The Perfect Storm

So, it happened, I finally had my worst race ever.  Worst time ever.  Worst run ever.  I’d always heard or read about people bombing a race and totally crashing, hitting that wall, but had never experienced it for myself.  I guess it was about time, and the conditions were perfect….

I ran my second half on the 4^th of July, my third overall.  It was a month and a half after the last one I did in Denver so I figured it was enough time to recover but easily jump back into training.  I had been dealing with some tendonitis in my foot coming off the last race so it was a full 2 weeks before I could start training but I figured a full month would be plenty.  Sure, probably had I been training a little more consistently. 

Life happens as it always does and I didn’t always get in all my weekly runs, but I’d just finished my last half in great time, I’ll be fine I thought. 

I also hadn’t taken into consideration that it was now going into June and now I’m training in the summer.  In Colorado.  At elevation.  Holy hotness! Training in the summer is already hard but the sun out here is no joke.  I was struggling with the heat but figured it was just a minor detail, I got this.

It was also coming on ‘that time’ and I was feeling uber drained. But I figured it’s a part of life you’ll just have to push through, everyone does it.

Then the week of the race, my lovely daughter who is learning to share decides to practice on me.  And shares her chest cold. Thanks.  It was a full-on head congestion, can’t breathe because someone is sitting on my chest, wake up in the middle of the night to a coughing fit type cold.  Lovely, who needs to breathe to run right?? 

And then, to top it off, my girlfriend asks if I want to go hiking at Palmer Park while our husbands mountain bike—absolutely I do! I love hiking! Strapped on the peanut and grabbed my dog for a nice hour and a half hike.  Why is this a bad idea you ask?? Because it’s the NIGHT before the race!! Of course I had thought nothing of it until oh, we’re a good 45 minutes into the walk, realize we may be lost and still have to get back to the cars.  Yaaaa… enough said.

Though I think the biggest factor was that I didn’t feel confident, it was a little hard to with all those factors playing into it. But still, mentally I wasn’t bringing my A game, and that can be a game changer.  And it was.

Oh, it was also an out and back race, so you run to the halfway point and then turn around and run back.  I didn’t really care for that, no change of venue and felt even more aware of how far I had to go. 

But the first 6.5 miles I was cruising! I felt really good, nice and steady; my time was even looking good.  Then we turned around.  And in NOT a good way, it all went downhill from there.  My legs were shot, that hike the night before was taking its toll.  It was like trying to run with concrete beams as legs. 

The chest congestion was wearing on my breathing which was already labored because it was getting warmer and warmer. 

I felt like I could not drink enough water and my GU’s weren’t giving me that little extra boost they usually did.

Every minute it felt like it just got hotter and hotter and with each step I was moving slower and slower.

I was drained.  I felt sapped of all my energy and mentally I was battling to keep moving. 

I have never wanted to quit so bad in my whole life.  It sucked! I kept having to walk (gulp, as I swallow my pride…) because I had nothing left.  I kept passing and being passed by the same handful of people who seemed to be struggling as well.  This wasn’t exactly encouraging but I was just thankful to not be alone. 

And let me be clear, I am in no way judging anyone that does walk or has had to, you do whatever you have to do to finish. This was just my own personal struggle.

This was the greatest mental and physical battle I’ve had running, and it was exhausting!  My pride was definitely bruised each time I had to walk.  But it wasn’t until the old guy, with the POW MIA flag on a large pole sticking out of his backpack, which I had passed on my way back, passed ME, that my pride really took a blow.  Seriously!? But I had nothing left, no second or third wind, no strength in my legs, barely had the willpower to keep moving.  It was all I had to just put one foot in front of the other and hopefully not pass out.

But I finished. Not that I can really say that with much joy, I mean I wasn’t injured so it wasn’t like not finishing was an option. And my time was just sad. It was an ugly finish.  Felt like that saying, something about being as slow as a turtle running through peanut butter… Ya that was me.

 I hurt all over.  But really my pride was hurt more than anything.  And you remember the old guy with the flag?  My husband later told me he started Last. LAST!! I guess my pride needed a good beating.

But I’ll get back up and do it again. Why? Because I love it.

I love running.

Love racing.

Love pushing myself.

Love the sense of accomplishment.

I love knowing that I can do what I set my mind to. 

That means taking the good with the bad but doing my part to prepare.

There were some circumstances that were my fault and some were out of my control, it really was the perfect storm. 

But I’m using this to motivate me to change what I can for future races and life in general, and be ok with what I can’t.  You can’t put in half the work and expect to get 100% of the results. 

We all have a bad race, a bad day. That’s life, it’s going to happen.  You can choose to let it ruin your day, your attitude, or you can pick yourself up and go again!

Aren’t these the times that we learn the most about ourselves?  In those bombed races. When the car takes a dump.  A bad day at work.

It’s when everything falls apart that we see who we really are. 

What we really want. 

And what we have.

Learn the lesson, change what you can, and let go of what’s not in your control. 

My positive spin on all this?  I’ve finally experienced my worst race, woo hoo! So now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, it’s time to move on to the next race….