RR (CMM) 'Till I Collapse - Part IV

Around mile 11, the ½ marathoners split off, thanks to the slightly annoying directions of Elvis. Honestly, I’m glad. The course has been crowded, and I’m wanting to be with my fellow runners who are in it for the long haul. Strangely enough, I’m isolated when this happens (Be careful what you wish for and all of that….), but I catch up to the main pack in a few minutes.

And, I’m not sure what happened here, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that mile 12 was off. And maybe mile 13.1. Or maybe I just slowed down… I cross 13.1 at 2:31… The reason I say this is that mile 14 was then a 10 minute mile. I was back on track, and feeling okay.

It was around this time that I noticed a little tightness in my right calf muscle. It got steadily worse until about mile 15, when it started cramping. Ohhh, boy. This is NOT good. I still have 11 miles to run. I started to get upset. I got a lump in my throat that made it hard to breathe. That’s stupid. There’s no crying in running. You can’t do that, Jen. You want to end it now? Start crying and feeling sorry for yourself. Because you know running and crying equals asthma. Game over.

Think. Focus. What is your body saying to you? The one thought that came to mind was in the form of two people. IronBenny and Nancy Toby. I remember the updates to Benny’s blog, and hearing that he was going through cramps (this after swimming 2.4 miles and biking 112 miles) early on in the marathon. And I remember Nancy blogging to his site: “Eat the soup, Benny!” SALT! I need salt. Of course, I just passed an aid station that was giving out pretzels. I touch my face gingerly and feel a thin crust all over.

I look around. I see two ladies spectating on the side of the road. They seem to have a lot of snacks (and I’m desperate.). I ask them if they might have any pretzels. They say no, but offer something else. I thank them and move along. Just then a gal in front of me turns around. She’s wearing a bright pink shirt. She asks me if I’m cramping. I say yes. She asks if I need salt. I’m in disbelief. She has salt! Willingly giving it out! She hands me a tiny ziplock bag of table salt and says, “I SWEAR it’s salt!” We laugh, I thank her profusely, and start downing the stuff like it’s… err… candy.

Which is kind of a bad idea, because I’m not near any water. Finally I get to an aid station (things are cloudy here, I’m not sure exactly what mile I was at) and down a bunch of water and power aid. I think I took 3 cups. I walk and drink as I fervently will the salt to work it’s magic. I notice maybe a little relief over the next ½ mile, but then the cramps return. Now my left leg has joined in on the fun.

Around this time we go by the river. It’s a beautiful trail behind a complex of office buildings. I start to think that this race is starting to unravel. I start to get upset again. I think, “Okay, this is hard. It’s supposed to be hard. Give yourself a moment or two to acknowledge that, and then move on.” Okay. Done. Moving on.

As we finish the trail and get back to the road, I see a familiar person in front of me… Could it be? It is! It’s Letty! I’m a little concerned though, because I remember that she was 3 corrals in front of me. As I catch up to her, we chat. She’s having a rough day too and also experiencing cramping. I try to offer some encouragement, and she urges me on. I say a prayer for her.

And then it starts in earnest. The cramps are kind of alternating between my right and left calves. I start to wonder when this is going to end. I see the 4:45 pace group pass me and then the 5:00 as well. I change my goal from sub 5:00 to simply: Finish.

Finally, I see a medical tent. I go in and tell them what the problem is. The guy gives me a salt packet (like in McDonald’s) and a bottle of water. I down the packet and ½ of the water. He asks me kind of incredulously if I want another packet. Yes. Down the second packet and the rest of the water. They ice down my legs (all while standing… I wasn’t sitting for anything.), and then I’m on my merry, cramping way. Walking was bad. I just felt like the slower I went the higher the potential for bad things to happen.

So I settled into a run-shuffle. It worked pretty well, and I was still getting places. I kept waiting for some miracle relief from the salt, but the cramps kept on. I saw the time that Dan and I agreed to meet at Mile 20 float away one minute at a time. 10:54. 11:02. 11:10. I hoped that he wasn’t worried, but knew that he must be wondering.

