Busting Out the Rust on Some Bambi Legs

I typically always run the day after a marathon. I am not saying this to brag because clearly, given my race performance, I am neither the world's best or fastest and already proven NOT the smartest runner ever. But it is what I usually do. My go to hair of the marathon run is just an easy sloth like pace for 3 or 4 miles. Occasionally I'll go crazy and ride my bike instead. Kind of depends what hurts.Sore feet usually mean a bike or trainer ride. I would swim--as I know that sounds like it would be easiest-- but I find that swimming tends to make calves cramp after super long runs so I usually give it a few days before hitting the pool. Regardless what form of endorphin fix I usually try to get some sort of exercise in--if nothing else because I love to exercise and it is habit. And I honestly think it helps me recover faster and gets me back on the road to running lots of miles. Which, after all, like smiling, is my favorite.

However after Saturday's marathon I didn't have the chance to squeeze in a workout on Sunday. We had an action packed day of Beau's Lacrosse game (they won!) and then took the kids to see The Lorax (me=meh, kids loved it though) and then out to eat. I know. I know. The glamorous life I lead.

Monday I was surprised, and annoyed, at how sore my legs were. I swear it is because after the race I sat in the car and drowned my sorrows in several beers while Ryan drove the four hours home (his penance for caring more about turtles than his turtle wife). I am not exactly sure of the science behind it but I think, most likely because of all that rain I had to run in, some rust got stuck in my calf  muscles and on my ankle joints.

Right.  I too would have thought all the Sweetwater420 I drank would have acted as WD40 too. Say it with me:

Wd40.

Sweetwater420.

Sounds almost the same.  But I guess they work differently somehow.

I did keep thinking Monday I was going to motivate and go run but truthfully I was a little chicken. I mean the last time I had ran had been so disastrous. All that quitting and walking and whining. What if it was like that again?

I thought about running on the track while Beau had Lacrosse practice  Monday afternoon but I didn't want the other Lacrosse parents to see my wobbly rust busting recovery run.  I mean,  lets be serious here. I have a reputation to uphold.

Those other Lacrosse parents have had the honor of witnessing  many of my second run of the day runs. Runs where I usually try to target a tempo (ish) pace. It is truly spectacular to witness.  One time, at Lacrosse practice, I even earned a compliment from one of the other  Lacrosse mom's  after one such run.  I had just finished and was hacking up a lung and sucking on my inhaler, looking very fit and professional runner like, and she sidled up to me and commented "That was amazing! I kept thinking you were gonna slow down but you just kept getting faster and faster each lap. I wish I could run like that!"

 Run groupies.

What can you do? 

I gave her one of the rubber bands off my ponytail.

She seemed really grateful.

Okay seriously, that really did happen (the compliment not the rubber band part)  and I think I might have even blushed because no one ever says that sort of stuff to me. No one, besides my kids, ever even speaks to me at Lacrosse practice. So it was a pretty stand out day for me. Running and another Lacrosse mom talking to me, about running even. Full disclosure;  another mom does talk to me but I have to pretend like I am really into dogs because she is really into Lola and loves to talk about dogs with me. But I don't think I can count that since I am just trying to be cool.

 But anway, you can see why I didn't want to ruin my image of awesomeness by hobbling around on the track on my post marathon Bambi legs. 

Oh, who am I kidding?
Have you seen my legs?

Me, with Bambi legs? 

Delicate, spindly twig like and bony baby deer legs?

.

More like, quads casting shadows on the knees and calves that say moo to my ankles like a big ole heifer.

Why do you think I like boots so much?

Hides my heifers, that's why!

(shamless boot porn photo)

So yeah, definitely not a set of some delicate Bambi legs on me.

So Tuesday, after an unheard of 2 days off in a row! Seriously, I can't remember the last time I took 2 days off completely from exercise.

No. Wait.

 Never mind, I just remembered, it was the last week of January last year. And I took 4 days not 2 days off in a row. It was hideous. People almost died because of it too. By people I mean my kids and Ryan because I was ready to the kill them from the endorphin withdrawal.  

Just kidding.

No I'm not. 

So right , by Tuesday I was done with the "recovery" crap and went to test my non Bambi more like a baby rhinoceros legs out. I left the watch behind and headed out to do the boring sidewalk out and backs because it is as close to flat as I can get around here. There is still some elevation and tiny hills but not the rollers that I have on my usual loops. I was just gonna run 3 miles but I felt so good I just kept adding on. I mapped it out when I got home, just over 5 miles.

Certainly I wasn't breaking any records out there but my legs actually felt better running than they did just sitting around trying to recover by not running. My calves are still sore, my ankles a bit tweaked, and my arch feels strange; but I felt none of this while running. It was just a really nice and easy run.

 And yes it helped that it was a perfect 50 degrees under a bright blue sky.

 Sigh. I am bitter.

I woke up today and my ankles and calves are still a bit stiff, the arch wonky but better than yesterday. So I decided to test the baby rhino legs again. This time on my tried and true 6 miles of rolling hills loop. Again, I got the perfect 50 degrees and sunny weather and this run was even better than yesterday. I was even holding myself back. Yippy!

I still have a ways to go until I think my legs are up for the full monty at Publix but if this trend of recovering and running continues over the next 12 days I might find myself harboring a bit of, OMG , don don don don  ... optimism.

And it also means I get to start weather stalking in two more days! Oh, the fun just never stops.

PS. Do you see how Bambi's bff is a rabbit?

Good Weather is Hard to Find and the Turtles Bear it Away: The 2012 Snickers Marathon Recap

 From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent bear it away. 
--- Matthew 11:12


“She would have been a good woman,” The Misfit said, “if there had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.”
--From A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor


"Whatever Logic is good enough to tell me is worth writing down," said the Tortoise. "So enter it in your book, please. We will call it: If A and B and C and D are true, Z must be true. Until I've granted that, of course I needn't grant Z. So it's quite a necessary step, you see?"

"I see," said Achilles; and there was a touch of sadness in his tone. 
--From What the Tortoise Said to Achilles, by Lewis Carroll

If the story was the weather then clearly the turtle was the main character. Only I didn't know that. I thought it was, of course, The Natalie Show and I was the starring character.

Friday, when we left our home north of Atlanta under looming skies and drove four hours south to hot and sunny Albany I should have known the turtle was going to play a bigger role than I realized.  Especially when Ryan asked, after only a few minutes of navigating the streets of Albany, "What's up with all the turtles?"

Later, as the day and turtle sightings progressed the question from him to me became more pressing and annoyed; "Seriously, what the fuck are all these turtles about?"  And me, always more Hare than Tortoise should have known then how my 16th marathon was going to go down. As a one time literature student and avid student of Flannery O'Connor and the Southern Gothic I should have known that symbolism isn't just a fancy storytelling technique. But apparently I was skimming and just wasn't really paying attention and quite truthfully , I didn't really even notice all the turtles Ryan kept seeing and asking me about. I was looking but apparently; I was not really seeing.

I had a rough week the days preceding the marathon. I was losing my shit and not at all keeping it together from not running, trying to organize my house and kids. The looming weather report that each day got a little bit worse with a little rise in temperature, humidity, and then adding threatening wind, severe thunderstorms and tornadoes into the forecast only made my usual pre marathon anxiety worse. It was all making me more than a little bitchy. These things played on my mind even though I repeated over and over each day: Control the things you can and suck it up and deal with the things you can't.  I guess you can lie to your face in the mirror but when you close your eyes and go to sleep at night your mind will tell you the truth whether you want it to or not.

I had two, what I call, "crazy taper dreams". I always have  at least one pre race dream. And usually these dreams involve some sort of wardrobe malfunction, being late for the race or running the wrong way. In the dream I had Monday I was running in and out of industrial like buildings, parking garages, up concrete steps and opening metal doors. It was dark and gloomy with poor lightening. Wednesday I had another dream and hands down is the most bizarre taper dream I have ever had.

I dreamed I was in a car accident and was badly injured and both of my legs from the knee down had to be amputated.  The cause of the accident had something to do with the other driver not swimming across the lake because his wife wanted him to. This part didn't even make sense to my dream self because I thought why would he swim across the lake in the dark and in the rain? I was only hospitalized overnight which was a relief because it meant I could still run the marathon on Saturday. My hospital issued prosthetic legs were a lovely pair of Frye Campus boots. They looked exactly like the ones my friend Leah was wearing the other day when I saw her. (Guess I liked those boots more than I actually realized.)

