A few weeks ago, when I wrote about taper madness, I mentioned that one of my toes had been hurting. I mentioned it casually and had been downplaying it as much as possible leading up to the marathon. Only Runner Boy, who watched me pop vitamin I like it was Smartees and ice my foot with frozen peas at every opportunity, knew how much it was really hurting. I figured if I didn't draw any attention to it, it would be okay for the big race. I even toyed with the idea of aiming for a sub 4:00 marathon.
Fast forward to Saturday, the day before race day, when my dad and I took an extended walking tour of Cleveland. (Btw, I could write paragraphs about Cleveland, but my grandmother always told me "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I'll leave it at that. Oooh, except I can't help but mention the cops outside the sushi restaurant on Friday night who told us "Don't worry, it's safe now." Nice.) So, as Runner Daddy and I were walking, and walking, and walking, and walking, my toe began to feel not so great. I told him I wanted to veg out for a while--not mentioning the toe because of that whole "don't draw attention to it" thing--and I managed to sneakily ice my foot while RD napped.
We had dinner Saturday night with about twelve people from my running group. It was wonderful to see familiar faces in a strange city and I got a last-minute adrenaline boost for the race. By the time I saw them again the next morning, I was pumped and my foot issue was honestly in the recesses of my mind. I lined up between the 4:00 and 4:15 pacers and decided to see how I could do.
The first five miles were great. I was maintaining just under a 9:00 min/mile pace and was feeling really strong. The weather was in the mid-40's and the sun wasn't blazing. I was coasting, taking it easy, and my cardio was excellent. Then the shit hit the fan. Suddenly, out of the blue, my foot started screaming. I mean, it was blinding pain. I think I even started crying. Unfortunately, I was surrounded by a gazillion half marathoners and they were counting down the miles and high-fiving at each mile marker. I could only focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
At mile 12, I saw the split for the half marathoners. I considered taking it. And I'm not just saying that. I really almost veered off at the split. At that point, not only was my toe hurting, but I was obviously compensating somehow with my ankle and that was now screaming too. I decided to stay on the marathon course with the idea that if it got to the point I literally couldn't run anymore, I would turn around and walk back to the half mary finish. When I reached my own half marker, my time was 2:03. I was still running strong despite the pain.
At each mile marker I did the mental math, it was x miles back to the half and y miles to the finish. I just kept focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I refused to walk because I knew it would just take that much longer to finish. I reached the point of no return at mile 20. I felt a rush when I saw the marker because, despite the pain, I knew I was going to finish.
The rest of the race was one foot in front of the other. Don't think, just run. I hit my lowest point at mile 24. I threw up and didn't' know if it was from pain, exhaustion, or a combination. I walked for about a quarter mile until I realized that was taking too long and I just wanted the race over. Even if I ran at 13:00 min/mile pace, I was still running. So I went for it.
At mile 25, a lady on the sidelines was handing out chunks of fresh orange. I debated taking one, worried how it might affect me, then I realized it really couldn't get much worse. I bit into the orange and it was the most amazing, delicious, refreshing food I've ever had. As I slurped down the juice, I realized I was crazy thirsty. I quickly drained two entire bottles from my Fuel Belt and pushed on.
As I approached the finish, I realized I might actually have a chance of breaking 4:20. That had become my pie in the sky goal somewhere around mile 16 or so. I dug deep into whatever reserves I had and sprinted to the line. The clock time was off from my chip time and I was running too fast to look at my watch. I automatically hit "stop" on my Garmin after crossing the finish and didn't look at the time until I had my medal. When I glanced down, I noticed I had missed my goal. Oh well, I thought, at least I finished. Then my dad came running over, hooting and hollering. My official chip time had been texted to him: 4:18:59. I did it!
