This past Sunday was the day of the marathon and like the Philadelphia Eagles during every major drive when scoring is essential, I dropped the ball. The ball is in this case was my dismal finish time.
I admit that I stopped training as hard and as much as I had been as the race date approached. The allure of a warm bed always took precedent over a wog, a jog and visits to the track. I let life get in the way: The Bee has school, I had to stay late at work, Mom needed me to do something. Truthfully I just didn’t feel like it.
My half-assed training cost and did I pay the price! Sore shins, my left ankle is still tender, muscles screaming from the rooter to the tooter. Plus the matter of my wounded pride. Lapped by a man stooped to the side is NOT the story that I want told yet its my story.
Most people are so amazed that I was in a marathon (participate, my words as my dismal showing can hardly be called run) but I feel that I wasted their time and my 80 bucks.
Instead of turning this into a woe is me post, I will do as Fagg women always do: make light of my suckiness.
I kinda knew my day was going to be an uphill battle when I saw some of the other runners. These people had serious running gear on: belts and packs full of water bottles, gel packs, hand sanitizer and the like. There were women in little sports bras that showed off six pack abs and men with shorts that showed rippling thighs (well most men had he-man thighs; there were a few I wanted to loan my jacket to). My spirits were lifted when I saw some folk that looked like me; weekend warriors who were racing just ’cause. Instead of getting into my own head and giving the public a show, I cranked up some Missy Elliott and proceeded to freak out internally.
The first five miles were not so bad. I walked, wogged better than I ever have. Although I have found reasons not to lace up my sneakers, I am 82% sure that if I do enter a race again I will be able to compete a 5K without feeling like a hippo. I got emotional when I ran past Chestnut Street and was greeted by my sister who surprised me with a very loud “Go Missy!” If SHE, of the house of I Need a Newport and a coffee, was out there to cheer me on, how could I not do it?
My wog partner and I were caught up in a group that included kids from Students Run Philly Style. Dealing with the high schoolers that come into the library can be a challenge but these kids were great. One kid jogged by and high-fived everyone he passed on the street. His excitement was contagious. The other students were equally excited and, total aside, I am really going to make it my business to help this organization (The Bee will one day be a high school student in Philly and this is such a positive idea that she must a part of it!).
Vanilla Bean Gu is yum. The Expresso Gu was good but man oh man was that Vanilla Bean spot on. Of course this could have been because I had not eaten anything except for toast and by that time of day a dead rat may have seemed appetizing.
I have a new found respect for athletes. I am in no way agreeing with their million dollar salaries but after the wear and tear I put my body through in one day I could NOT imagine having to do that three four times each week.
Hand sanitizer is a must. I had to use a porta potty and Ewwww.
Every time I hit a water station and was offered water or Gatorade, all I could think about was the Waterboy: Gatorade! Gaaaatorade! Water sucks, it really, really sucks! I still dislike Gatorade.
When I hit the half way mark, I wanted to quit but didn’t. I also called a walker who was headed towards the finish line a bunch of names in my head but since she didn’t hear that doesn’t count right?
People had a few gimmicks while they ran. While I choose to go as out of shape middle aged chick, there was an Elvis, a pair of statue of liberties, a juggler and Santa.
Since I know what to expect, the fool part of me is thinking that the half is for me. Next year, a new pair of sneakers or two and I’m in. The FA part of me is thinking, “No way sister!”. As I’ve not gone out for a few days any chances of me actually doing anything but working on a stage two decubitis seem to be my plan for now.
Getting ready for a soak,