 I was able to run in my new prosthetic Frye boot legs but I was slow and wobbly and it was pretty uncomfortable. I  had a catalog of prosthetic legs and picked out a pair for cycling but they cost $6,000 dollars. I also wanted the ones specifically for running but they cost just as much and I knew even if I could afford them I wouldn't get them in time for the marathon. I figured I would just deal with running Albany in the Frye boots but hopefully soon I could afford the running ones. But, then I reasoned I should probably get the cycling ones first since I didn't think I could ride my bike at all in the Frye boots--no toe clips. I reasoned since I could run in the Frye boots I should get the cycling ones so I could at least do a few triathlons over the summer. Maybe in a few months I figured I could afford the running prosthetic legs and would have a shot at a fall marathon pr.

Saturday, during the marathon, around mile 13 I would wonder if that dream was a prophetic warning of what was to come or whether it became a self fulfilled destiny. Two days before the race though I tried to entertain hopeful optimism and just laughed at my crazy subconscious.

And on that optimism.... It is funny but the week before I was at Carmella's double header Lacrosse game. Her team had won the first game 15 to 4 but the second game was a bit closer. They were almost certain to win the second game too --up by 2 points as the clock wound down to the last few minutes. In the last minute the other team scored and with less than 30 seconds on the clock a time out was called. One of the Dads confidently exclaimed that our girls were "undefeated." I cautioned that the game wasn't over yet, anything could still happen. He looked at me and asked the cliche, "is the glass half empty or is it half full?" And I told him, " the way I see it there is some water in the glass."

I don't understand why the question is always pessimist or optimist? The world is not black or white. There is not only shades of grey there's a whole freaking color scale!  A Kodachrome, right? And I understand that all the colors might make it all a little confusing to "see the writing on the wall" and the inclination is to simplify it but I guess I just think no amount of positive or negative thinking is going to change that there is some water in the glass. It is what it is.

But to answer the question. I am a realist who desperately  wants to believe the glass is half full. I want to see the sunny day. I want the rainbows and unicorns. And I guess that is why I didn't really notice the turtles:  I was too busy looking for  rainbows and unicorns to see what was really there.

While we were at the expo to pick up my number, Ryan was busy trying to figure out "what was up with all the turtles" and  I was busy talking to runners at the pacer table. I was looking for that darn 3:25 pace band. It doesn't exist. I couldn't find it at Savannah and I couldn't find it in Albany either. The reason it wasn't in Albany was that the Fed ex guys hadn't brought the pace bands yet. While waiting to find out about the pace bands and conferring with the pace leaders the suggestion was made to line up with the 3:35 pace group and adjust from there. I realized this was a valid suggestion.I asked what that pace was--8:12.

And I thought, ick. What's the point of having trained to run sub 3:25 and go out running 3:35? To me the math that would get me to sub 3:25 wasn't going to work if I went out at a 3:35 pace.  I just saw that idea as a waste of my training. I felt very confident I was in sub 3:25 shape. My training these past 3 months has been my strongest ever and I ran a 5k (20:30) pr and 10k (43:14) pr in February--both indicating sub 3:25 was a reasonable goal. Heck, I was only a 90 seconds shy of sub 3:25 in Savannah and that was most definitely not my best day ever.

I think in that moment I decided that if can't run 3:25 tomorrow I would rather save myself and try in 2 weeks at the Publix marathon for which I am signed up.Oh, but to be certain, I know the idea of me  actually running a 3:25 marathon on the Publix marathon course makes seeing a unicorn riding a rainbow a more likely scenario.

I walked away from the pacer table mulling the choices.  If I ran 3:3x I felt fairly certain that would be too fast to turn it around and run 3:25 at Publix in 15 days (for which I am registered). So the choices I reasoned were this:   go for sub  3:25 as planned, target 4 hours (long run pace) or not run. My thinking was also if it is going to be raining and hideous weather I would rather not be in it any longer than I had to be. And seeing as how I had  made the trip to Albany I might as well run the darn race. 3:25 it was.  . . and I was not excited, confident or thrilled about it at all. And I was irritated about that. I wanted to be excited and confident. I was mad that things were not going my way. Really. I waste way too much time being angry at the weather and things I have absolutely no control over.

The forecast for the morning called for 70 degrees, 88-100% humidity, 10-20mph wind, rain, lightening, thunderstorms and maybe a tornado. The race director promised to let us know by 6 am if the race would be canceled.

Meanwhile the severe storms that were predicted for Albany Saturday were about to hit Atlanta and the northern suburbs. So Ryan and I watched the weather.  I tried to go to bed at 8 pm knowing, at the very least, a good nights rest was going to be critical in getting through the race in the morning.

A tornado around 9 pm, according to the reports, touched down about 5 miles from our house.  My parents (who my kids were staying with), my nephew, brother in law, sister in law, and my in laws all live within a 10 mile radius of us. Gratefully, everyone and their homes were okay. My in laws lost power and we didn't know how our house was. Even still Ryan and my phone both rang or beeped with texts well past midnight with friends and family calling to see if we were okay and to check in to let us know they were okay. I would have turned them off but the forecast predicted another line of storms after midnight.

Needless to say, a good nights sleep didn't happen. Might have been worst night sleep's ever. How stressed out can one person be lying in a comfortable bed? The answer is pretty damn stressed out.

The Race

I stayed in bed until my alarm went off at a quarter til 5. I got up and had the usual cup of coffee, water, bagel with some peanut butter. I made a playlist and down loaded some new songs to my ipod and got dressed. At 6am  I saw the race was a go. At 6:15 Ryan and I left to go to the start.

It isn't raining yet but it is a muggy 71 degrees. There is a breeze so it doesn't feel oppressive and I think, well this isn't so bad. Maybe there will be race day magic. There usually is. I tell Ryan my legs feel really tight and I try stretching a little. Ryan holds my place in the ridiculously long porto potty line and I go and warm up a bit, stretch.  I am tired but I am always tired at the start. I've managed just fine in the past. I decide not to worry about the flashes of lightening I see in the distance.

With a few minutes to 7 I kiss Ryan good bye and make my way up near the 3:25 pace group. Even though I know it is coming and even watch as the guy pulls the cord for the cannon the boom still startles me and I say " Oh shit!" And it must of scared the piss out of the sky too because it starts pouring as I run over the start mat.

I try to be smart and stay back from the pace group but by the end of the first mile I am right in step with them.

First mile clicks off at 7:38. Too fast, obviously but still 3 seconds slower than I ran that first mile at Savannah.

I think the rain made it deceptively cool. I didn't feel hot. I felt totally fine. Easy even. I would even say I felt better than I did at Savannah. My legs though did feel tired and achy. But my legs always feel like crap for the first few miles of every single run. I just don't pay attention to it.

Mile 2  also uneventful. I definitely feel like I am holding back and keep just behind the pack of the group. I guess though I am part of the group because even though I have my ear buds in I can still hear mostly what is being said.

 8:01. And I think that is exactly what I did in Savannah. I feel like I am being smart.

 I am rain soaked though. I pointlessly try to avoid the large puddles. I decide the Green Silence  was the right choice. They don't feel as heavy as the Adrenaline's would have,  I tell myself.

Mile 3 Just as the rain lets up  I start hearing what I guess might be tornado sirens. I hadn't spoken to anyone. Not sure yet if I wanted to commit to the pace group so I wasn't looking to make friends. But I asked, to no one in particular, " Are those tornado sirens!" It was confirmed that they were in fact tornado sirens. Then I hear the pacer inform us that he would get us to the finish in 3:25 but his first objective is safety or some non sense like that.

It occurs to me that it flies in the face of good sense to be out running when there is a looming threat of tornadoes. I have the first of many moments that day where I do not  feel very smart or that I am being at all logical.

I pass a guy vomiting and I hear the pacer says something about breakfast. I tried not to look but I did. Mile 3 I think and people are already vomiting? You are not him. You are not him, I tell myself.

7:44 The pace felt fine but between the sirens and the dude vomiting I am unnerved. Looking back this is where I should have pulled back. But I remember contemplating it and looking at my arm on which I had written, "HTFU" and "You can!" and I stayed the course.

Mile 4 I want them to turn the sirens off. I see people stopping, jumping off the course to walk, piss or vomit. I start worry about my house. I hope it is okay. I wonder if Beau's lacrosse game is canceled. My legs still feel tired. Hopefully they come around soon.The pacer is trying to be light and engaging. I am grateful for it. If nothing else it is distracting. 7:48


Mile 5 7:44 I think there are still sirens but I think the rain has stopped. I am trying to listen to others talk while I internally debate my plan. I had originally, when I didn't know the weather was going to be so awful, planned to go out with the 3:25 pace group and drop the pace a little after 6 or so miles. After I knew how bad the weather was going to be I decided that plan was totally unreasonable. So my debate was stay with 3:25 or slow down to long run pace. I had my first GU.

