moving on....smarter and more humble.

On Sunday, Students Run LA took over the streets of La Puente for the La Puente Main Street Run. I ran the fastest 10K I have ever run-1:00:24. For me, this is incredibly fast. At the six mile mark, my Nike+ app voice told me my average pace and I did a little squeal. I knew if I picked it up, I could run the last .2 of the 10K fast enough to hit one hour. I am still proud of myself for pushing myself even though my legs were begging to stop.

Two weeks before that, I ran the toughest marathon I have ever run in my life (aside from the first). The Long Beach International Marathon course is a beautiful and scenic run. We run by the beach, on bike paths, near the Aquarium, by Cal State Long Beach, through very pretty residential areas, and near the marina.  Taking in the sites distracted me from any pain I was feeling along the run, initially.

The race started off great. I was running at a pretty swift pace for the first ten miles. When I realized that I was running faster than my normal pace, I slowed down. I started to pick it up in the later miles but then I started to feel like my insides were heating up. I drank more water, threw water on my head, poured water down my back but nothing seemed to help cool me off. At mile 24, I slowed down again. I started to get a little dizzy and uncomfortable. I wasn't feeling any pain, except for the discomfort of having run 24 miles. Despite this, I was still sort of on pace to at least tie my PR.

I was not prepared for what my brain was telling my body in the last mile. I hit mile 25 and checked my clock 4:52:37 (or something like that). I wasn't going to PR but I could easily hit my fastest time if I pushed it just a little bit.

In my head, my thoughts started to scold my body "what are you doing to yourself? Why are you still running? No one is at the finish line waiting for you, you can quit! You should quit, you're not going to make your PR anyway." That last 1.2 miles of the race was the toughest, ever. I had to fight with my body to keep going. Keeping my thoughts quiet was next to impossible. I finished the race at 5:12:17.

I don't even remember what the finish line looked like, I couldn't tell you what the gender of the person putting the medal over my head, because the two hours after I crossed the finish line (finally) were a blur. I drank the entire bottle of water they gave me at the end in almost one gulp and inhaled the pretzels I got in my finishers bag. I was delirious. Still dizzy. I needed to sit down. I remember walking to the park and laying down under a tree. I took a nap. I woke up an hour later and puked my brains out. And I still had to walk to the train to go home. 

After reading this, one wonders, why in someone's right mind would a marathoner put their body through this...ever?

Because, not all the races are like this. Most races, if runners are adequately prepared and properly trained, are fantastic. Finishing 26.2 miles is the most humbling accomplishment in my life. I still get teary-eyed at the finish line even after having completed eleven of them.  I am blessed to know that my healthy body can handle the pain, and endure the pressure of this demanding activity.

I told myself during the horrendous run when I was talking myself onto the ledge, that I was never running another marathon. Yeah, I'm lucid now, and that's not true. I will run another one, at least to prove to the negaholic in me that I can still do it-and do it well. I have plenty of other marathons to run, plenty more miles to log and exciting more stories to tell.

Before the Long Beach marathon, I never believed people when they said they just had a bad race. I didn't think that could ever be the case. I would think that they just didn't prepare well enough, they didn't drink enough water the week before, they didn't eat properly or they wore the wrong socks or clothes (?!?! I was full of excuses). I'm a believer now. Some runners just have shitty races.

And then we move on to the next race and hope for a better performance.