I've been wanting to run a marathon for a long time. Today I did such a thing. I have to say though, I didn't think I'd be in such a great amount of pain after.
I've been training (improperly) since last summer. I had the ambition, but no real knowledge of how to prepare for such a daunting task. I started running to my gym every day either before or after playing an hour or so of basketball or soccer. For a while, I thought it was working.
Later I received a plan/schedule from an experience marathon runner which had me running only 4 times a week with specific miles each week. With the running I did before this schedule, I thought I could definitely add miles here or cut a day there if I needed. This continued practically every month I trained.
Once November rolled around, I was given a new pair of shoes which were supposed to help me run better and longer. Little did I know, these shoes would lead to the extreme pain I felt while running the marathon this morning. The shoes I had, did not support my feet the way I need them to be. Unfortunately, I didn't realize this. The effect was this: I was training with shoes which were causing my feet to adjust to the lack of support, thus creating bad habits in my running while I trained. My lack of knowledge would prove painful even more so because I purchase two pairs of these shoes.
These bad habits were starting a pain pattern in my left ankle. I didn't know the shoes were the problem, so I put a brace on and just kept running. In early January, I went out for a run which was supposed to be the longest I had done up to that point. Halfway done, I felt the strongest ankle pain I had yet to feel during this training. Nearly 8 miles out, I now had the unfortunate burden of walking back to my apartment.
Flash forward three and a half weeks to today and the pain and discomfort with no running outside of playing a little bit of basketball (because honestly, my leg could be broken and I'd still play basketball haha, I LOVE IT!) remained.
With a terrible night's sleep because of the nervousness completely inside of me, I woke at 3:40 am and prepped to leave my hotel room. Packed and ready, I left to go pick up my girlfriend from her room so we could go to Denny's for a pre-run breakfast. Next we walk to a shuttle in the light of street lamps and bear the traffic of going down the road two miles in about 40 minutes to the start line.
I feel like I want to throw up from all the nervousness I am feeling. I try to remain calm, but my girlfriend is the one who helps keep me focused and encouraged. It was my first marathon, you couldn't tell looking into my eyes, but one look at my hands and you could see them shaking. I couldn't place my bib (my number for the race) on my shirt or the tracking device on my shoe because of the jerking in my hands. Time flies when you're tense. Its 6:30 and my waves starts in four minutes.
A kiss goodbye and I'm on my way. The ankle injury had completely thrown of my goal going into the race. Instead of the sub-4 hour goal I was attempting to train for, I was now aiming for something close to 5 hours, hopefully. So with a sore ankle, I kept an 11 minute mile, giving myself a few minutes insurance for my goal.
Somewhere between the 8th and 11th mile, a series of small hills set off a strong pain in my already injured right ankle and a subtle yet growing pain in my left. What I actually remember was after a brief visit from my girlfriend, I found myself in the need for a slower pace. My pride said no, but my ankle could barely handle any pressure.
For the 13th mile, I stopped passing up people and mostly watched as they passed me. First a barefoot guy, then an older man with a shirt whose shirt read: "You just got passed by a Great-Grandpa," and immediately my ego took a shot. I ran on and off till the 18th mile. That was when I began hurting so much, I had to walk! Fortunately, I had an angel appear who had been waiting for me. My girlfriend saw me in pain, and not a moment too soon. She rushed to my side and walked with me until I knew I needed to start running again.
Once I began running again, it only became harder as the pain grew from bad to worse. When it came to the 20th mile, my ankles were telling me they could no longer run. To me, speed walking was the new running, but I became worried that I might reach a time when I could no longer walk. That time did come at mile 22.
I thought to myself, "This isn't what was supposed to happen. It wasn't meant to be this way!" I trained, though improperly, hard the best I could to finish strong with a respectable time. But now I'm at the 22nd mile, well hydrated, full winded, yet unable move forward because of nearly unbearable pain in my ankles.
Walking was dreadfully painful, but there was 4 miles left, and as I stated in a previous post, I NEEDED TO finish.
