I have a special treat for you all this afternoon. I would like to introduce you to a pretty awesome runner and blogger, Cheri. She blogs over at Overactive Blogger. She wanted to talk about something that we all have dealt with from time to time – a tough race day.
I am really excited to have her on the blog today. Fun fact: I grew up in Greensboro, NC and so I was excited to hear that she would be talking about her experience with the Greensboro marathon!
Take it away Cheri…..
Sometimes things just don’t go your way…
I think we forget that right? It’s doesn’t necessarily align with what they tell you in school, because if you just work hard, you’ll get what you want right? And that was my thinking going into The Greensboro Marathon.
Admittedly, training hadn’t gone perfectly for this, my second marathon. Mid-training, I’d gotten engaged, started a new job, and my grandmother had passed away mid-September, meaning that a lot of long runs were shifted to mid-week, or skipped entirely despite my best efforts. One thing was for sure, and that was my mind was maybe not completely into the training. My thoughts fell into one of three categories. 1, why was it so hot? 2, how would we pull off this wedding, and 3, I’m completely freaking out because I just started my new job.
So the first thing went not exactly according to plan when like any seasoned runner, I began checking the weather like a fiend in the days and weeks leading up to go time, and discovered that it would be 26 degrees at the start of the marathon. In North Carolina. Where we never see temps like that except for one week in early February. (Joke was on me, cause the Polar Vortex was rip-roarin’ crazy this year, and we saw a lot of those temps). I didn’t have the clothes I needed, and the day before the race, had to hit the Fleet Feet in North Raleigh to get a vest and a better pair of gloves for the frigid temps.
Alrighty, first crisis averted! So I’ve worked hard, everything else should go smoothly, right?
Well. The morning of the race, I woke up with a terrible stomachache. Around 4 am, I ran down to the car from our hotel room, and popped a few minty tums, and willed my stomach to calm itself. I felt good enough, so once again, I was sure I’d avoided another disaster. Go me!
Dressed in my frigid finest, we started the race, and along I chugged for 6 miles, where my stomach started to ache. I didn’t feel like eating, but I popped a few of my Clif Shot Bloks, and continued. And the further I got, the worse my belly started to ache. Mile 18. And suddenly, I knew Linda Blair from the exorcist was about to make her grand appearance. All over someone’s front lawn in rolling foothills of North Carolina, I *ahem* became violently ill to the tune Katy Perry’s ‘Roar’, and proceeded to stay ill for the remainder of the race.
I called Austin sobbing. I visited a Port-a-Potty I spotted at a construction site (another story for another day). I promised Jesus I’d stop drinking if I could just be healed. But to no avail.
I finished that race, but literally almost an hour after I’d planned to. And no matter how hard I’d worked, or how hard I bargained with myself, that day was just not my day.
This is me, post marathon. Austin MAY not want to stand so close….
Is this a metaphor for life? Will you vomit bright red because you ate a Clif Shot Blok on the next day that doesn’t go as planned? Well, maybe not. But, don’t sweat it if you do. Life goes on. You finish that race, and you’ll live to tell (blog) the tale.