Last year, I had finished my first marathon, running for over 14 miles in absolute pain. With no access to ibuprofen, and a lack of knowledge on what I was doing to my body, I ended up pushing myself and injuring my back. I didn't run for 4 months, because the shooting pain through my left hamstrong, buttocks, and back was too much for me to take.
This year, I was ready to make that marathon my run, until that ugly back injury reappeared after an easy 6 mile run. Half an hour after running, I felt the begining stages of that too-familiar shooting pain. Jeremy, being the athlete and wise person that he is, highly encouraged me to see his sports medicine running specialist, and after my spending half an hour lying still in a tube, with U2 music playing in the background, I learned that I have two bulging discs in my lower back.
I began going to physical therapy twice a week, and rather than logging double-digit mileage on the weekends, I spent much of my exercise time doing stretches and lower abdominal strength training.
Last week was hectic. I initiated research coverage under my own name - a HUGE career accomplishment. I bought my first primary residence, after dealing with a realtor I call "Jackass," discovering errors in my closing documents, and having to go back to the escrow company a number of times before everything was right. And through all of the stress and late nights and running around, my back started hurting... badly. I was so disappointed. My physical therapist worked on me extra long that Friday vefore the race and gave me running pointers and tips to identify when I was on the verge of doing more permanent damage. Jeremy gave me a 5% chance of finishing the race, warning that I would get zero sympathy if I injured myself further because it would be my own fault. Ray said he'd pay me $100 if I didn't run, and he made up stories about others he "knew" who ran with bulging discs. Numerous friends looked at me as though I was crazy for wanting to still get up on Sunday morning and cross the starting line. But I'm me, so of course I was gonig to be at that line. Can't quit before the event starts.
Jeremy made me an awesome pre-race dinner, carefully nutritionally balanced for a long run. Even though my chances of crossing the finish line were slim, we wanted to be prepared in case I could make it. He knew of my goal to beat Oprah's marathon time, so after dinner, he presented me with a gift of pink and Carolina Blue M&Ms with the message, "FSTR THN OPRAH" printed on each one. I had 16 bundles of thoughtful chocolate joy, tied shut with cute pink ribbons. And the message was clearly delivered that I am undoubtedly faster than Oprah. We just haven't determined when I'm going to put the period at the end of the sentence.
I decided not to run with a pace bracelet and not to set a goal time. My goal was to run as far as I could, while walking down the hills and avoiding injury. If I got tired, I would stop and walk, rather than risk running with poor form. The moment I experienced shooting pain, I would stop and try to get to my next check point with Jeremy, essentially ending my race.
I ate a balanced breakfast and felt pretty good race day morning. I wasn't nervous, because I wasn't taking it that seriously. I met up with Lynora at the starting line. As we waited in the very front row, we reflected on how much has changed for us in the past year, making a pact to be at that starting line the following year. Knowing me, she asked what my time goal was, and I shocked her by saying I didn't have one. My goal was to run the best race I could given my limitations.
We finished the first mile in 8 minutes, and I knew I would be in trouble if I continued to push myself at that pace. Luckily, I found Justine, another injured runner, and we agreed to support each other and hold ourselves to running a steady, safe race. When we met Jeremy at mile 4, he was so relieved that I was running with someone else sustaining an injury. If I wasn't going to take care of myself, he know I was not going to allow someone else's condition to worsen.
We took our time running the first half. In fact, we saw someone in pain who was clearly an inexperienced runner. We told her to stretch rather than limp on her bad knee. When she called out that she didn't know how, we ran back to her and showed her exercises from our physical therapists. We pulled off to the side and supported her as she sat on my thigh and learn how to stretch out her IT bands. With our philanthropic work done, we continued on, deciding to drop our time goals and just finish. Justine turned off to finish the half marathon. I felt pretty good, so I kept going.
I ran a great 13 - 18 miles. I was doing about a 9-minute pace, and my body felt good. I tightened my abs every now and then to help support my back, and my competitive nature kicked in as I began making up time and realizing that I could put the period at the end of the sentence this year. It was within reach, despite my under-training.
