And the beat keeps runnin’ runnin’

I follow a lot of runners on social media from when I was running regularly. If you are just tuning into my life, in 2014 I decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C.

I had run numerous half marathons and shorter distances and felt that, because of natural progression, it was only right of me to attempt a marathon.

The training wasn’t horrible. My longest run was 20 miles and while I hated every inch of my body after that run, I knew that on race day adrenaline would kick in and I would fly (crawl) through the last 6.2 miles.

Race day came (the day after my little sister’s wedding) and I stood at the start line (well, a good ways back) and prayed “God, just get me across the bridge in time.” There is a bridge in DC that marks the “make it or break it” moment in the marathon. If you get to the bridge by 1:00 pm you have successfully “beat the bridge” and will finish the race. You could literally crawl after that point and they can’t “sweep” you (put you in a bus and thus you don’t finish). It’s mile 20 of the race.

I had only ever run that much.

The first 13 or so miles were uneventful. I felt fine, my legs didn’t feel heavy, but when I got to Rock Creek Park, FOR SOME REASON, everything started shutting down. I had severe dehydration – even though I had been chugging water. I was eating but immediately vomiting. I started having minor hallucinations – thinking my husband was running with me, thinking it was a dream. It was a balmy 65 degrees out for October, but I was freezing. I actually picked up a sweatshirt off the road and put it on because I was shaking so hard.

I somehow crossed the beat the bridge space at 12:48 pm. I was home free. Medics kept stopping me because of my “color” or lack thereof. Pumping myself with Gatorade I pressed on. I crossed the finish line with a time of 6:41:29. It was my personal best and all I could give. I left everything on that course and I am proud of that time.

I woke up the next morning deciding to never run again.

The joy was gone. I immediately felt like if I continued running I would have to one-up myself every time. I would have to be better, get better, etc. with every race. The pressure I put on myself was disgustingly heavy. I just stopped that day.

Now, almost 2 years to the day, I found myself digging out my old running training plan that I used when I trained for my first half marathon in 2010. I walked into the gym this past Friday, turned on my music, and just tried it.

It worked.

Sunday I went into the gym planning on just doing day two of the training plan and after I had finished it, I decided to see if I could run a mile.

I did. Without stopping.

As tears poured from my eyes I remembered the reason why I started running and loved running. I felt invincible.

I signed up for a 5K on January 1, 2017 because this will be my year. This will be my time to fall back in love with running.