There is a Wall in the Middle of this Race

Last week's run was an utter disaster. It started off well enough. I was wearing my Evo coldgear. I had my rescue inhaler, gels, water, baking soda laced water. I was rested and hydrated. I was planning on a long, slow 18 mile run with a time around 4 hours. Sometimes plans just don't work and it's probably a very good thing that I learned this now, before my first marathon.

The first 8 miles were good. I was feeling the cold, but it wasn't like running in January, when the cold cut through multiple layers and not even sprinting keeps you warm. My pace felt comfortable, no push at all. I even felt good enough to take pictures of the hill at the end of Burke Lane, about mile 7. This is the hill that tricks you multiple times into thinking you've reached the top only to find more climb around the bend. This is the start of the climb. You think the top of the hill is at the barn; you'll think you're at the top at least 3 more times. I don't know why, but I always forget this. (You can just see the last of the flurries on the ground.)

About a mile after this is the killer dogs. I mean 2 dogs that are as big as me. One is kept on a leash in the backyard. The leash is the only thing that keeps him in as his paws reach over the fence.The slightly smaller one has a shock collar and he freaks me out because he steps his front paws on the road. This run, I was alone and I forgot about the dogs. I nearly swallowed my heart! And the run went downhill (and I'm not talking road conditions) soon after that.

Another 2 miles and I changed my route to cut some of the distance; I knew something wasn't right. I thought I must have gone out a bit too fast and I'd just swallow a gel, walk a few extra minutes and I'd feel better. But I kept getting colder and my feet didn't want to move. I pushed myself when I realized I'd walked all of mile 11. I used absolutely every fiber of willpower I posses to pick up my feet, but before mile 12 I was done. 

I was cold, achy, and exhausted. I called my sister, who didn't answer. I thought about calling someone for a ride home, but decided to shuffle myself back home. I couldn't for the life of me think how far away that was. 

When my sister called me back, I bemoaned my lack of ability until she cut me off and told me to re-frame that. I'd already finished a half-marathon and I was still moving. It did help to think in positive terms. She tried to turn the call into a pep talk and told me to run. I tried. 

And nothing.

One hour and 5 minutes later, I had walked the last 2 miles back to my house making my round trip16 miles in 4 hours and 27 minutes. In the warmth of the house, I actually started feeling the cold. And the hives. My thighs looked sunburned. I buried myself under 3 blankets for 3 hours before I started to feel even halfway rational again. On the flip side, I suffered no muscle soreness. I'm giving credit to the baking soda laced water I've been trying on long runs. I'm blaming the Wall on the cold. While the temps were between 29-32 degrees, and my coldgear had worked in temps cooler than that, I didn't take into account the wind and damp. The life-devouring wind, the soul-sucking damp...

I think the recovery time had an extra hour tacked because my nephew was waiting for me when I walked in the door wanting to watch, for the 800th time, the entelodont show I'd recorded, because nothing is cooler than the Terminator Pig. Except perhaps megalodon.

The next day he says to me, "Do you remember that one time when you were covered in all those blankets and you couldn't stop shaking cause you went running in the cold?"

Yes, I remember that and I'm not likely to forget it.