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….

The View from the Top

I just started training for my 4^th half marathon coming up on Labor Day and am really looking forward to it.  And after my last half that was a total disaster (and will be its own blog later) I really want to redeem myself. 

So a couple weekends ago I set out for my first early morning long run. I had found a new trail online that I hadn’t run before and the only thing I knew about it was it was super close to home and a mix of paved and gravel. Perfect.

I walk out to the trail head just past this random water tower, start my watch and find my pace. A couple minutes in there’s a clearing of the trees and WOW, the most breathtaking view looking over the city. Bright blue, clear sky and the mountains just look majestic. As I follow the trail I realize I’m briskly going down a rather steep hill….and down…and down, quickly. And I knew what this meant: the amazing summit view I started at was going to be the incline I’d have to take to get back to my car at the end of my 6 miles. UGH.

I tried to push that thought out of my head. I got back into a steady pace as I finally made my descent into the surrounding neighborhoods and enjoyed the scenery of a new trail.

Just under 2 miles in I come to an incline. I’m not talking Indiana ‘hills’, I’m talking look straight up and not able to see the nearest plateau. And this one is all red, gravelly dirt. Talk about a glut workout!

I finally made it to the top to see another amazing, breathtaking view.   The city and subdivision I had just run through was laid out before me. I did a slow jog around the lookout point to take it in and then headed on.

And then I come back down. And down. And down. Which normally is heaven and much welcomed, but on this run all I could think about was knowing I’d be running back UP those inclines on the way back. Grrrr.

Mile 3 was a steady incline and I was overlooking the east side of the city now, my neighborhood and stores, still so beautiful. Such an amazing perspective that I never see on my day to day errands. The view from the top truly is amazing.

Until I headed back for the last 3 miles…. I can see 2 major intersections in the direction I’m heading back and then I see it: on the next major ‘hill’ there is the water tower. Gulp. That’s where my car is. That’s where I still have to get to. And I realize once again how high up I am over the city, and how far down, and up, and down I must go.

For a second I was trying to figure out how to have my husband come and get me. I didn’t know exactly where I was. Didn’t even have my phone. But I just wanted him to come find me because I knew what I was facing on the way back. I was having a momentary pity party until reality sunk in, there was no one coming and I still had 3 miles to go.  Either I run back because let’s face it, that’s where the car is. Or I sit here and well, sit here.

So I kept running.

It was rough. It was hot. I was tired. My legs were angry with me. The inclines were unforgiving. But.  I. Kept. Going. And I finished in surprisingly great time.

That was hands down THE hardest, hilliest trail I’ve ever run. The inclines were killer and the downhills weren’t refreshing. But the view! Not to mention I felt like a beast after finishing that!

You hear of people climbing crazy mountains and you see a picture from the top and WOW. The view. But you never realize the sacrifice it took to get there. Granted I’ve never climbed a mountain but right now these are my own personal mountains, my own accomplishments and the views from the top are worth the fight from the bottom.

In every area of our lives we have uphill battles at times. 

 It’s hard.

Life isn’t always easy. It takes work. It takes sacrifice.

Things aren’t always fair. You’re tired.

But the ONLY way to get that view from the top is to never give up. You can sit at the bottom having a pity party and hope someone will come and find you. Or you can put one foot in front of the other and make it happen.  It’s the difference between looking at someone else’s pictures and experiencing the view for yourself…