Luckily, I found inspiration! The 20th mile is supposed to be "the wall" for all marathon runners. It is the time where you hit a place where it's suddenly harder than before to continue running. So because of this little tidbit, the people who put on the event posted inspirational quotes from (apparently) famous current and former marathon runners.
I found strength in the words, "Pain hurts, but eventually it doesn't hurt any worse!" This I learned was mostly true. Yes the pain didn't get worse, but no one wants to endure a very bad pain for a long period of time. But now there was only 3 miles left. I could endure...or so I thought.
It took one more piece of inspiration for me to realize I could fight the pain and run to the end. An older man was still running and eventually he made it to my side. He was slow, but he was steady. He had his own pace which he didn't divert from. I knew if this man could be running the entire time. I could finish the last few moments running through the pain.
Through the pain, I could see the finish line. About 50 feet away, I see my lovely lady run to me in her sweater and flip flops, grab my hand to hold me steady as my running/hobbling takes me across the finish line.
Yesterday I Google'd what to eat after a marathon, and I received a link from a "For Dummies" site. The first thing it said that people would want to do after a marathon is cry, throw up, lie on the ground and probably eat like crazy. When I crossed, I held on to my girlfriend so I wouldn't fall from the ankle pain and cried. A marathon is a crazy journey.
After taking a picture with my finisher's medal in front of the finish line, I left to the medical tent to check on the situation of my ankles. Here is where I learned my running technique was wrong, and the EMT could tell based on where the multiple blisters on my feet and after looking at my shoes. Apparently, the shoes matter more than I thought. But it didn't matter anymore. I was done. I finished.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Monday, January 28, 2013
A Scary Moment
I have been training for a marathon since this past summer. I've had the ambition, but not the proper training like I desired due to injuries and illness which slowed me. So far nothing I have encountered has made me think I will not be able to run the race.
Some people have told me I should flat out quit, because of an ailing ankle injury. Others believe my lack of intense training will be my downfall and thus I should not run it. I believe none of it. I will run and finish. Today was the first day I thought I would not finish.
While playing the sport I love above all others, basketball, I was introduced to the ground with unfortunate results. While handling the ball and driving towards the basket, I attempted a shot. I jumped in the air and quickly realized I would not make the basket and turned my shot into a pass. On my way down from the pass, my left foot, which has been held together by an ankle brace for the past few weeks, was stomped on by the defender guarding me. Like a boat anchored down, I could go no where; without choice, I went straight to the floor breaking my fall with my forearms.
In the moment, I was in a state of shock. My ankle was already in a place where it needed more care than usual, but now this was something else. My mind flashed to a moment where I was in high school where I was in a similar instance and the ankle pain was great and kept me out of other games. In this case, I went down and stayed down feeling pain. I admit fully I was scared. With the marathon I am running in less than seven days, I prayed I could be able to walk to the bench where there were chairs waiting for me.
I was able to finally get up, with the aid of the man who knocked me down, and hobble over to the sideline. Confidence built inside me for with every step, I could feel only minimal pain. There was soreness all over, but I could tell nothing serious. My heart was beating slower than before as I sat the remaining minutes of the game. Peace surrounded me, as I regained my confidence knowing I will run and finish the race.
Some people have told me I should flat out quit, because of an ailing ankle injury. Others believe my lack of intense training will be my downfall and thus I should not run it. I believe none of it. I will run and finish. Today was the first day I thought I would not finish.
While playing the sport I love above all others, basketball, I was introduced to the ground with unfortunate results. While handling the ball and driving towards the basket, I attempted a shot. I jumped in the air and quickly realized I would not make the basket and turned my shot into a pass. On my way down from the pass, my left foot, which has been held together by an ankle brace for the past few weeks, was stomped on by the defender guarding me. Like a boat anchored down, I could go no where; without choice, I went straight to the floor breaking my fall with my forearms.
In the moment, I was in a state of shock. My ankle was already in a place where it needed more care than usual, but now this was something else. My mind flashed to a moment where I was in high school where I was in a similar instance and the ankle pain was great and kept me out of other games. In this case, I went down and stayed down feeling pain. I admit fully I was scared. With the marathon I am running in less than seven days, I prayed I could be able to walk to the bench where there were chairs waiting for me.
