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Amy C ran: Tired is not the righ...
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- 27 miles
- 04:21 time
- 09:50 pace
- 2632 calories
Tired is not the right emoticon. There are a lot of words. Hang on to yer butts...Some days are your day. The moon and sun align; months of hard work, nutrition plans, and mental work all come together, and you run the race you had always hoped. The Lincoln Marathon was not my day. I don’t have one factor to blame it on. The moment the gun went off, my legs felt heavy, my heart rate sky rocketed, and my warm up pace (8:30 min/mile) felt way harder than it should have. I told myself not to worry, that I usually warm up around the 6 mile mark of any run these days. After the 5k, I was just pissed. My head was in a bad place. I crammed my earbuds in and cranked the Beyonce. That helped. For a while. I hit the bike path and got angrier. There were people in my way everywhere. I was trying to drink as much water as I could because I felt so incredibly hot. Around mile 6.5, I had to use the portapotty. My stomach was angry. I felt nausea like I had never felt on a run before. Crap. This is not how my day was supposed to go. Around mile 7, I stopped to take off my tank top and pin my bib to my bra. Why is it so hot?? I cranked it up “the hill” around mile 9. I had to walk. I was angry that I felt so bad. Somewhere around mile 9-10 I saw Pat and Bruce. I told Pat “I’m going to puke” and then ducked into a portapotty. I didn’t puke. But I wanted to. Onward to the long haul down 10th street. My legs felt so heavy. My stomach was attempting a mutiny. Around mile 12.5, I saw collapsed runners and thought “Oh, me too.” At the turn off for the half, I powered forward. I ran one of my slowest halves in ages (1:58:47). I just couldn’t believe I felt so bad. I stuffed my bra full of ice and moved. Moving is progress. The more I move, the quicker this will be over. The bike path went quickly and I was on to Capitol Parkway. Pat and Bruce were there again. I gave Pat my water bottle. I needed all the aid I could get at every aid station. The bottle wasn’t going to be much help. Another portapotty. Mile 15 or 16, I hear “Holy shit, no way,” it’s Jody. Oh thank god it’s Jody. I was so happy to have her there. We motored forward, together. Mile 18, my poppa!!! Smiling and so excited for me, not knowing how much I was suffering. It made me feel better. Up the hill and into Holmes Lake. So grateful for the aid station at the top of the hill. Motoring through the park, together, seeing so many friends, all hot and melting. One more portapotty. Mile 20!! A 10k left. I LOVE 10ks. This is the corporate cup now. Through the aid station again. Get hosed off by a wonderful National Guard lady. Down the hill, Pat next to me on a bike, Poppa bear again, now it’s mile 21. He tells me we look great. We don’t feel great. Forward. Attempt to eat a GU, nausea. Sticking to orange slices. Picking up the pace a bit, other than the soreness in my left quad and the heat/humidity, I’m feeling better. Pat and Bruce one last time. Pat says he’s going to watch me finish. That’s right! I’m going to finish. Stomach isn’t the issue anymore. It’s just so hot. We power up the bike path hills. Walk one last time at mile 25 and we’re so, so close. Miguel and Peg running with us, being ever so kind at mile 26, running us up to the stadium. And the stadium. We finished. Together. Thank god we’re done.
So in the end, I am so happy I did it. I could have turned in at the half. I knew things were all wrong all along, but I powered through. It was not the race I wanted, but there will be other races. There will be more Lincoln Marathons. So what went wrong? Why did I feel bad from the start? Reflecting on this, I realized my head was in a bad place and I think that affected me more than any other factor. I had one of the roughest weeks I’ve ever had at my job, including a really bad Friday which may have stuck with me more than I realized. The bad work week threw my off my mental game and distracted me from all the visualization practices I normally like to do the week before a big race. Once the race started, I was angry at the half marathoners for being in the way, for everyone yelling “you’re almost there!” at Mile 12, for my stomach for being weird, and for outside for being so hot and humid. As soon as I reached the bike path, I checked out of the race. Mile 6.2 is a very early to check out of a 26.2 mile race.
Why did my legs feel so heavy? I may have tapered too much. I ran once the whole week prior. That was far too little. I should have run with the GOATs on Friday night. I also think my electrolytes were out of whack as I may have drank TOO much water on Friday and Saturday.
Why did my stomach revolt? Not sure here. I think several things were at play there. I ate like a pig all week. Not bad food, but a lot of it. I also drank a lot of booze. It was Pat’s birthday week and there was ample booze everywhere we went. Thursday was the only day I didn’t have a drop of alcohol. I also think the heat and humidity threw my stomach out of its normally very tolerant place. The heat/humidity combo makes me sick when I’m not exerting myself.
So Chicago is next. I won’t eat and drink like a glutton the week before, I will run more than one time, and I will give my head the space and air it needs to focus on the race and nothing else. I’m really looking forward to getting that 3:35-3:40 under my belt. And it’s going to happen in Chicago.