Mile 6: 7:53 Aid station. More people still stopping, not looking good. I start to think maybe it is warm. Am I warm? Oh what to do! I don't want to slow down. I really want to run 3:25. I want another pr! I am wearing my green silence. They are my pr shoes. I try not to think about that my legs feel pretty crappy or that without the rain it really is starting to feel pretty darn hot.

Mile 7 7:44 Chaos happens. A young, quite fit I should add, guy about 5- 10 feet in front of me holds up his arm and steps off the course. I pass him and assume, like the others who have been stepping off he is going to piss or vomit.  But then I hear someone shout "Stop!! Everyone stop! Help!" I don't stop but I glance behind me and see that guy in the fetal position in the grass. He looks like he might be shaking. The guy next to me yells "he is having a fit!" I don't know what to do. I don't have my phone. Up ahead there is  a police car blocking the traffic for the race course. Our pacer bolts off to get help. I stay with the group, keep running and fight back the tears and the panic feeling that is rising in my chest. I feel myself sliding into the "valley of darkness" and again, I feel like I am not being very smart.

Mile 8 7:46 The pacer comes back. Someone again repeats that he was having a "fit". I think about what this means. Is he having a fit because he has epilepsy or is he having a seizure from heat stroke? I don't know and I don't think to ask but this is where my resolve at the race and my pursuit of 3:25 begins to really crumble. I am trying to give myself the pep talk but the little voice in the back of my head keeps reminding me that I am a parent. I have obligations in this world more important that running a 3:25 marathon. I start to really worry about the safety issue of this race. Maybe it is warmer than I think it is. Nevertheless I am still sticking with the group. I don't feel good about it though. I want to give it a little more time and see if it passes.

Mile 9: 7:52 I am still with the group but I note that this mile is slower and that it felt pretty tough. This I realize is not a good sign. We are out on an open highway/road. It is kind of windy. Hitting us sideways though. I pass one of many churches that I will run pass on the course. In South Georgia there is a church every quarter of mile. You can't turn a corner down here without finding one. This one has one of those marquees with an uplifting message. I read it and say it to myself twice. It is a positive message and I think I should adopt it for the rest of race. It will help me dig deep I decide. My mind wanders away from the positive message and starts thinking about the guy who fell and I worry about my house and that my feet and ankles and calves feel pretty awful. I start to say my newly adopted mantra from the church marquee to bring my mind back to the positive thinking but I have already forgotten it and all I can say to myself, having totally mixed it all up is : God creates disasters.  Not helpful or positive but now that  is what is stuck in my head! Crap.

Mile 10 7:56 Hmm, how did that happen? I try to figure out what is going on with the pace. That felt really hard and now I am behind the pace group. I have another GU and when I come to an aid station I decide to walk it. Maybe my heart rate is too high.  I don't know what is going on but I feel like something is off and I need to pull back.


Mile 11 8:20 I slow down and I think about how I am feeling. Not so good. I decide by this point I should be feeling better. My legs feel wrong. Nothing I can pin point but my feet, ankles and calves are achy and tight. Is it the shoes? I only did one long run in the Green Silence. 16 two weeks ago and it felt fine. My legs did not feel like this. Maybe it is from the rain. I can feel the pavement through my shoes, like I am running barefoot.

I can still see the pace group but they are pretty far ahead. I debate if I should try to chase them down or hold this pace. The sun is poking its head out.

Mile 12 8:05 I try to pick it up but it feels worse. I definitely know I am not bonked but I just don't feel right.  Not sick at the stomach but my feet and ankles and calves just hurt. This is not how my legs usually feel. I can't find a rhythm. Did I go out too fast? I look at my watch. Well this is definitely slower than I ran at Savannah and my legs never felt like this at all during the race--even in the last few miles. Sure my calves felt twitchy in the last 10k but this is different. I decide on a walk break and a slower mile.

Mile 13 8:42 I realize that 3:25 and a pr is gone based on how my legs feel. The "wheels" have come off. Do I want to put them back on? What is the right choice? What is the logical smart thing to do?

I am not enjoying running at all. It feels hot and muggy to me. There is no rain and the sun is making it feel gross. I still see every so often someone throwing up or kneeling down or stopping for some reason.I hear the occasinal ambulance or police siren.  This stinks. Really, no one looks like they are enjoying themselves. It seems really early for on for people to look this miserable.  We have yet to reach the half way point.

Speaking of which, I hit the half in 1:44xx. This is a good 3 minutes slower than I ran at a Savannah. I reason if I can hold it I can probably run close to 3:30. I feel a bit cooked though so it certainly won't be easy, fun or most questionably in my mind--worth my effort. I think about:  If I try to gut it out for the best time possible it will still be an undesirable time for me, I will still be disappointed and then, I figure,  I will have no shot whatsoever at a good race in two weeks. I just don't think I can recover that quickly. I mean I've done marathons 4 weeks apart but never 2 weeks. I don't even know if it is reasonable to think I will be able to pull it off no matter how slow I go.

 What to do. What to do. People are passing me. Legs feel icky. I am lonely and not seeing the fun in it. I can't entertain myself with taking pictures since I left my phone with Ryan.

--At some point during miles 11-14 I caught up and chatted with the guy from Texas who was with the 3:25 group. I ask him if he stopped when the guy fell. He confirms that he did and that by the time the medics got there he seemed to be coming around. There is no mention of a seizure so I don't know what happened but I feel better knowing he got help. I hope he was okay. He weighed heavily on my mind. No race is worth hurting yourself over. --

Mile 14 9:10 Still  deciding what to do. My legs feel worse. Feels like someone took a bat to my calves and ankles and the bottom of my feet ache badly.  I can feel my IT band tightening on both sides and that makes me panic. I do not want to have to battle ITBS again. I know for certain that this race is absolutely not worth putting myself back in the injury clink.

At this point, since I am taking a walk break every now and then when my resolve weakens I am noticing more stuff. Mostly what I see is the little turtle markers on the sewers. I laugh, Ryan was right, the turtles are every where! Turtles! Seriously! It all starts to dawn on me the mistake I have made. I went out as the rabbit and I most definitely should have been the freaking turtle. Turtles.

I feel really stupid.

Mile 15 8:40 IT band is very tight. I am hot. I am miserable. I am lonely. I decide to call it a day. I reason if I call Ryan at the next aid station and he can pick me up around 16 or 17  and that I can probably safely recover to be 100% in two weeks for the Publix marathon. Not my idea of fun or ideal but I know I am better than today.  What I want from myself just isn't going to happen for me today. I've already been dumb and, I decide, punished sufficiently for my mistake.

Live to fight another day, I tell myself.

With this resolve at the next aid station I asked a volunteer if I can use a phone. I am done! I tell them. I do feel a bit guilty. I mean, I paid to be out on the course. These awesome, kind and exuberant volunteers are out here for free.

 I suck. My self loathing is thicker than the humidity.

A nice man gives me his phone. I call Ryan.
I am done. Come get me, I tell him.
Are you fucking kidding? He asks.
No, I am cooked, I say certainly. But my voice shakes as I admit it. Saying it out loud and these nice strangers hearing me say  it makes it sad, scary and very real. Quitting is always hard and it never ever feels good.  My eyes well up and fight back tears. I will NOT cry in front of these nice poncho wearing people handing out water and bananas on their perfect manicured front lawn. I feel like the biggest ass ever.
Ryan asks,where I am.
I think the address was 1528 Coventry. Who knows. I say, I will start walking towards 16 and 17. Find me along the course.
Okay, he says.

I hand the phone back to the nice man and say thank you. He offers me a place to sit and wait but I tell him I will meet my husband at the next aid station. Such nice people. I am pathetic.

 I walk for a bit. And then bored by the walking I start jogging. I try to be encouraging to those I see struggling. I feel guilty but I also feel like a huge burden has been lifted. Sure there is a tug of guilt knowing I am not going to be a Natalie fan tomorrow. But for now I just want today to be over. I just want to go home.

 For the first time all morning I feel hopeful. I laugh a little, thinking --  you know, if this was a true Southern Gothic tale-- that after 2 hours of running down those rain flooded and tempestuous streets of Albany I have been baptized. Baptism by storm! I giggle at my next thought and conclude that Ryan, with his gnarly beard and his hair he hasn't cut in a year could totally pass for Jesus and he is going to save my wretched ass. Hallelujah! Ryan saves!