I was able to finally get up, with the aid of the man who knocked me down, and hobble over to the sideline. Confidence built inside me for with every step, I could feel only minimal pain. There was soreness all over, but I could tell nothing serious. My heart was beating slower than before as I sat the remaining minutes of the game. Peace surrounded me, as I regained my confidence knowing I will run and finish the race.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
So Close, Yet So Far
I will be running a marathon soon and if there is one thing I am sure about, its that I am not sure if I am ready yet.
I have been training as much as I can, whenever I can, wherever I can, but I have also bee side tracked every time. Sometimes it was illness, other times it was pure laziness. Then there was the distraction of friends, and the delay from weather. All in all, I am not where I thought I would be when I first started my training.
Recently while training, things took a turn for the worst. My previous longest run was a mere 12 miles, and I knew I needed to get in anything 16+ to at least run a half marathon. I planned on surprising my girlfriend by running to the city where she worked which is about 17 miles away from my apartment. Around 7 or 8 miles into it, I stopped for a bathroom break and came back running until I noticed I was in extreme pain. Something aggravated my ankle beyond a simple tweak. I don't know what happened, but I knew I had to turn back. In pain, I started a long walk home, with a big limp and an even bigger concern.
Hours later, I made it home. I stopped at a store to drink Gatorade, knowing it would hydrate me in the high 70 degree weather I was running in. I plunged my foot into a steaming tub of water and prayed that nothing was wrong.
As I sat thinking about my ankle and the marathon that is not far away, I remembered singing to myself one of the first times I was running in the country area of my parents home. During that particular run, I tweaked my same ankle in the first mile, but still ended up running the next nine at a decent pace I was happy about. I remember at one point I was actually getting tired of the music I had been listening to, and started making up my own words to songs.
One line was: "I've been to the top once, well almost, but it was that almost I hated. I won't let an almost happen again"
Although I don't remember the song I was singing it to, I remembered what I was referring to. I once went on a hike up half dome. Due to illness and injury I didn't make it all the way to the top. But I was so close, too close I think. I should have put the rest of my energy into making it to the top. I didn't. And I regret it so much! I could have push through the pain, I could have endured the sickness, I could have been on top of a mountain people see in pictures around the world. Instead, I lied on the ground saying to myself I'd go again sometime. Unfortunately, that time has yet to come. Its been 2 years and I think about the event too often.
I decided because of this event, I am not going to allow myself to not finish. To come so close and walk away with nothing, its a terrible feeling which I never want to feel again. Never again.
Now when I train, I have a new goal. Despite an injured ankle, despite people who say I wont be able to handle it, despite my lack of complete training. I wont come up empty and be so close, yet so far. I will cross the finish line.
I have been training as much as I can, whenever I can, wherever I can, but I have also bee side tracked every time. Sometimes it was illness, other times it was pure laziness. Then there was the distraction of friends, and the delay from weather. All in all, I am not where I thought I would be when I first started my training.
Recently while training, things took a turn for the worst. My previous longest run was a mere 12 miles, and I knew I needed to get in anything 16+ to at least run a half marathon. I planned on surprising my girlfriend by running to the city where she worked which is about 17 miles away from my apartment. Around 7 or 8 miles into it, I stopped for a bathroom break and came back running until I noticed I was in extreme pain. Something aggravated my ankle beyond a simple tweak. I don't know what happened, but I knew I had to turn back. In pain, I started a long walk home, with a big limp and an even bigger concern.
Hours later, I made it home. I stopped at a store to drink Gatorade, knowing it would hydrate me in the high 70 degree weather I was running in. I plunged my foot into a steaming tub of water and prayed that nothing was wrong.
As I sat thinking about my ankle and the marathon that is not far away, I remembered singing to myself one of the first times I was running in the country area of my parents home. During that particular run, I tweaked my same ankle in the first mile, but still ended up running the next nine at a decent pace I was happy about. I remember at one point I was actually getting tired of the music I had been listening to, and started making up my own words to songs.