I checked in with myself at each mile, recalculating my pace time and seeing how my back was doing and my fuel level. At mile 21, I was fatigued. My legs were weak, and my back felt a few twinges. I had to decide whether to push at a 10 minute pace or to change my time goal.
Armed with the confidence that I was a pretty damn good runner if I could make it that far without training, I reminded myself that my future mobility was of utmost importance. So I eased up. When I got tired, I stuck to my promise to myself to walk, not jog. Jogging can throw off my form and injure my back.
Jeremy met up with me at mile 24 and walked and ran with me for two miles, also helping me to stretch out my quads and calves. He constantly checked my form to make sure I was holding up well.
And this year, when I crossed the finish line, I really felt good. I was slow, finishing in 4:40:04. But with all of the hardships I had during the training season and leading up to the race, I have to admit that I impressed myself.
I immediately drank this magical concoction of recovery formula and soaked in an epsom salt bath. Sure, I'm a little sore today, but it was great not having to use crutches to get to work, like I did last year. I'm keeping the over-priced Nike hoodie commemorating the event, since I finished the race, and I will wear this year's Tiffany necklace and marathon finisher's shirt with pride. Plus, I've already made a promise to Lynora that I'll be back at the starting line next year, hopefully putting the period at the end of the sentence.
Yes, I have been negligent in my writing. Much has happened over the course of the past few months. I've got a new, awesome job that, shock of all shocks, didn't also involve switching careers. I actully think I've found a place from which I will retire... in 6 years. Well, that's the goal. I've started training for this year's marathon, with somewhat limited success. I thought I'd be more disciplined this year and train more than 1.5 times per week. Instead, I'm running once per week. Oh well. I just need to beat Oprah. Then, I can do away with all of this marathon nonsense and run the much more sensible half-marathon distances. So long as I stay injury-free (a big caveat), I should do just fine. My pace is up from last year. And, I will be training quite a bit this coming month.
But the big news that has me writing today ist hat I have scored a reservation to The French Laundry. I have heard it's a challenge. I have tried, half-heartedly. My friends have tried, whole-heartedly. I sought out the advise of someone who has spent thousands (yes, that simply means she has dined at FL more than twice) lining Thomas Keller's pockets.
One of the benefits of a relatively early start to the day is that I can hit Open Table first thing. After learnings that there are two tables per night available through Open Table, both seating 4 people, I tried for the early reservation and saw that it was full. I tried for the late reservation, and my eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. A table for 4 was available for a 9PM seating. So, as I struggle up and down the hills during the marathon, I will motivate myself with thoughts of the foie gras I will hope to enjoy during my celebratory meal a couple of weeks following the agony.
-Buying real estate. It's a new hobby, kind of like buying shoes and purses, but I can't try on my condos and prance around my house (haven't even seen one of them), and they aren't particularly bright and cheery, but they will likely pay for themselves.
-Visiting casinos. Lots of casinos, though unfortunately always in Nevada.
-Eating. Lots of eating. I've found a correlation with the visiting lots of casinos. Vegas has some great food.
-Making emergency clothes. I fashioned a cocktail dress out of the silk wrap I brought to an event (with the intention of wearing it as a wrap and not a dress). I checked in to my hotel room to discover I had left my cute little cocktail dress hanging in San Francisco. Already late for the party, a few twists and knots, and I was Project Runway ready...
-To dance on stage with Sting. I've seen very few concerts in my lifetime, yet I've seen Sting 3 times, always close enough to throw a wad of paper at him, if I wanted to, though I'd never want to mar his highness. This time, I got on stage and danced with him, working my way to the front to touch the genious.
-Dancing with Cindy Crawford. Same party. Different celebrity. Cindy Crawford is gorgeous. In fact, I think she's better looking in person than in pictures. And she can dance. Provocatively. Around a pole. With another woman. (No. Not me.)
-Telling Trudie her daughter is so talented. Sting let his 15-year-old daughter rock out on stage while he sang. She was great. Trudie said she's proud of the 15-year-old who is quite musical. Really, are her talents any surprise, given her lineage?
-Missing Tyler. Even though he just says, "OK" when I tell him I love him, he's the sweetest kid in the world, in my eyes.