Or so I thought.

Mile 16 comes.   In it I come across Beth, a local ultra runner acquaintance.  She is super focused and doesn't even acknowledge me despite my screaming Beth! Beth! for several minutes. I jog along side her and start to think either I am invisible or she hates me. But with persistence she seeing me flailing beside her. I, of course tell her ALL of my woes and that I am quitting. I guess I should have known better than to tell someone who runs a marathon every weekend in her training for yet another 100 mile race of my woes and expect some sympathy. But I think I've already shown that logical thinking, good sense and being smart I was not. Pride, clearly not a factor anymore.
We say hi and she smiles.
Then I say, I am quitting.
Her face gets serious and she looks at me, sizing me up and says." I think that is a mistake. You'll regret it."
I give my arguments of "but I could just run Publix in 2 weeks! I don't want to injure myself again.Blah. Blah Blah. Feel sorry for me pleaseeee!!!"
"Just run walk it," she tells me. "You'll be fine. Besides you are running too fast right now anyway."
I am?
Yeah, 8:20's.

Huh.No quitting? I don't know if I like this idea. I KNOW I sure as heck don't like walking. Walking sucks.

We chat and I try to hang with her. Keeping an eye out for my husband who is sure to show up at any minute and I am certainly going to climb inside that car.

Mile 17 Still no saviour. Still hanging and annoying Beth.

I start to realize that maybe he isn't going to come get me. That what happened is that I called and said "babe, come get me. I am dying. " And he said "yes" but really what he said, after I hung up was:  "Fuck that. I'm going to the River Aquarium and find out what is up with the turtles!"

Mile 18 I am forsaken. I am certain of it now. I start to wonder about our marriage vows. Hello, good times and bad, please come pick up my sorry ass Ryan! You promised!

I am still ready to quit. Ready to tell anyone, everyone and I do.  I am sure Beth is annoyed and ready to shake me off but I am lonely, needy and don't care how annoying I am. By the end of the mile she tells me how ridiculous quitting would be. I only have 7 miles left and I can "totally do this" she points out.

Right. Right she is. But I realize that today, I just don't want to.  But apparently, March 3rd is the day where Natalie does not get what she wants.

Does she though, get what she needs?

Mile 19 Apparently yes. Because obviously what I needed, I realize now, is a good ass kicking and a serving of humble pie. Hmm, I guess I was due.

It doesn't matter that Beth is right. Right that I can"totally do this."  I have to do this because apparently, Ryan, who I am certain  is off researching turtles, is not going to come and get me and I am going to have to "do this" whether I want to or not.

Damn it all to hell!

As I come to this realization another runner pipes up and asks if I am NatNat. It is Chris from the Runner's World forums. We introduce ourselves and swap our stories of misery.  He asks if he can hang with me. I warn him, that any second I might be quitting but absolutely he can hang with me if he can stand it. He tells me that he has read my blog and "knows what he is getting himself into." Yay! Another wretched soul to run with!


Miles 20+   The sky is darkening; rain and pace groups come and go. At some point we lose Beth but not before she introduces us to her friend Vanessa. I come across again the lady in the dress and also the pretty blond lady who I had told my tale about quitting a few miles back. They had both wanted to quit too but like me are hanging in there. I think eventually they all pass me. But Chris, thankfully, is willing to stick with me. He is struggling with GI issues. I am struggling with bad attitude and sore achy legs, lost resolve and soon will be able to add the nasty snake of a calf cramp to the list of my woe is me's. I still hold on to the bleakest of hope that at any moment Ryan will show up and save me from my misery.

It is fun run walking with Chris. I probably would have laid out on the side of the road and held out the $4 dollars I had to my name and offered it to anyone to take me away if he hadn't been there.

All through these miles I see runners sitting on the side of the road--vomiting, taking a break, looking desperate for it to be over. I hear ambulances and sirens. And all the while we pass the most cheerful, optimistic and kind volunteers encouraging, thanking and wishing us well.

Mile 24  The sky darkens ominously to my right side. The rain is back.The sky looks like it means serious business this time and that the mother of all storms is ready to hit us.

I do start to worry that maybe something as happened to Ryan. I mean, really how could he have forsaken me like this? 13 years of marriage and 2 kids? I know I am ridiculous most days but come on, I am a good wife. Don't toss me out into the storm!

Mile 25 The four hour pacer finds us. She is all alone. She looks pretty done too. I offer to carry her sign for her but she says she is okay. I tell Chris this is it! We need just to suck it up and get it done. No more walking. The rain is heavier, the wind has kicked up and there isn't a culvert in sight for us to dive in.

Mile 26 The rain is really heavy now and it is getting dark. And I am not shitting you but we have to step up on the sidewalk and then we RUN INTO A BUILDING! We run through it and out on to the river walk. The temperature drops easily 10 degrees and the sky completely breaks open and dumps more rain than I think  is in the Flint River. I warn Chris ahead of time that I am going to have to do a cartwheel since it isn't a pr.

I hear his wife cheer for him.

And we are done. We cross the finish line in 3:58 and change. I cartwheel, give Chris a hug of thanks, get my medal--which is a . . .  FREAKING TURTLE!  

I look for Ryan. He isn't there. I can't believe it.

I had thought he would be there. Part of me thought he had been following me on the course, giggling when he saw me but never letting me see him. When I don't see him at the finish I panic. I assume something horrible has happened. Oh the images my mind can play.  I find a phone and call him. Apparently he has been driving the course looking for me but kept missing me because I kept running. Oh well. It is done.


What a disappointing day. After 14 years of running and 16 marathons I should know better. I KNOW that I just don't run well in warm humid weather. I never have. And for that matter I have never  run a pr at my spring marathon. Trying to force an aggressive goal was a huge mistake. One I just should not have made. IF I had been using my brain at all instead of holding onto my heart wish and being a silly optimist I would have had a much better day. I have no doubt about it. I only have myself to blame for the day I had. It just was not a day to try and run a pr and everything prior was telling me that but I, as usual, wasn't really paying attention. No worries though. It is for sure noted in my "book" for future reference.

A note about the photos. I took those in college. I still laugh thinking about my 22 year old self arranging Aunt Boo's lawn animals for my staged Tortoise and Hare race. I don't know if you see it but there is a cat, ducks, pig, and bull dog spectating the race. I am the most ridiculous woman ever. There really does need to be somebody to "shoot me every minute of my life." Oh, wait there is. His name is Ryan.

And my calves and ankles STILL feel like someone took a bat to them and, yes, as a matter of fact I do walk like I have a pair of Frye Campus boot prosthetics.

Self fulfilled prophecy indeed.
 

My Box of Rain

I meant to write this post before Christmas. It was going to be titled: Gifts, Neither Bought nor Wrapped.  I thought I would have time to write it because I was ahead of the Christmas game. But then, ironically so I guess, I got caught up in the mad pageantry of Christmas and didn't have time after all.


 But then I thought, well okay it will be fine after Christmas. Belated Christmas gifts. 


But then I had to take Christmas down and well, the next thing you know it is 2012.


And so it goes and then it is gone and then time just keeps on marching relentlessly forward.


 I decided today though I wasn't going to let this one go. Not this box of rain, this box of . . .


wind and water -
Believe it if you need it,
if you don't just pass it on
Sun and shower -
Wind and rain -
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame


It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare


But it's just a box of rain
--Grateful Dead, Box of Rain

The Thursday before Christmas I headed out for my weekly long run. Usually I do this run on Fridays but I had to do it on Thursday because my kids were out of school Friday and  I had to get my house cleaned up so Christmas could come and wreck it. Everyone knows Santa doesn't visit the messy houses. 

At least this is what I told my kids so they would help me clean. 


I really didn't want to do my long run Thursday. The weather was yucky; warm and rainy. I had even contemplated running for 3 hours on the treadmill because I so very much hate running in the rain. It isn't the water or being wet part that bother me but the wet shoes. I hate it.  I don't hate the treadmill, in fact I rather I like it but not so much for 3 straight hours of running.


 I was in the unhappy of debate of the lesser evil: 3 hours in the rain or 3 hours on the treadmill.  And worse,  I felt pressured that I HAD to do my run that day. I don't like feeling like I ever HAVE to do anything. My instant inclination is toward rebellion. I am immature like that. Apparently I am not going to outgrow it either. It is a character trait. Not a good one either.