One line was: "I've been to the top once, well almost, but it was that almost I hated. I won't let an almost happen again"
Although I don't remember the song I was singing it to, I remembered what I was referring to. I once went on a hike up half dome. Due to illness and injury I didn't make it all the way to the top. But I was so close, too close I think. I should have put the rest of my energy into making it to the top. I didn't. And I regret it so much! I could have push through the pain, I could have endured the sickness, I could have been on top of a mountain people see in pictures around the world. Instead, I lied on the ground saying to myself I'd go again sometime. Unfortunately, that time has yet to come. Its been 2 years and I think about the event too often.
I decided because of this event, I am not going to allow myself to not finish. To come so close and walk away with nothing, its a terrible feeling which I never want to feel again. Never again.
Now when I train, I have a new goal. Despite an injured ankle, despite people who say I wont be able to handle it, despite my lack of complete training. I wont come up empty and be so close, yet so far. I will cross the finish line.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Feeling 22
It seems like there are certain ages that are more "fun" than other ages.
10: You finally hit the double digits!
15/16: Depending on if you're following a Latino or American culture...but they are essentially the same thing and only for girls :(
21: Legally able to drink.
24: Legally can rent a car. (in some states)
30: The day you realize you're no longer "young."
40: The day you realize...you're "old."
50: You're finally lives a half a century.
100: Still alive!? You're Awesome!!
Today is my birthday and I am turning 22. Technically I won't officially be 22 until 10 something this evening, but as you may notice 22 isn't one of the most fun ages to turn in this culture. Although, Taylor Swift's song may add some hype to this year of life, its not quite a major hit.
One of the things I'd like to do this year is to not live it as if it is a "normal" fill in year. I want to do things which I have never done before. I want 22 to be the best year of my life yet! I have the feeling that it has the potential to be.
During this age I will be experiencing some major changes.
Graduating from my 4-year university
Purchasing my first car (technically this happened 4 days before my birthday, but I didn't have the official car title in my name till after my birthday)
Landing my first Full Time Job
Living fully on my own
Starting the rest of my life!
These are all major changes indeed!
No matter what happens, these 365 days of being 22 will be some of the biggest days of my young life. Now, I just need to live everyday just the way I want it too and everything will fall into place.
10: You finally hit the double digits!
15/16: Depending on if you're following a Latino or American culture...but they are essentially the same thing and only for girls :(
21: Legally able to drink.
24: Legally can rent a car. (in some states)
30: The day you realize you're no longer "young."
40: The day you realize...you're "old."
50: You're finally lives a half a century.
100: Still alive!? You're Awesome!!
Today is my birthday and I am turning 22. Technically I won't officially be 22 until 10 something this evening, but as you may notice 22 isn't one of the most fun ages to turn in this culture. Although, Taylor Swift's song may add some hype to this year of life, its not quite a major hit.
One of the things I'd like to do this year is to not live it as if it is a "normal" fill in year. I want to do things which I have never done before. I want 22 to be the best year of my life yet! I have the feeling that it has the potential to be.
During this age I will be experiencing some major changes.
Graduating from my 4-year university
Purchasing my first car (technically this happened 4 days before my birthday, but I didn't have the official car title in my name till after my birthday)
Landing my first Full Time Job
Living fully on my own
Starting the rest of my life!
These are all major changes indeed!
No matter what happens, these 365 days of being 22 will be some of the biggest days of my young life. Now, I just need to live everyday just the way I want it too and everything will fall into place.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Putting the Pieces Together
Recently I was putting a puzzle together. It was a gift, and one worth the assembly required.
I started off truly enjoying putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. With my french press steeping coffee in front of me I braced myself for the journey I was entering. Although it was only 252 pieces, I spent about 3 (distracted and inconsistent) hours on this puzzle. The first 2 hours were quite fun! I sat at the table with my roommate, helping him find school supplies online and matching all the easy pieces together. It seemed to be going rather quickly, even faster than the coffee I was drinking.