I reach mile 17 and the wind starts to really pick up. Not just a nice 15 mph breeze. Noooo. This is dry-your-eyes-blow-everything-from-here-to-kingdom-come. Flags are whipping, cups are flying, dust is now the new air. I close my mouth and crunch down on sand. Now I start to think… Hard. How much water have I had? Was it enough? Was it too much? See, because with this wind, I can’t tell how much I’ve been sweating. The last time I peed was at mile 3, so I should be fine where hyponatremia is concerned… But I’m probably on the verge of dehydration. That makes sense, I think, because with lack of water, I’m not absorbing any of the salt that I’ve been ingesting. I’m taking 2 and 3 cups at water stations, taking my time, really drinking as much as I can, but this is starting to feel like a losing battle.

Mile 18. I’m happy to reach this mile, because now it’s just one more mile until it’s one more mile until I see Dan. Well, it made sense to me. It was the full extent of the math that I could do at the time, okay?

Mile 19 stretches on forever. More wind. More cramps. I start to wonder if Dan might have moved up to Mile 19, but then realize he’s so OCD, that he will probably not change the plan. J That’s probably a good thing. I wonder how Lisa did on her ½ marathon and if I’ll get to see her and Marty. That would be such a lift!

Finally, I see the sign for Mile 20. I see some guy waving at me. He has Dan’s yellow visor. Did Dan give his visor away? That guy is really tall. Hmm. And, he’s pointing at me. I look the other way. Maybe he’s pointing at someone else. There’s no one around me. Then he starts calling my name. “How does he know my name?”, I think. The fog slowly clears. That must be Dan. Eureka. Beauty. Help is on the way!

But, this guy is on the phone! And, I’m running by him! Is he coming or not? I find myself letting go of those pent up emotions. I think part of me was just waiting to get to mile 20. I knew that if I made it there, Dan could help me do the rest.

So, I was shocked when I heard the following coming out of my mouth:

“Dan, get over here, I need you!” Wow, if that’s not gratitude, I don’t know what is. Honestly, Jen, did you learn nothing from your parents? Geesh. What he does is heroic, though. I see him chuck the phone to some bystander (That made like zero sense to me, but I spent no time worrying about his phone that he seemed to have just given away.) and run out to get me. He says, “Hey! How are you?!” I start to bawl. I just let it out. “I’ve been cramping since mile 15.”

We run a few steps. I could almost hear him collecting his thoughts. I was wondering if he was going to make me stop. Then he starts giving me orders. It’s great. “We’re coming up to a water stop, just around the corner. We’re going to find a bottle and fill it up, and you’re going to just walk right through it. You don’t have to do a thing. Just keep moving. Take baby steps. No long strides. You can do this! You’re tough!”

A minute later, my calf cramps like a *&^%er and I yelp. We get to the station. I have 3 or 4 cups of water. He just keeps handing them to me and I down them. Walk some more. Then start to shuffle. We’re motoring along (sort of) and he starts to tell me to think about those I know that have struggled. Pappy. Kelsey. Sheila. I think of IronBenny a lot too. How much worse he must have felt. How I could do this. How I felt like an absolute wimp when I heard myself moan: “Shut up! This isn’t suffering. You PAID to do this, remember.”

At this point, we hear Marty yelling at us! What a surprise! It was so good to see him. I hear Dan and he talking a bit… I’m just motoring on. Focus. Run. Left. Right. Dan asks Marty to find a bottle somewhere… I’m wondering why but keep going. We end up using that bottle for the rest of the race, filling it up at the water stations and drinking inbetween. It was a life saver. Marty runs with us for at least another mile… Boy it was great to see him, and I send happy thoughts to Lisa who is at the finish, hoping she did well on her ½ (although they both refuse to tell me how she did…).

It never enters my mind to stop, but when my groin muscles decide to join in, I really wonder how much farther I will make it. I feel betrayed by my body. My mind is ever so willing, but my body wants out. I change my goal yet again. “I’m going to go until I can’t go no more.” If everything seizes up and I’m reduced to a puddle, fine. Then, I would know I went as far as I could physically go.

Mile 23 added a new challenge. It seems that my intestines are no longer enjoying the gel/powerade/salt/water cocktail that they are receiving. I feel rumblings and then cramping of a different nature. I had already been ever so ladylike the entire past 3 miles with Dan, belching and burping my way through gels and water and powerade, but I have a feeling that joining the brown streak club might be the end of the road. I clench every muscle I have (this led to a very sore core later on) for a couple of minutes and the feeling passes. Now I was beginning to get a little concerned. One more mile. Just get to mile 24.

