Some will use the word stubborn. I prefer determined. This was part the conversation I was having with myself last Saturday in the middle of my 2nd half-marathon. The conversation was really something that only a person walking 13.1 miles alone would have with herself. I also had visions of Stephen King's The Long Walk, but that was probably just my overactive imagination. Anyway, the conversation was occuring in preparation for how many people would think I was a) crazy for doing the race in the first place and b) crazier for trying to finish with a busted knee. So here's about how this conversation with myself went:
Mile 1: crap, my knee is hurting again. Dang, this is way earlier then the other race. Ow ow, shit. OK, walk for a bit.
Mile 2: OK, let's go wimp, jog a bit and see how it feels. Ow ow, crap, nope. Something is really wrong this time...damn. Well (insert variety of 4 letter words), this is going to be a long 11 more miles. Can I really just walk this? I don't want to freakin walk this. I'm not a walker. Try again in a bit.
Mile 4: Hmmm, I wonder if I should just stop at the half way point. The running is over. I need to walk. Frick. Oh damn, here come all the old people. OK, keep walking. Maybe try the speed walk..nope nope, that hurts. OK, slow walk. I really don't want to walk this whole race. Ugh. Holy crap, is that a hill?
Mile 5: I bet I'm gonna get lapped by the faster runners any minute. Boy that'll be embarrassing. (This happens, I cheer on a friend who took second in the race.) Well, I am HURT. Shut up, stupid excuses. Sigh, I think I'm going to be the last one today. I'll just do the whole damn thing. I started the race and I'll finish it, can't make anything worse at this point.
Miles 6-9: I can't believe I'm going to be last. (insert short conversation with second to last runner-we briefly discuss his open heart surgery 2 years ago and the marathon he's running next month. He passes me). So now I'm going to be last AND beat by an old man who had open heart surgery AND who is running a marathon. I'm not even doing a marathon. Heck I can barely make it through this stupid half. Sigh again, quit whining and keep walking.
Mile 10: ("Lonnie" drives by in the truck to check on me, his race is over, and asks if I'm hurt.) No, I purposefully do all my half marathons at a slow pathetic limp. OK, breathe, that's not nice (I reply that I'll be fine and that I think I tore the cartilage.) So, I always tell my patients that they should just try, no matter how good or bad they do. I always tell them that it's OK to be last, that just being in the game is enough. Right, I'll totally OK. God, I'm a hypocrite. Get over it. You're last, not a failure. Very different things. Psycho. Whatever! Maureen is totally going to lecture me about this. I wonder what her time was?
Mile 12: OMG, how freakin long is this course?!?!? A mile left, no problem. I'm totally eating ice cream tonight. You know, someone has to be last. I guess it's OK to be last. I'll finish. It's OK. Being last in this little race is fine. Everyone gets a medal for doing it, hooray for shiny! I wasn't going to be first anyway, so I didn't really lose anything. ("Lonnie" drives by again, plans to meet me at the finish). I love my husband, he's so nice checking on me.
Mile 13: A small cheering crowd is waiting at the finish. (Small tear runs down my face) Almost done! Awww, "Lonnie" is going to walk the last bit with me, no, oh wait, he's chasing after one of the kids. No prob, almost finished!! Oh, I see an ice pack!
"Lonnie" took first in his age group for the 10K race! I'm so proud of him. The doctor is sending me to a specialist, so I actually have no idea what's wrong with my knee, but I have my suspicions. I ran some today with similar results, that being pain. No problem though, I'm doing a 5K this weekend and looking at another half-marathon later next month. I mean, at this point I know that I can walk one. I also know that I can deal with being last if that happens again. And who ever said that running wasn't good for you?!
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