The last hour wasn't quite as fun as before.The puzzle became harder, and harder and even though I had the picture right in front of me of what the puzzle was, I still couldn't seem to put everything together. I started putting pieces in the wrong places thinking they were fitting, until later when I found another piece that fit "better" because it actually belonged. And this started to make me think.
Now, I apologized for being mostly cliche' here, but this is really what my mind was going through. I am at a point in my life where, I am supposed to find a job, a living place and a life that is supposed to "fit" me. Problem is: There are so many things that fit well, but not perfectly. This job is not my dream job, but it pays well, or I have a good living area, but its not where I want to be. This puzzle is not a clear picture, yet. But sometimes the piece works, for a time. I can make it fit to help me see the bigger picture, until the perfect piece comes around and shows me the complete picture.
The puzzle of my life is one which I will forever be putting together, as every puzzle seems like at some point, but sometimes we need to sit down and sort through all of it and try out a piece out until the right part comes along and turns the puzzle a clear picture.
I started off truly enjoying putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. With my french press steeping coffee in front of me I braced myself for the journey I was entering. Although it was only 252 pieces, I spent about 3 (distracted and inconsistent) hours on this puzzle. The first 2 hours were quite fun! I sat at the table with my roommate, helping him find school supplies online and matching all the easy pieces together. It seemed to be going rather quickly, even faster than the coffee I was drinking.
The last hour wasn't quite as fun as before.The puzzle became harder, and harder and even though I had the picture right in front of me of what the puzzle was, I still couldn't seem to put everything together. I started putting pieces in the wrong places thinking they were fitting, until later when I found another piece that fit "better" because it actually belonged. And this started to make me think.
Now, I apologized for being mostly cliche' here, but this is really what my mind was going through. I am at a point in my life where, I am supposed to find a job, a living place and a life that is supposed to "fit" me. Problem is: There are so many things that fit well, but not perfectly. This job is not my dream job, but it pays well, or I have a good living area, but its not where I want to be. This puzzle is not a clear picture, yet. But sometimes the piece works, for a time. I can make it fit to help me see the bigger picture, until the perfect piece comes around and shows me the complete picture.
The puzzle of my life is one which I will forever be putting together, as every puzzle seems like at some point, but sometimes we need to sit down and sort through all of it and try out a piece out until the right part comes along and turns the puzzle a clear picture.
Friday, January 4, 2013
My Final Homestand
It wasn't till late today that I realized this would be one of the last times I would stay at home for such an extended time. Today is the second to last night that I'll be spending with my family for my final winter break. Ill be graduating come May and plan on moving into my own apt down south and not rejoining my family's home.
While I silently say a small goodbye to this house, I am filled with memories from almost everything I see around the house.
The small gate in between my living room and kitchen has been there as long as we've had our small Yorkshire Terriers. But my most fondest memory is is when Babie, the second dog which was considered mine, was still a lil pup. She was so small, she actually fit in between the wholes in the fence. For some time we couldn't figure out how she was getting past the fence she finally did it in front of us.
I remember my sister as a teen living in the room across from the room my brother and I would share. She was always the leader and the cool one out of the three of us. I remember saying I wanted to marry her because she was so pretty! My brother would remind me what wanted would never come true. I only have good memories of my siblings when we were young.
There used to be a gym placed outside where my brother and father would regularly workout. The cover over it was slabs of weak wood which would always manage to stay up through the rain and winds. By the time I was old enough to actually use the gym, most of it had worn itself out from the weather and it was time to give it away.
My house is not the same as when I first was carried into it nearly 22 years ago. Its been remodeled, reroofed, repainted and even added to. The house has grown and change almost as much as I have. It truly may deserve a grand goodbye for giving me so many memories for so long. Instead, my fair well will instead be nothing notable. I'll walk into my parents truck and drive away looking back with simple gratitude for what it has given me.
While I silently say a small goodbye to this house, I am filled with memories from almost everything I see around the house.
The small gate in between my living room and kitchen has been there as long as we've had our small Yorkshire Terriers. But my most fondest memory is is when Babie, the second dog which was considered mine, was still a lil pup. She was so small, she actually fit in between the wholes in the fence. For some time we couldn't figure out how she was getting past the fence she finally did it in front of us.