Really what it boiled down to was a bad attitude. As my favorite Milton quote goes: The mind in its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, and hell of Heaven. I checked myself and then the weather and it was something like 68 degrees and 99% humidity. I puzzled over what exactly 99% humidity was and decided to suck it up and run outside-- the gym was bound to be warm and humid too I figured. Might as well HUTU!


 And just so you know; 99% humidity is rain. 

So I headed out on my regular 21.25 mile loop. A loop that takes me on a tour of East Cobb. A loop that I have done so many times I have worn a groove in the sidewalk. A loop that is so familiar I could run it with my eyes closed. A loop that takes me past the house I lived in from the time I was 7 until I was 13 and past the middle school I attended and down roads that I have driven and ridden in cars since I was 7 years old. What I am saying is that for me it is familiarly uninspiring. It isn't bucolic scenery, gnarly wooded trail or a divine pristine meadow. It isn't new place or perfect place. It isn't ugly but it really isn't interesting. It is so, suburban. But there is, if nothing else, that memory connection-- that running past the familiars of my past, does in fact,  jog the memory--pun, though weak, intended. 

And so it goes, or rather went, as I ran up and down the rolling sidewalk hills,  rain spilling over the brim of my hat as I dodged drivers who for whatever reason never look right when they go right. As I leapt over puddles my mind found a reverie. A story that bled into another story and entertained me for all of the 21 miles until eventually I found myself home: sopping wet, tired and tingling with happy. Nerve endings of my muscles connecting to memories and feelings. It was a feeling I could really feel.

The story is one that sits somewhere in a frame at my parent's house. I can see the newspaper article- weathered and yellowed behind the glass and dusty frame- but I can't read any of the details. But I know the story.  . .


My great grandfather, Harold Legette, is a young Navy man. He is on a boat in an ocean; probably the Atlantic. I think that would fit his age and the right war best. I can't remember the date either but my mind is determined that it is in December. Possibly it is even  Christmas Eve-- that would make the tale even better. It is night. I remember that detail specifically. My grandfather falls off the boat; swept over the rail by a wave. He thinks no one saw as he was  tossed into the ocean  and is certain  he is as good as lost. Drowned. He floats there in the waters; buoyed up and down by the waves. I am certain it must be cold. He watches as the lights of his ship disappear into the night. He is floating in the wettest and the darkest of darkness. As the last of the ship's lights disappear it takes with it hope. It is replaced by helplessness. Despair and loss settle into his heart.


As he struggles to stay afloat in the dark expanse of the ocean he sees, in the distance, the light of the ship turning in the night: stretching its beams over the water and breaking up the pitch of black night. He watches as the light returns and finds him in the endless darkness. Someone must have seen him fall over board!  He is saved after all! Not lost to the water or the unending darkness or the world and forever forgotten. He is lucky. He is found.


This is the story that explains some 60 years later why my great grandmother Ebie Legette insists to the 14 year old me that we have take the long way to my Aunt Boo's house. She doesn't want to walk next to the swimming pool that sits in between our  house and  Boo's.  She is terrified of water. But the 14 year old me doesn't know that yet. I haven't found the framed article. 


Instead, I think she is being a silly old person and I further shake her soul with my terrifying tales of swimming not only in swimming pools but up and down the brown murky water in the lake behind our house. She pats my arm that is hooked on hers and tells me she loved meeting my friends. My gaggle of friends-- probably Gina, Liz, Carrie, Brent and Sean -- I begrudgingly left behind at my house to walk my great grandmother back to Boo's house where she is staying.


 She tells me I am lucky. 


I am 14. I don't feel lucky. I am 14 and I know nothing of luck, gratefulness, want vs need, love or life for that matter. I am though enjoying my great grandmother's kind attention as we walk through the pre dusk darkness. This is so different than the attention she gave me as a younger child. The attention that alternated between hand swats for my "plundering" or shushing for my motor mouth. 


I don't remember all of our conversation but I know before we reached Boo's back door she told me this: You are a lucky girl to have so many sweet friends. It isn't money that makes you rich. It is your friends and your family that make you rich.


I saw her to the door and ran home and forget those words for the better  part of the next 10 years of my life. I found them again in grad school and was inspired to write a story about them. 


And then I forgot them again.


 I forgot them until I found myself on wet sidewalk in waterlogged running shoes with my mind lost to the deliciousness of a great  run a few days before Christmas. I tried to hold onto those words; words wrapped up in nostalgia and tied tight with an endorphin bow. But I lost them again. This time to the obnoxious side of Christmas. 


This is not to say I don't absolutely love that side of Christmas. I certainly loved seeing my kids giddy and over the moon from their gifts.  And I love my new running clothes, Frye boots and NookColor tablet. I love all my new stuff! I have always been driven to wanting to own stuff. I still, at 40, when I should long know better;  confuse want and need.  I am, if nothing else, a material girl living in a material world. But certainly, as I am oft reminded, that my material wants and desires are often for naught because I am in fact, not rich.  


At least not financially so. 


I am, as my great grandmother said: Lucky. And I am rich--if friends and family and love are a commodity then most certainly, I am rolling in it. 


So as everyone trudges forward into the New Year with their ambitions, their goals and their resolutions I continue with my original quest of why I started this blog in the first place and named it "The Negative Split". Sure, it would be nice to literally run the metaphor.  But alas, I guess, that is the irony. I'm okay with irony. I rather like it. 


Final thought is this though, for certain:  I will never sandbag anything, and that includes life, just so I can do the second half better.  

Savannah Marathon: Ripping the Band-aid Off

On November 5, 2011 I ran my 15th marathon. The Savannah RocknRoll Marathon in the beautiful historic city of Savannah. It was my first marathon in the Master's division.
For those that don't care for the boring discourse and details here are the Cliff notes for the cheaters and short attention spans.

Participant Detail

Finished In:

03:26:29

2116

Natalie Fischer

Marietta, GA

Age: 40 | Gender: F

Overall: 258 out of 4741 · Division: 5 out of 423 · Gender: 44 out of 2482

Pace	5Km	10 Km	10 Mi	Half	20 Mi	ChipTime	ClockTime
7:53	24:17	48:35	1:17:30	1:41:14	2:35:46	03:26:29	03:27:32

Here is the links to the photos and video: Link!
And my outfit:

Preface:

For the past few years , as noted in the sparse but all blog posts here, I have struggled with injuries. In 2009 I ran my 2 fastest marathons and since then I have had:

• A humbling trail marathon
• A "Did Not Start" marathon due to an ITBS injury on my left side and pleurisy infection.
• A "Did Not Finish" marathon due to injury at mile 17
• A disappointing and painful 3:41 marathon because (of a non running) related back/Si joint injury but nonetheless got me to Boston.
• A sub par training cycle and disappointing 3:31 marathon due some hip problem on my right side--probably related to the SI joint injury.
• A 3:55  "training" marathon that was my longest run before Boston for my shortest ever training cycle.
• A fun Boston experience but nevertheless another sub par training cycle and subsequent 3:33 marathon finish due to the same nagging--now seemingly chronic-- hip problem.

I had told Steph on ride last winter that Boston was going to be my last marathon. I think I said something about giving up running completely and either getting fat or being a swimmer. Steph, of course didn't believe me and said all it would take would be one good race. Well Boston wasn't that race but I didn't give up.

Over the summer I worked on building back some miles and cross trained a lot. Like I don't think I had week since Boston that I didn't log at least 10 hours of exercise with the usual being 14 hours. In August I began training in earnest for Savannah. By mid October I realized that I was on the verge of my most solid and consistent training before any marathon I done. I hadn't been wearing a watch for any of my training so I didn't know where this put me in terms of what I could expect from the marathon--assuming I made it to the start line injury free. And with my recent history, I wasn't holding my breath.

Upon the advice of RW forumites I purchased a watch. I found that I was probably about where I was when I ran my pr of 3:28 in 2009. My hip still was a bit of problem but I was still able to train and was hitting every.single.workout I set out to do. I wasn't having to go do my turn on the spin bike because I couldn't run as much as I needed. I was able to do double runs instead of having to do double spins and an easy run. I didn't have to take an entire 2 weeks off and ride my bike because my hip hurt too much to run. Because, I could just run. It was so awesome. Running had finally taken me back!! And as a result. I got back together with my old friend time and pace. Data, like me, was making a comeback. Fingers crossed.

