Juice and Joy

Obligatory 3M Report

My 3M experience is forgettable. I’m happy for Sarah as she did fabulous.

We rarely had a training run where both of us felt good.

One week, I’d be feeling superb while Sarah struggled. The next week I was whining (as usual) while Sarah was strong.

It didn’t matter the distance or terrain. It didn’t matter if it was thick and warm or crunchy and cool. We ran at odd times to accommodate our odd-mom schedules. There was one long run where we both felt like crap. We met at 1pm on a Saturday afternoon as that was the soonest we could both meet. We advise anyone to avoid running at 1pm on a fairly empty stomach.

I wasn’t as dedicated this year. I didn’t run as much or train as long. I started out fine, and Sarah and I had a race plan. I think it was between mile 2 and 3 that I knew something was wrong with me. I shook it off and thought I’d feel better after a Gu at the 5.5 mile water stop. I didn’t really feel better at all. I think I whined a bunch. I slowed us down from our race goal. At mile 7 I got quit dizzy and pulled out. I sent Sarah on with instructions for the rest of the race. She didn’t want to leave me, but I didn’t want to mess her 1st half-marathon up for her.

I walked a bit and thought I could catch her. Each time I ran, I’d feel nauseous and as though I was running 400s rather than a snail pace. It ached everywhere. I saw Linda cheering between mile 8 and 9 and almost quit as I asked if her car was nearby. Then I thought of David. He’d finished already. He’d given fibers of himself he didn’t know were there (I’m not saying that b/c that is what he told me after the race, I’m saying that b/c that is what I knew at the time he’d done). I thought of him jogging back down the course to meet us, looking for me, seeing Sarah, hearing her say I was not well and back further, him running along and not finding me.

I kept going. I tried to run. I walked. I made it to Duval and started to cry. I hung my head as I passed cheering Gazelles hoping they wouldn’t recognize DV’s lame-ass wife. By this point, I knew David was close. I tried to stop crying. Tried to stop feeling sorry for myself for feeling sick and sucking. Then I saw him. He was running on the sidewalk toward me. I couldn’t hold back my stinging tears anymore. The woman next to me gave a surprised look at my sob as I wiped my eyes and shielded my face from the world.

He knew already that I wasn’t well. He’d passed all of my running friends: Erin, Barb, Gayatri, Leslie, and Sarah. He saw me struggle, saw me pull out and dry heave, heard me lament about the first 10 miles, and heard me whine. He stayed with me until the last 200 meters where he pealed off to avoid crossing the finish line again with his chip.

Even after the way I felt, how I struggled, how I wanted to quit from feeling sick and dizzy and weak, I felt like I didn’t try hard enough. Isn’t that funny?

No race ever has been that hard for me. I am glad I finished. I hate that I took so long to do it. I don’t want to hear cheer-me-ups or any such nonsense.

Let’s all clap for Sarah as she finished her first half-marathon! Now we are on to training of the Rosedale Ride on March 28.

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