Around this point Dan goes, “Oh my god, I’m leaking!” My brain can’t handle this. I’m thinking, great. Dan has a problem now. He’s bleeding or something, we have to stop. I think I keep running, though, and he says, “No, look!” Nothing like peeing on the fly. Literally. I wish inwardly that I could have done that at mile 3.

At mile 24 it dawns on me that A) I ONLY had 2.2 more miles. (That still seems like an eternity… When was it that I thought that 6 miles was a short run? What an idiot!) and B) I only had one more mile before I had one more mile before it was just 0.2 miles to the end… and C) That Dan’s plan was to peel off the course at mile 25 to let me “enjoy” the last mile. Part C freaks me out the most. He is constantly talking, telling me to use those TRI-DRS tags, to think about those who used them before me. Encouraging me. Urging me on. Telling me I am strong (to which I scoffed inwardly – God, I was so pissed off at my stupid body!). A whole 1.2 miles alone felt like torture. I finally bring it up.

He says, “Don’t you worry. I’m not going ANYwhere. I’m sticking right here with you to the very end.” This made me want to go faster. “&%$#!!!!!” (calf cramp right in front of water station) “Nooo, easy grasshopper! Small steps.” I take my last gel and manage to dry heave the sucker down.

Mile 24 is a blur. One more mile to 25. Someone says I only have 3.6 miles or something to go. Dan gets pissed and tells me not to listen to them, that they can’t do math. He remarks loudly, “Oh, nice math! What, do you buy lottery tickets too?!” I’m guessing that the guy who said it was a bit of a dolt, because everyone really laughed.

The band at mile 24 is playing the chorus: “Come on baby, make it hurt so good…..” I think, how appropriate. Dan says, “You know what they should be saying? They should be singing, make it hurt so Wicked-good!” He gets a chuckle out of me.

I start to think about how hard this is. I come to the realization that it’s harder than grad school. I’m a little shocked at this, but I realize it’s true. I had thought when I started training that since I’m in grad school and have suffered (oh whoa is me! ßinsert sarcasm), a marathon would be doable. Not easy, but within reach. Now, in the midst of this sucker, I think, “Surely I can finish the last 8 months of grad school… Piece of cake! At least it’s air-conditioned!” Funny how our perceptions change.

I thought that I will enjoy mile 25, but honestly it’s just long and lonely. No real crowd support (that I remember).

FINALLY, I see that Mile 26. Marty is there with my camera, and I manage a thumbs up (Liar, I think.) He takes a few more pictures, and I can see I’m just looking at the ground, concentrating on each step.

I look up and Dan is gone. I’m crying. Tears streaming down my face. I cannot freaking believe that I’m here. I’m in the finish shoot, people all around, shouting my name! I try to go faster and I seize up again. It seems like everyone groans with me. I look up and see the camera. I try to smile and lift my arms to the sky. I hear the loud speaker announce my name. Beep, Beep. I finished.

It’s like my legs decided to give up only after they heard those two little beeps. I see a girl in a red shirt and think that the med tent might be a saavy idea. I get there with a little help and they lay me down, stretch me out. Calf one seizes. Then my groin. Then a calf. They get my information. I see Dan. They’re taking my pulse and I realize my watch is still going. I turn it off only to realize I could have given the girl my HR. Duh. I see it says 5:35 (Actual time: 5:34:21… Typing that I just realized it’s a straight… ). Thank God I finished, is all I can think. Thank You, Dear God.

We get out of there pretty quickly. I see some guy on a stretcher and I just want out. There are others who need the attention more than I do, and I have a feeling the more I move the better I’ll be. For some reason I’m obsessing about my chip. So, we make a move toward the rest of the finish shoot. I get my medal. Wow. I get the cool mylar blanket. I get the chip removed. A banana. The nasty Schpenko sandals. I leave my shoes on, though… From backpacking experience, I know it’s always wise to leave the shoes on until you’re where you want to be for the night. And, I wasn’t sure what I was going to find. I was glad to be on my way… as a Marathoner.

One more part to go...