 On my last  longish run (16.25), about 2 weeks before the marathon,  I was wearing my new old friend  watch and realized that I was sort of just lallygagging it. And I realized that was because I was afraid. I was afraid to really run. I realized that I was always holding back, going easier and slower than I needed to because I was still acting like I was injured. And that was when I really realized: I wasn't injured anymore. 3 months of averaging 55 miles per week? Yeah. That is not an injured runner. So about halfway through the run I look at the watch and figure I am running somewhere in the 8:50s avg. And I tell myself: Rip the fucking band aid off already! You.are.NOT. injured. And so after the terrible steep and long hill end around 9.5 miles I dropped it and picked up the pace the entire way home. It was so awesome and felt so good to run hard and finish with so much left in the tank. Entire run was an avg of 8:20.

Then two days later? I ran a 5k PR (20:39) !  My first pr at any distance since April of 2009. With that I felt I had pretty good chance of running a pr at Savannah. If it was a prefect day I thought sub 3:25 might even be likely. So my goal was to pr but shoot the moon and go for sub 3:25 if the stars were in precise alignment.

I'll advised, but nevertheless I PLANNED to run positive split. I felt this was assurance for a pr and possibly 3:25.  My goal was to hit the half in 1:42xx and then hold on for as long as I could. The only times I have run under 3:30 I hit the half in 1:42xx and 1:41xx.  When I have tried to run even or negative splits and hit the half in the 1:43-45 range I always come in over 3:30. The way I saw it I had nothing to lose. I don't plan on running Boston and even if I did, I know I can blow up and hobble out 2 hour second half. My only option was to go for broke. At this point, I really didn't care if I got broken in the process. I have learned, that with time, I can fix me.

Chapter 1: Best Laid Plans

I wanted a perfect day in Savannah. And I was going to do what I could to make that happen by controling the things I can control. But then a week or so before the race I began to lose my mind in obsessing over the things I couldn't control. Things I couldn't control, i.e; weather,being late because of traffic, shuttles or getting lost, starting my period, food, illness etc-- that would ruin my plan of having a perfect day. Because in my mind, I had ZERO shot at a pr if it wasn't a perfect day. I felt my training, while good, was weighing on the thin line of not just not quite good enough.
Ryan and the kids were staying home for this race and it was to be a girls weekend. Steph, her sister in law Michelle and I rented a little house on Tybee.

 Originally I wanted to stay in town but all those hotels/condos were gone by the time I registered in June. After much communication with the rental places on Tybee it was determined that there would be shuttles to get runners to the race. Since this was inaugural event I tried to make all my control freak plans with the idea that if it could go wrong it would go wrong. In that case you pad everything timewise. We bought early shuttles tickets--5:30 am pick up. Planned to go down to Savannah Thursday at lunch time. Hit expo. Go to Tybee. Spend Friday chilling and eat an early dinner that I would cook at the cottage. Eat at 6 and in bed by 8pm. Wake up at 4 am. Be at shuttle at 5:10. Go to race and run an awesome Pr. That was the plan.

Chapter 2: Thursday
After a week of mad packing, laundry and organizing where kids would go after school Thursday and Friday  and organizing their weekend plans, I was ready to roll. I picked up Steph and Michelle and we were on the road to Savannah by 1 pm.. As we are packing up the car, Doug tells me he got child care for the kids and will be coming down on Friday after he takes them to his parents. I admit that I was a little jealous that Steph will have her husband there to support her but I've run many a marathon unsupported so it doesn't bother me that much.

 It was a rather uneventful drive with the exception of my freaking out about my newly sprouted cold sore. I knew this meant that I was stressed, maybe about to get sick (my nephew had strep) and/or start my period. I tried many times to remind myself to NOT worry about the things I couldn't control. I tried but I was still totally wigging the fuck out.

We go to the expo with time to spare despite my usual navigation challenges. We picked up our numbers. Said Hi!~ to our friends Kate and Joe manning the Big Peach booth.

The cottage was perfect and we unpacked and went to dinner and got to bed by 9pm. Everything, I thought as I drifted to sleep, was going as I would have hoped. Even the weather was looking ideal.  . .

Chapter3: Friday is where it all went to hell
I woke up Friday morning happy. I even got to sleep until 7:30! That never happens. No one is up for a run with me so I go solo. It is a crisp and beautiful morning and I feel awesome. I take this picture around the corner from our cottage when I head out on a road between the marsh to the beach. 

When I got to the beach it occurs to me that this wind might be a big problem if it is this windy on Saturday. But, I think, surely it will die down before then. I run happy down the sidewalks of Tybee's maindrag. See Kate heading to the expo and wave to my friend. This is a great day!

And then,  it starts to crumble. Ryan calls and is frustrated and overwhelmed. He is having a stressful day at work and takes it out on me. I  fall apart a little. I try not to let it bother me and move forward with the days plans: Take Steph to the expo, go to the store, eat lunch , relax and make dinner and go bed and wake up and kick some ass. 

Michelle doesn't come with Steph and I to the expo. She didn't sleep well and wants to take a nap. She also tells us that her husband has surprised her and is also coming down later that day and will be at the race to cheer her on. I am happy for her since this is her first marathon but I am really beginning to feel like the fifth wheel and also feel a little sorry for myself that no one will be cheering me on or waiting for me at the finish.

I have fun at the expo since I don't have to worry about getting my number and shirt and official stuff. We are there early enough that it isn't so busy. I run into quite a few friends too. Here is my dear friend Desiree who I rarely get to see:

And here is Steph manning the GU booth. She is the cutest. 

I wander around the expo trying to find a 3:25 pace band. I can find 3:20 and 3:30 bands but the 3:25 does not exist. A few people encourage me to try for 3:20 but that would be a fool's mission. So I decide that I will just write a few check points of 3:25 in sharpie on my arm. I had printed out a pace sheet from this website that planned a slow start, fast middle and slow fade at the end to get me to 3:25. Which really I want sub 3:28 but I think I can do 3:25 on a perfect day. 

I am tired of the expo and try to convince Steph to come with me but she is having too much fun volunteering at the Gu booth and decides to stay. She says she will catch a ride with Lisa who is coming to eat with us at the cottage. 

So I leave and go the store and buy food for dinner and return to the cottage. I am still feeling emotionally fragile and nervous. I am still upset that my husband is having a bad day and I am off doing selfish things and feel that probably I shouldn't even be here. Then I decide I am probably just hungry and Michelle and I go to lunch:

After a beer and some tacos at the Social Club I  feel like things are looking up.  

Michelle and I go back to the cottage and her husband and son show up. He takes her off to see Tybee and I am left alone. I get everything ready for tomorrow--outfit, check bag, gu's etc. Then I read a little and try to sit outside on the swing that overlooks the marsh but it is too windy. Afterwhile I decide to start dinner. It is after 5. 

By 6:00 dinner is pretty much ready but Lisa  has been stuck in traffic since 4 and still not at the expo to pick up Steph. I do the math and realize even if she gets to the expo now and runs in and gets her number she still isn't going to be at dinner until after 7. During this time I realize I have just started my period. I have a headache, back ache and cramps and need to eat dinner. I proceed to have a complete melt down.   Michelle is kindly trying to peel me off the ceiling when Doug arrives. Men love shit like that right? Doug and Michelle convince me to eat dinner and Michelle advises me to take an Alleve. I do both. By now it is almost 7:30 and Lisa and Steph are still not here. I cover up dinner so they can eat when they get to the cottage. Then I get ready for bed, put my ear plugs in and go and lay down and read my book. 

I hear them come in around 8. I tell them where all the food is and go in my room, turn out the light and try to sleep. I am pretty sure perfect day is gone. I am so sad because I am quite honestly tired of training to have a sub par marathon experience. I sleep fitfully and the thought that keeps me up is why can't I ever have the perfect day? Woe is me. The universe hates. Trust me. I don't even like me. Pathetic.

Chapter 4: Race Day is Here.  Sigh.

At 3:30 am I start contemplating if I can get up yet. I don't want to lay there anymore. I want to move this day forward. At 3:45 I get up and turn on the coffee maker. In the process I wake everyone up. I go ahead and get in the shower since I know Steph will also want to shower before her race. I get dressed. Drink coffee.I eat a bagel with salt and peanutbutter. Have some Uncle Sam's. I feel like crap. Cramps. Aches. I am sad because my plans did not include starting my period 4 days early. I've done many long runs on the day I start and they always suck. I have never had a good run ever on the first day. I feel resigned to my crappy marathon fate. I am annoyed that all that great training comes down to this: Stupid girl crap. 

