I live!
I live and I’m tired. I’m tired and swamped and work.
So here’s a bit of a recap via an update email that I sent to a friend…
Never in my life have I been as tired as I was in the final leg… Half mile in and I’m thinking, “hm. this is going to be interesting.” I was hoping to run at least an 8:30 pace but I am pretty sure that is not going to happen anymore. I am watching the time on my polar and it’s dragging so I switch to heartrate and make sure that I stay at 165. I don’t care how fast I’m running as long as I know my HR is at 165. I can run at 165 for a long, long time. It’s a death march. I get my first kill at less than a mile in. The road is long and straight – an old logging road, shady during some points, completely exposed to the afternoon sun during others. I can see for miles ahead of me. Little bodies struggling up the very slight, very sneaky grade that we are climbing. Some are walking, some are crawling at a slow jog. I look down and see that I’m still at 165 bpm. I must be doing 12 minute miles but I know I can’t think about that. The key is to keep moving, to keep my HR stable, to stay hydrated, to stay focused. I channel Ant on the last section of his half marathon in Forest Park. I wish that, like him, I would stop feeling my legs. I’m dragging bricks and the 800 mg of ibuprofen I took 30 minutes before my run isn’t doing a goddam thing.
I’ve never before considered the fact that I might not finish. I’m thinking, “what if I don’t finish? What if I stop? No one will find me here on this isolated logging road.”