  I had no fight left in me.  My foot was screaming bloody murder, and my hip was providing a lovely echo.  Frustratingly, none of my muscles were sore at all, and I was not that tired.  Had I not been in mind-blowing pain, I could have easily kept running.  Instead, I climbed inside the car, and declared my half-marathon officially over.

They brought me back to the beginning/finish, and then I wandered around for quite a while looking for my friends.  I knew they had all finished already, and were probably looking for me.  No, they were doing even better, they had run back along the course they had already run to finish with me.   But of course, I wasn’t there.  Isn’t that so sweet, though?  I was in too much pain, too disappointed, and too frustrated to properly acknowledge it then.  But seriously, I thought that was the neatest, coolest, thing ever!  Thank you ladies, so very, very much.

Even though I didn’t finish, I still handed in my number for my t-shirt and souvenir shot glass. (seriously, because doesn’t everyone celebrate running long distances with a shot of tequila?!? ) And on the train ride back home, I started to reconcile my disappointment and frustration.  And now I can honestly say that I am proud of my accomplishment.  Some may look at it as me not finishing the whole 21 kilometers.  Me, I am choosing to look at it as me running 15 whole kilometers in serious, tear inducing pain.  Woohoo! Go me! 🙂

Oh, and next year I am so kicking that half-marathon’s patootie. That is, if I can ever stop walking without limping.