 Doug tries to cut the nervousness ( I really don't know what he was thinking stepping into a house with 3 women about to run a race.) He encourages me that I can run a pr today. I have absolutely no faith in this notion but nevertheless I write up some of the 3:25 splits on my arm. This is what I write:

Mile 1: 8:18

Mile 4: 31: 49

Mile 8: 1:02:48

Half:: 1:42:21

Mile 16: 2:04:44

Mile 20: 2:35:50

Mile 24: 3:07: 21

And then on my left hand I write "Believe" and on my palm I write "You can." Not you can finish or do it but rather you, Natalie, can believe in yourself. Even writing it I know I don't buy it at all but maybe when I am stupid in mile 23 I will. For good measure I write HTFU on my right hand. 

Chapter 5: Get on the bus!

We are the first people to arrive at the shuttle stop and are first in line. I start worry though that I won't be on the first bus out. I go talk to the guy organizing the buses. I tell him I want to be on the first bus to leave and want to know exactly which bus that will be. He tells me that whatever bus I get on he will make sure is the first bus to leave. I can't tell if he is teasing me but the bus I got on was in fact the first bus to leave.

Once we finally get on the bus and are all seated the driver asks "Does anyone know how to get to the start?" Everyone giggles, nervously. Then he says, " I am not kidding. I also can't read the signs in the dark. I need someone to tell me how to get to the start and read the signs for me." 

Holy fuck do I ever panic. I am ready to bolt off the bus right then but I am blocked by a gentleman who by his accent I can tell English is not is first language. He is also a lot bigger than I am so it would take some gymnastics to get quickly around him. Luckily someone volunteers with their GPS and we are soon off. I am sick to my stomach but the nice gentleman who English is not his first language completely distracts me. We chat all the way until the bus comes to a stop and we have arrived. It is just a little past 6 am! Yay! Early. Now what the hell am I gonna do for an hour and half. 

Michelle runs off --to where I am not exactly sure but she is all the sudden in a hurry. Steph and I huddle close and make our way to the potties. We wander around together and I whine and complain about how horrible my race is going to go. I try to divine it right then for her: First I will line up with Joe and he will be all happy and fresh because he is young and faster than me. And I will try hard to keep up but will be sad because I know I can't do it. Then around 14 miles my tampon will fall out and then a few miles later I will bonk and shuffle sadly the final miles a filterless mess. Steph is laughing but I? I am pretty certain that is how it is going to play out. I do feel better talking about it though. 

Chapter6: Potty Like a Rockstar

We meet up randomly again with Michelle and she informs us that Brook's "Potty Like a Rockstar" is broken. The generator is not working. Figures. We are all together for bag drop but then I lose them both shortly after. It is only 6:30 and I am regretting dropping my bag. It is pretty cold and windy. I still have my pants that I plan to toss. I wander down to my corral. It is empty. The volunteers are dancing. I dance with them and talk to them about the specifics of corral 2. Which is the front? Which is the back? How long do we have to wait, etc. Suddenly I notice across the street a bar. It looks open! Holy shizzle!!! I dance across the street and stick my head in the bar. "Can I come in here?" And several people call out, You sure can! Holy crap, I say, this is AWESOME. I am so amazed that a bar is open at 6:30 in the morning. I ask the bartendar all kinds of questions of what can I have: 

A beer? Yep. 

A Martini? Yep. 

Wow. 

We also have coffee and juice, can I get you anything? 

Uhm, can I just have water? 

Several people laugh. I get my water and cozy up to the bar and strike up a conversation with a man wearing a M dot jacket. He is doing Savannah as a training run for some goal marathon he has next weekend. Huh. Everyone is more hardcore than me. He takes my picture:

And in this cozy warm bar I enjoy small talk with other runners and a bathroom cleaner than a porto potty. Potty like a Rockstar indeed!

Things, I think, are looking up!  At 7:23, with pockets stuffed with Motrin and gu,  I walk out the bar door and hop in corral 2. 

Chapter 7: Ready Set Rock and Roll

I instantly find Kate and Joe. I hug them both. Kate is tired from working the expo for the past 3 days and Joe is promising me that we won't go out too fast.  . . 8:18 I tell them for the first mile! Okay they say!

And suddenly it is 7:30 and we are off!! 

It is still predawn darkness and everything feels horrible. First mile is always the worst. I try to focus on things around me and listen to whatever Joe is talking about. 90's hip hop I think. Or is it chicken and waffles? I don't know. It all sounds terrible. Everything is terrible. 

And mile one is done... 7:35 

We have to slow down! We have to slow down! I yell at them. Too fast!

Mile 2 8:01--yay! back on plan.

Mile 3: 7:44 Okay. I tell Joe I think I am getting a side stitch. Blow out, he says. I do and it goes away. Huh, cool. Thanks Joe!

Mile 4: 7:59 not sure what happened there. Aid station I think. My foot hurts. I am not going to beable to do this. Negative thoughts abound.  Kate and Joe are talking, running on either side of me. I put my head phones in and try to chill out. It is going to be just like that time a few years ago in August and we all three ran 18 at Kennesaw. I got dropped  and sweated so much I sweated out my cell phone that I wearing on my wrist.

 Ugh, I wish my cramps would go away. This sucks.

I check my arm. We are just under my goal. Huh. Maybe this isn't so terrible. Maybe it is okay. Maybe. . .

I think this is the "ghetto" portion. A guy comes out of his row house wrapped in a blanket. He is drinking a Miller Lite out of the can. It is 8 am. Awesomeness! Pretty sure he looks drunk. Hair of the dog, yeah baby! Now this is a Rock n Roll marathon!

Mile 5: 7:48 Hmm, starting to feel like maybe I want to run a marathon today. I think we see Joe's wife over here. Hey Sarah!

I have a gu.

Mile 6: 7:37 too fast. But it feels so good!

Mile 7: 7:48 just perfect

Mile 8: 7:43
Still ahead of where my arm says we should be. I am a little worried but man this course is FLAT!!

Think this is through downtown Savannah. I am having flashbacks of Boston. The streets are stacked with spectators. It is awesome. I feel like I am flying.

Mile 9: 7:34
 Feeling like a rockstar! Joe peels off to pee. I realize that I am going to need a bathroom stop too. Probably the kind of bathroom break I have never had to have in race at any distance I have ever done. I am trying not to freak out about it. It is really too embarrassing of a topic to share so that alone is what keeps me quiet about it. (And yet, I openly discuss it here. I am sure my mother is mortified. Apologies.)

Mile 10: 7:38
 Kate and I are running through a pretty area. I am so happy to have my friend here with me. Things in my GI tract are not behaving and I feel crampy. Stupid, stupid hormones. Too soon stop. Plus I need an open porto potty. I am not wasting time waiting in line.

Mile 11: 7:37
Joe catches back up. He must have booked it. I am impressed and know that I won't be able to do the same after I stop. Must hold it off.  Maybe it will go away.

I have my second gu.

Mile 12: 7:39
The half is peeling off. I look at the guy running next to me. I guess he thinks I am checking him out. I tell him I am checking his bib to make sure I am going the right way. He tells me he likes my pace. It is faster than he planned he explains, but it feels good. This is his first marathon. I don't want to tell him that is not really a good sign. We talk for a bit and his recent half marathon suggest this is actually not a bad pace for him. I point out Kate to him and Joe who right in front of us. I tell him to stick with them. I am going to have to stop for the bathroom soon and they are more likely than me to get him to the finish at this pace than I will be.

I think this is our first tour on the highway. You know I am never good on specifically what happens when in a marathon. I mean, this was supposedly a marathon that had a band every mile. I don't remember a single one of them.

Things that I note on the boring tour of concrete: is that the wind is at our backs and I also notice that at mile 23 we will be on this highway again and the wind, if it keeps up, will be in our face. And I further note: that is going to be a problem. I see that the second tour won't end until mile 24 and I am not sure when it begins.

Ugh.

I'll say this as a former lit major I have long noted the importance foreshadowing can play in story but often if you are not careful, you'll miss it. In this case I didn't miss it. Miles 21-24 were not the surprise for me that I think they were for some. I knew it was coming what I didn't know, or rather underestimated, was how much they would suck.

My pressing bathroom issue was starting to get desperate. No porto potties in sight. I start contemplating my mittens and a bush. Bushes look prickly. Let's hold out til the half. Surely there will be a bathroom at the half.

Mile 13: 7:36
I have surged ahead of both Joe and Kate. Bathroom bathroom bathroom.

Half: 1:41:14 
I am actually thrilled to be ahead of goal. And luckily there is porto potties. I sprint for it. It is a bit off the course so I have to run a little extra to get to it and jump the curb.

