Walking tour of Akron

The problem was, I really didn’t learn my lesson the last time.  See, the last time, my sister and I signed up for a half-marathon and then life intervened.  We didn’t train.  But, we showed up for the race anyway, and even though I am far from an athlete, we laughed and talked our way through 13.1.  Sure, we cruised past the finish line at 3 hours 11 minutes, a blistering 14 minute 39 second per mile pace, but we actually had a good time.  And, had enough muscle strength to drink a glass of champagne and drive home without major leg pain.

But, that was the last time.  This time, I signed up for the half-marathon portion of the Akron Marathon with a dear friend.  A dear friend who trained.  While life intervened again for me and again, I didn’t train.  But, hey, I’d done it before, right?  Wrong.

I rode to the race with my friend and her parents, catching up and avoiding questions like, “When did you run last?”  We met up with the third merry member of our running group.  My running companions were prepared with GPS watches and appropriate gear and good attitudes and headphones for when the going got tough.  I had my running shoes, a nagging feeling and my phone…in case I had to call my mom from mile 5 and ask her to come pick me up.

My nagging feeling was mostly related to my IT band, which contrary to popular belief is not a rock group comprised of software engineers but instead a muscle that tends to let you know when you’ve increased your mileage too fast.  Going from 0 to 13 was likely to be an unpopular decision and I spent most of my time at the starting line not listening to the prayer or the national anthem but instead bargaining with that long stretch of muscle.  I’ll get you a massage if you get me through this.

My plan was to run with the girls for a mile and then drop off and embark on what I had been calling my walking tour of Akron.  I had made them promise to leave me, lest I wreck someone else’s chance at a good performance.  My goal was to stay off the bus that rides along as they close the course and picks up the stragglers.

Then, surprisingly, I stayed with the two prepared runners until almost mile 3.  And, that was the last good thing to happen, regarding my own performance.

Lots of good things went on around me.  I saw the back of someone’s shirt that said, “Dear God, please let there someone behind me to read this” and another which read, “I thought you said 26 blocks.”  And, whatever you might be thinking about the beauty of Akron, crank it up a few notches.  There are some amazing views in on this course.

But in between mile 6 and 7, things started to go south.  I’d been walking up hills and running down them for awhile, keeping up with some older folks who were keeping a steady pace, when we started climbing a long incline which passed by a high school.  The band was outside, and just as I got close, I recognized the strain, “just a small town girl…”  And, to be honest, I got a little choked up.  Billy Tuba and Suzy Clarinet started playing Journey and all I could think about my family (who have been known to rock out to some Don’t Stop Believin’) and how I was running a race I was in no way prepared for and had no idea how I was going to finish.

And then, I realized that if I stopped on a half marathon course crying to Journey I’d never live it down.  So I pressed on, and that’s about when my IT band decided it was time to stop.  I tried to stop and stretch, I tried to take walking breaks, but at some point I just couldn’t run anymore.

I run very slow most of the time.  But, I can always run, such as it is.  And I couldn’t run anymore.

Somewhere between miles 9 and 10, I saw my two companions running in the opposite direction, further ahead on the course, about to hit their goal time.  But besides being happy for them, I had to think about how I was going to beat the guy next to me in the knee brace.  Cause I was limping pretty good my now, my right hip having decided that even walking was not appropriate at anymore.

At mile 11, a spectator said to me quietly as I was passing her, “Who’s loving life right now?  You. That’s right.”  And, I laughed because it was funny but I have never been more miserable.  I have thrown up in road races and kept running.  This was worse.  Even though walking hurt, I kept trying to run, thinking maybe the changing motion would ease the pain, but I was rewarded only by more pain.  You will not run, my IT band declared.

So, I walked.  The last three miles.  The end of the race was lined with spectators, and convenes with the marathon finish, so as folks cheered and young athletic men sprinted passed me, I limped. Some lady crossed the street and almost walked into me, because I was moving so slow she didn’t realize I was still competing.  My lungs felt fine, I had energy and all I wanted to do was run.  But I couldn’t.

The last 25 meters is in a stadium, down a little incline and into the chute.  Finally, I couldn’t stand it and tried to run one more time.  Finally…miraculously…my legs obeyed.  I jogged across the finish line.  I tried not to throw up.  I wish after 3 hours they would stop having the announcer announce your name.  Cause what he said was my name, but what I heard was my name followed by, “didn’t train…obviously!”

I finished.  I didn’t have to get on the bus.  I got to run with my friend.  My time is recorded as 3:05.

I am so grateful to my body for allowing me to finish.  Despite my dramatization, I know it could have been worse.  There were injuries on the course and I saw a girl in the first three miles who was just in front of the bus, completing the course…on crutches.  I am grateful that I could be so stupid and didn’t end up in the hospital.

But last night, as I struggled to walk with my knees and hips straining under my weight and coughed every time I tried for a deep breath, I could only think, ok.  This time, I learned my lesson.