As I shared in my birthday post, I was weak mentally and emotionally. After conquering my birthday run, training was looking up. I ran all my long runs by myself without stopping, increasing my pace each time. I was having a little shin pain close to the race so I tapered a little more than usual.
Then Thursday before the race a horrible episode(s) of the BIG D.
My stomach was in knots from 9pm to 9am. I couldn't sleep, I was awake all night. I felt like I was going to throw up, but I HATE throwing up. I made numerous trips... to b town (aka the bathroom). It was so bad I had to utilize diaper doo... (TMI?) I'm not proud of it. My best friend laughed at me when I told her that...while I was still sick! Then there was the fever and aches.
I knew I needed to eat. I knew I needed to drink. I drank water every chance I did to prevent dehydration. But I couldn't keep up. I woke up Friday feeling 10 million times better. But the damage had been done. I lost probably 5 pounds of water weight. I ate what I could on Friday but my stomach was still queasy and had shrunk.
Dana and I had trained together for multiple half marathons but had never finished one together. She had injured her foot and hadn't ran more than 8 miles. We had agreed that we would run this one together, regardless.
Saturday morning I had hopes that maybe I had recovered. I ran back upstairs before we left and my heart rate told on me. But I had trained. I could do this.
We started the race and the first mile went fast. The weather was gorgeous. And I thought okay, I can make it to ten. At 1.5, I told myself, okay, I can make it to 6. At 2 miles I realized I would be lucky to make it to 3.
By 3 miles my hands and lips were numb. Dana remarked that I was really pale. My muscles felt like tightly wrung sponges.
Stopping at 3 miles of 13 is probably the scariest thing ever.
We decided to run 8 minutes and walk 1 minute. The distance I could run got shorter and shorter.
I wanted to cry. Let's be real, I did. I hated that Dana could run on and refused to. I needed to walk and hated to do it because she didn't need to. I craved water constantly, I would drink two cups at a water stop and my mouth would be dry 5 minutes later.
I was so mad. I had ran all my long runs. I had trained. I did what I was suppose to, even when running was the last thing I wanted to do. Dana kept reminding me that "Comparison is the thief of joy." I kept reminding myself that God did not want me to run this race, for whatever reason.
The ironic thing is that earlier that week I had been feeling so bad about myself and my body. I felt awful about myself. The upcoming weekend was full of activities and I was going to feel self conscious the whole time. I broached the subject of my body image issues in this post: Food. My best Frienemy. It was really just the tip of the iceberg.
There I was, not an ounce of water weight on me. In the body I had wanted a few days before. And yet, this body couldn't carry me 13.1 miles. The body I had a week ago, the body I spoke so poorly about, that body could have.
God used illness as an opportunity to teach me to love my body.
God humbled me.
Dana and I crossed the finish line. Together.
It was the longest, most miserable and disappointing 13.1 miles ever.
And yet, a very important 13.1 miles.
If you look for Him in everything, He will reveal Himself.
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