Ugh. Horrible. I just watch my time rolling away and there is nothing I can do about. And worse, my divination has come true. I am now "filterless". It really isn't that big of deal but the potential for a mess is there. Either way,  definitely NOT my idea of the perfect day.  But it will probably be okay. If nothing else I am not really motivated to get this done. As I run out of the porto potty a man yells, "Go get em girl!" Embarrassed,  I think about Uta Pippig. Stuff like this even happens to the pros. Well, in her case I guess she didn't stop. I am not that professional.  I mean, no one is going to give me money and laurel wreath when I finish this thing. No need to be totally gross, right?  (oops, too late. sorry!)

Mile 14: 8:52
I must have been sprinting hard because my legs start to feel heavy. Not a good sign at 14. I decide to have my gu early and pull back some. I am disheartened that I ran that hard and my mile was still that slow. Too long of a bathroom break for sure.

Mile 15: 7:34
Trying to catch up to Joe and Kate. I see Kate first on this little lollipop. Then I see Joe behind her.  By the end of the mile I  catch Joe! I am super excited.

Mile 16: 7:54
Dying a little at the beginning of the mile. Joe says it is fine. We are just under 3:25 pace. We can even slow down a little, he says. I am hot and Joe offers to take my arm warmers. Butterfly arm warmers look pretty on Joe.

Mile 17: 7:41
 Screw this going slower crap.I am feeling good again.  Let's catch Kate. Joe thinks I am nuts. He says, we can't even see her. She is gone. No she isn't, I tell him. She only a little ahead. I saw her!  He doesn't believe me. But me? I like to have something to chase. I mean what else do we have to do. Besides. I need to get this marathon done. It could get really messy.

I pick it up and Joe doesn't come with  me on my fool's mission.

But me? I rip the band aid off for good. Let it hurt and  make it quick.

Mile 18: 7:37
 I see Kate. Joe was right. She does seem really far away. But I like chasing her. It isn't that I really want to talk to her but seeing her up ahead gives me something to focus on. What I would like is to run all the way to finish 20 seconds behind her, chasing her all the way home.

Mile 19: 7:48
Kate is closer. Uh oh. She might be slowing. Noooo... I have another gu and hand one to gu who looks like he is pretty desperate for one. He manages a thanks.

Mile 20: 7:54
I catch Kate.

I am so happy to be with my friend but sad that the chase is over.  But worse is I can see she is having a hard time. She says she is mad. Her legs are done she says. Arghh, expo legs.  I feel bad and try to rally her. I offer her a gu.

I am surging ahead and she is falling back. I keep glancing over my shoulder and she is there but not trying to stay with me. This makes me sad. Kate is an amazing runner. A far stronger runner than me so I know she is having a bad day and I hate that for her. I have a hope that she will rally or will probably catch me when I run into the bonk in a few miles. I feel fine but I am certain it is going to go like a light switch at any moment.

I am spot on pace for a 3:25 finish. I know that is not going to happen and that is okay but I really want to pr so the further I get from 3:25 the harder the pr will be to get.  I mean 3:25 could but I can tell I am slowing and I just never really 3;25 was going to happen today.

I feel good but my legs are on the verge of a cramp. I can feel the preliminary twitching that will proceed full on calf cramps. Pushing the pace any faster is going to be a disaster. I start doing my late in the marathon math to figure how slow I can run per mile and still nab a pr. I come up with 8:30. I figure if I keep the final 6 under an 8:30 pace I will skate in with a pr--albeit a very small one. But a pr is all I really wanted. I also know I probably need to run faster than that since I am not really all that great at math.

My cardio is strong. If my legs weren't being so dumb and fat I could totally run faster. My hip doesn't hurt, my cramps are gone (I think I scared my period away), my ITband is happy,  and my Achilles is fine, grr, but those dang calf muscles are on the ledge.

Good news is I am passing a lot of people that had passed me after the half. I know it isn't very nice and I know I am fading too but it does make me feel better that I am doing better than most of the runners around me. But I also know that just because I am not bonking at 20 doesn't mean it won't happen. A lot can still happen in that final 10k, and usually does.

Mile 21: 8:06
We turn onto the Truman Parkway. AKA the highway of broken dreams. It is a bit of hill but the news isn't the tiny hill but rather the 20mph headwind. Holy mother of fuck this is worse than I thought it was going to be.

Up ahead, in the distance I see a very muscular black woman. She looks amazingly powerful, not your usual distance runner physique. I wonder if I can catch her. She becomes my new carrot and the focus that is going to get me the fuck out of this concrete jungle. Asap!

Mile 22: 8:04
The wind is hideous. Still in 3:25 range but it is slipping towards 3:26. I try running over near the concrete barrier to see if the wind will be less there. Nope, no different.  I make the decision  to ease pace. I rationalize that I need to run for effort at this point and effort wise the low 8's are feeling like 7:20's and that is going to be a recipe for ugliness in another mile or 2. I figure, hope 8:30s will be my best bet. It won't be easy but it will be faster than walking and less of battle than it is to hold the low 8's or try for sub 8's. Hopefully with 8:30s I won't totally extinguish my match. I know, I have 2 more miles because I saw the 24 mile maker at the highway exit earlier on the course but I am still hoping that I am wrong and we actually get off this damn highway before then.

 I eat half of a gu.

Mile 23 8:27
 Ughhh. It is so awful.

 An 8:27 mile felt like an eternity! It is runner carnage out here. People are walking, vomiting, some are leaning on each other. I just have my head tucked down and am trying to make myself as "aero" and as efficient as possible. Focus is on form and my turn over. I try drafting by tucking in behind the taller male runners I come upon but it doesn't help at all. Everyone is so spread out. I really want to walk but I keep telling myself walking will make it last longer.

 I finish off my gu.

Mile 24: 8:22

 I see the clock. I lost the 3:25 pace. With only 2 miles left I can't make up a minute now. I guess I am on 3:26 or over but do the math and know if I stay under 8:30 I can still narrowly pr and faster and I might can break 3:27. I check my hand, believe that I can, and I go for it.

Mile 25: 8:11

Stupid legs! Go faster!

I really don't remember much about this mile. During this mile I  do see a sign that says "2k to go" and I puzzle about it. And then I think about the littlest cross country kids and that is their race distance. If they can do it, I can do it!

It is hard to pass people. The half marathoners are fenced off on the other side of the road but they have more of the road than we do. The marathoner side is narrow. I am stuck behind this woman and this man. I really want to pass them but that would require a lateral effort that I just don't think I can manage at this juncture.  Suddenly, the man and woman part to allow me to pass. I am surprised and happy and decide I should make a good showing for their nice gesture. I drop it with all I have got  for the last 1.2 home...

Mile 26: 7:57

 I am grimacing and smiling and elated. Finishline Finishline! Where are you! I see my carrot again. I am on the hunt for her. Miles and time are running out on me. We turn the corner. Hammer, hammer, hammer, catch her, catch her!!! I will not stop trying!

Mile 26.2 1:36
 The chute narrows even more and I swear everyone else is slowing down. I am passing people left and right. Why don't these people run faster? The faster you run the sooner you are done! I weave around people and finally! I catch her and the 10 seconds later pass under the finishline with 3:26 firmly on my watch. A 2 minute pr! I am so happy!

So Savannah was not my prefect stars align marathon by any stretch. It was definitely not my perfect day but I made it work. While before the race I definitely let the little things get the better of me. But during the race  I did not let the things that I could not control ruin me and keep me from running the best race I think I had in me that day. I came to Savannah to run a pr and I did.

What is most amazing to me is that 15 marathons and I still experience and learn something new every time I race. It still isn't old hat.

*************************************************************

Here is me and Steph in the post marathon after glow. I luckily found Steph right as she finished. Pr's all around! 3:55 for her!

 I had been wandering around like Milton looking for my red swingline stapler after I finished. My phone was dead and I couldn't find anyone I knew and was on the verge of another wigout. So it was very fortuitous that I found her. We got her bag, changed in a coffee shop that also served beer--, got me a beer, her some coffee-- and went off to see everyone else finish. I didn't have my phone or camera so I wasn't able to take any pictures. (insert sad face) The above is one Doug took when we finally found him a few hours later. It was pretty exhausting walking around after running ( I swear I walked 5 miles after finishing) but I really think it aided in my recovery. My tinman hobble was pretty minor after this one. 

The day ended well with pizza and more beer at Hucapoos on Tybee. Here is Steph and Doug and Harvey .

The End. 

Thanks for reading, that is if you made it all the way through.