I remember my sister as a teen living in the room across from the room my brother and I would share. She was always the leader and the cool one out of the three of us. I remember saying I wanted to marry her because she was so pretty! My brother would remind me what wanted would never come true. I only have good memories of my siblings when we were young.
There used to be a gym placed outside where my brother and father would regularly workout. The cover over it was slabs of weak wood which would always manage to stay up through the rain and winds. By the time I was old enough to actually use the gym, most of it had worn itself out from the weather and it was time to give it away.
My house is not the same as when I first was carried into it nearly 22 years ago. Its been remodeled, reroofed, repainted and even added to. The house has grown and change almost as much as I have. It truly may deserve a grand goodbye for giving me so many memories for so long. Instead, my fair well will instead be nothing notable. I'll walk into my parents truck and drive away looking back with simple gratitude for what it has given me.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
The Comfort of My Room
There comes a day in every son or daughter's life where the home(s) they grew up in no longer gives the comfort they once gave. Its an odd feelings of which comes in the transition of one's life while growing up. My former home, no longer feels as it once did, especially my room.
While visiting my parents for the Thanksgiving weekend, I felt strangely uncomfortable. My parents had recently given away my bed and replaced it with a futon which was reinforced with a plywood backing to make it more sturdy and less soft. That was done without my knowledge, but since I was okay with the futon I let it pass without a care. The next action my parents took was selling that futon and replace it with...an ironing board. My former room seems odd without a bed in it anymore.
When going through looking for clothes in my dresser and closet, I noticed that it seemed I has more clothes than before. Then was when I learned my father has been moving his clothes into my room because he no longer has room in his closet. Slowly he is taking away the little space I used to call my own in my home.
Even though I have been slowly moving out over the past years because of college, now I feel as though i'm being pushed out!
Don't get me wrong though, all these occurrences I am fine with. I am rarely ever in the room that was passed down from my sister, to my brother and I, and finally just mine. I want my parents to be able to use the space they have to do as they see fit with, but its a little weird.
I remember seeing my bed which had a car shaped surrounding to it, and I remember seeing the closet go from the dresses of my sister and the suits of my brother to the numerous hoodies of mine. Now, both are long gone.
When I visit my parents house, I now share a bed with my father for the few days, or go off into the home of my sister who always has an air mattress for my needs. But its not the same. My room no longer gives me the comfort, peace and serenity which it once freely gave.
Now I find my solace in my apartment, my new home and place of peace and rest. But soon again, I will need to find a new comfort in a new room, until I find my forever home.
While visiting my parents for the Thanksgiving weekend, I felt strangely uncomfortable. My parents had recently given away my bed and replaced it with a futon which was reinforced with a plywood backing to make it more sturdy and less soft. That was done without my knowledge, but since I was okay with the futon I let it pass without a care. The next action my parents took was selling that futon and replace it with...an ironing board. My former room seems odd without a bed in it anymore.
When going through looking for clothes in my dresser and closet, I noticed that it seemed I has more clothes than before. Then was when I learned my father has been moving his clothes into my room because he no longer has room in his closet. Slowly he is taking away the little space I used to call my own in my home.
Even though I have been slowly moving out over the past years because of college, now I feel as though i'm being pushed out!
Don't get me wrong though, all these occurrences I am fine with. I am rarely ever in the room that was passed down from my sister, to my brother and I, and finally just mine. I want my parents to be able to use the space they have to do as they see fit with, but its a little weird.
I remember seeing my bed which had a car shaped surrounding to it, and I remember seeing the closet go from the dresses of my sister and the suits of my brother to the numerous hoodies of mine. Now, both are long gone.
When I visit my parents house, I now share a bed with my father for the few days, or go off into the home of my sister who always has an air mattress for my needs. But its not the same. My room no longer gives me the comfort, peace and serenity which it once freely gave.
Now I find my solace in my apartment, my new home and place of peace and rest. But soon again, I will need to find a new comfort in a new room, until I find my forever home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)