Like an "I'd rather be lying dead on the curb than running" kind of run?
Yeah, me too.
It's happened once or twice over the course of the last five years. And although, it's been said that, "You never regret going for a run," I have regretted every single steps of those runs.
Fortunately, I have never experienced a run like that when it really mattered.
Until Sunday.
A few months back, Kim mentioned that she was going to run the Seaside Half Marathon. I instantly wanted to join her (mainly because I love Kim, but also because I grew up 10 minutes from the race location). Initially, it looked like the timing wasn't going to work out, but as luck would have it, we decided to change our Disney travel dates and I would be able to race. And even better, I was able to convince my sister, Gina, to make her half marathon debut at the event.
So, it was set. Gina and I would drive up the day before, meet Kim, Alma and Lisa for dinner, race at the odd start time of 10 a.m., and then drive home afterwards. It was going to be great.
And it was. Until about mile 3.
Dinner was delicious (and likely my downfall).
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| Alma, Lisa, Kim, me and Gina ... |
I slept well that night. And I woke up ready to race.
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| Me, Lisa, Kim and Gina. Yes, we coordinated outfits ... |
Anyway, like I said, things were going great until mile 3. I had been on pace to hit my goal, despite the 20 mph headwind. Then I started to feel a stabbing pain in my head. By mile 6, my head was full-on throbbing.
Shortly after mile 7, Kim caught me. Then passed me. I started looking for "ways out." Could I hitch a ride with a spectator? No, there were none. Could I jump on an ambulance? Nope, the only one I had seen was long gone. By mile 8, I was dry heaving on the side of the road. At one point, I noticed a bird lying dead on the road and considered joining him (I am only mildly exaggerating).
Right around mile 10, my nausea subsided slightly and I was able to run briefly. Very briefly. My stomach cramps were making it hard to breathe. It hurt to expand my rib cage. I was seriously considering taking a DNF for the first time ever. But, as I mentioned before, even if I committed to quitting, there was no way to get back other than by my own power, so there was really no point.
Unable to run for more than about a minute at a time, I walked the vast majority of the last three miles. Only in the last two tenths of the race did I even attempt to push the pace (I finished in 2:28:21, in case you were wondering). And I only did that because I knew my mom was waiting at the finish line.
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| sucking it up for the cameras ... |
I have never been so happy to finish a run. Ever. Afterwards, I must have looked and been breathing worse than I thought, because my mom tried to get me to go to the medic. I shook her off, as I wasn't about to miss my little sister finish her first half marathon. (Note: She did awesome and although she swears she'll never run another half, I know I can convince her ...)
Honestly, I am not really sure what happened. I'm still not feeling 100%. Maybe I was (and still am) fighting a bug. Maybe, I was wicked dehydrated and I just didn't realize. Maybe my gluten and dairy filled diet in the day prior screwed me over. I don't know. Regardless, this is going down as my worst race ever.