And I have an appointment with the podiatrist today at 1:30. :)
Fast forward to Saturday, the day before race day, when my dad and I took an extended walking tour of Cleveland. (Btw, I could write paragraphs about Cleveland, but my grandmother always told me "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I'll leave it at that. Oooh, except I can't help but mention the cops outside the sushi restaurant on Friday night who told us "Don't worry, it's safe now." Nice.) So, as Runner Daddy and I were walking, and walking, and walking, and walking, my toe began to feel not so great. I told him I wanted to veg out for a while--not mentioning the toe because of that whole "don't draw attention to it" thing--and I managed to sneakily ice my foot while RD napped.
We had dinner Saturday night with about twelve people from my running group. It was wonderful to see familiar faces in a strange city and I got a last-minute adrenaline boost for the race. By the time I saw them again the next morning, I was pumped and my foot issue was honestly in the recesses of my mind. I lined up between the 4:00 and 4:15 pacers and decided to see how I could do.
The first five miles were great. I was maintaining just under a 9:00 min/mile pace and was feeling really strong. The weather was in the mid-40's and the sun wasn't blazing. I was coasting, taking it easy, and my cardio was excellent. Then the shit hit the fan. Suddenly, out of the blue, my foot started screaming. I mean, it was blinding pain. I think I even started crying. Unfortunately, I was surrounded by a gazillion half marathoners and they were counting down the miles and high-fiving at each mile marker. I could only focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
At mile 12, I saw the split for the half marathoners. I considered taking it. And I'm not just saying that. I really almost veered off at the split. At that point, not only was my toe hurting, but I was obviously compensating somehow with my ankle and that was now screaming too. I decided to stay on the marathon course with the idea that if it got to the point I literally couldn't run anymore, I would turn around and walk back to the half mary finish. When I reached my own half marker, my time was 2:03. I was still running strong despite the pain.
At each mile marker I did the mental math, it was x miles back to the half and y miles to the finish. I just kept focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I refused to walk because I knew it would just take that much longer to finish. I reached the point of no return at mile 20. I felt a rush when I saw the marker because, despite the pain, I knew I was going to finish.
The rest of the race was one foot in front of the other. Don't think, just run. I hit my lowest point at mile 24. I threw up and didn't' know if it was from pain, exhaustion, or a combination. I walked for about a quarter mile until I realized that was taking too long and I just wanted the race over. Even if I ran at 13:00 min/mile pace, I was still running. So I went for it.
At mile 25, a lady on the sidelines was handing out chunks of fresh orange. I debated taking one, worried how it might affect me, then I realized it really couldn't get much worse. I bit into the orange and it was the most amazing, delicious, refreshing food I've ever had. As I slurped down the juice, I realized I was crazy thirsty. I quickly drained two entire bottles from my Fuel Belt and pushed on.
As I approached the finish, I realized I might actually have a chance of breaking 4:20. That had become my pie in the sky goal somewhere around mile 16 or so. I dug deep into whatever reserves I had and sprinted to the line. The clock time was off from my chip time and I was running too fast to look at my watch. I automatically hit "stop" on my Garmin after crossing the finish and didn't look at the time until I had my medal. When I glanced down, I noticed I had missed my goal. Oh well, I thought, at least I finished. Then my dad came running over, hooting and hollering. My official chip time had been texted to him: 4:18:59. I did it!
And I have an appointment with the podiatrist today at 1:30. :)
Cleveland did have some nice hardware:
UPDATE: Yep, it's broken. The doctor said I have at least one stress fracture. This is my new designer footwear...
8 comments:
Great job running through the pain! You still managed a really nice speed. Hope you can figure out what's up with your foot.
WHOAH mama, that is awesome! no kidding...I can't believe you ran through that kind of pain for 13 more miles. You rock, and FABULOUS time!
You are crazy and amazing! Welcome home.
Holy smokes girl! That is quite a story! I'm so glad that you made it and so intimidated by that bar you've set for perseverance through pain! :)
You are one strong lady. Congrats on pushing through the marathon and with such a great time!
hiya-I'm doing some surfing to check out Cleveland as a possible spring marathon spot-gripping race report! I hope your fully recovered now!
Great medal!!! Congrats! You are a rockstar! Totally diggin' your blog!
Cleveland Marathon looks very successful...This is a good race report...Keep posting good report!!!
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