and done

Since July I have run 190 miles in preparation for the October 26th marathon.  I have spent 30+ hours out on the road.  I have lost 12 lbs.  I have gained a lot of muscle.  Both physically and emotionally.

But last night I realized this marathon journey has come to an end.

I'm not giving up on the goal of running a marathon, but I'm giving up on the one that is 2.5 weeks away.

I have missed a lot of runs due to this knee injury.  I've taken meds, I've iced it, I've rested.  I've been feeling pretty good.  I decided last night it was time to get back out on the road.

It wasn't.

I parked my car, did some stretching, set my GPS, and I started off pretty slowly.  My legs felt heavy, it was still hot, I didn't really wanna run.  I just knew I needed to.  I have a marathon to run soon.  At mile two I decided I was going to quit.  I wish I had.  Instead I kept going.  Your body really doesn't get into a groove until about the fourth mile, and I know this, and I wanted to feel that groove, so I kept on.  I had counted on the water fountains on the pathway to be working.  They weren't.  Bah!  I was so thirsty.  Thankfully at mile five, my turn around, my best guy friend showed up with an ice cold bottle of water.  Bless his heart.  I downed half the bottle, he poured the rest over my head, and I headed back to town.  He yelled after me to let him know if I needed a ride home.  It was getting dark, and he knew my knee was starting to bother me.

At mile six it happened.  The crazy pain in my knee.  This time there was no putting pressure on it.  I just stood there with all my weight on one leg.  No tears this time.  Makes me realize that last time the crying I did was not out of pain but out of frustration.  No tears this time because I knew.  I know.  It's just done.  This training is done.

I called Josh and he came to get me.  Ice pack in tow.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur.  I sat on the couch with my ice pack, some chocolate, a beer, some cheese and crackers.

Salve.

I'm disappointed.  I'm discouraged.  I cried myself to sleep.

This feels like just one more area where I'm a failure.  And I'm really tired of being a failure.

the time where i convince myself this is just a minor setback

During the 12th mile of my half marathon (13.1 miles) a couple of weekends ago I felt a sharp pain in my right knee.  For most of the race my left knee had ached, but this was now in my right knee and the sharpness just didn't feel very good.  For the next week it was obnoxious during my runs.  On the 21st I ran 17 miles.  The last couple were pretty intense because of this knee issue.  But nothing unbearable.

Until the next Wednesday.

I was out for my scheduled five mile run but at mile three I felt a little sharper pain in that right knee than what I thought should be run on.  So I stopped and walked to my car.  I sent a message to my coach friend and he suggested taking the rest of the week off and then going out for 14 instead of my scheduled 18 on Sunday.

Sunday morning rolls around and I roll out of bed.  Not running for most of the week had messed up my head and I really wasn't feeling like going for a run.  Also, even though Mark told me to just run 14, my calendar (that he put together for me) said 18.  So I was determined to follow that.

I'm always amazed how quickly my poor attitude changes when my feet hit the pavement.

I parked my car at Safeway, started my GPS, and it was go time.

On Pinterest a couple of months back I saw a quote that said,

"Never judge a run based off the first mile."

So much truth in those words.  And as I was feeling absolutely awesome during that first mile, I had to remind myself of them because I still had 17 miles to go, and most likely they wouldn't all feel this good or fast.

Two miles later I learned that was true.

At almost the exact moment my GPS told me I hit three miles I felt a snap in my knee.  Immediate, excruciating pain.  A kind of pain where you just know, "something's not right here."  Instantly I started to cry.  At first from pain, which is a big deal because I don't normally cry from physical pain, but mostly I cried because I am four weeks out from my marathon.  I am 13 weeks IN to my training. 13 weeks! I have literally worked my ass off (I'm down 12 lbs), I have spent hours upon hours on the road, I have beaten my body down and I have built it back up, to have it come to this?  To this snap?

Man, I was pissed.  I'm still pissed.

I had to stop running.  I called Josh to come get me.  He didn't answer.  As I'm walking my knee does not hurt so I decided I'd try to run.  Uh, no.  I call Josh again and I'm in tears and the man, he does not answer and I am thinking, "what the heck?  It is Sunday morning, he should be up making breakfast and getting the girls ready for church.  Why is he not answering?"  I call three more times over the next ten minutes (I also try running again) both to no avail.

15 minutes after I had first called him he calls me back.

"Where have you been?"  I practically scream at him.

"Um, I went to the grocery store to get the food for your run and left my phone at home."  You see, we had talked about Josh stashing some food and drink along my route so I would not have to carry it with me.  The poor man was doing this kind thing for me and I bite his head off.

(why does he stay married to me?)

He asks if I'm okay.  And he asks in such a nice way that I lose it.  I bawl.  I tell him I'm done.  My knee is done.

"I'm on my way."

I walk until he picks me up and when I get in the Suburban there aren't words because what do we say?  My training has been equally hard on him and to think we've wasted it?  

ugh.

We get home and it's time to get ready.  We have to get to church, so I only had a few minutes to sit and rest and ice.  I sat through church but I didn't hear a word.  I didn't hear The Word.  I may as well have stayed at home.

So it's day three and I've been icing when I can.  I'm a mama and a teacher and really there's not much sitting when you do those things.  I will try this evening to run.  My goal is three miles.  Heck, A mile.  Just gonna see what this knee will do.

Things looked pretty grim on Sunday, but I'm not going to say just yet that this marathon thing is out.  I've worked too hard to give up this easily, however, I have to face the reality that the possibility is there.

But it's too much to think about.  It's just too much.  So.  Instead.  I will focus on icing today when possible and lacing up my running shoes tonight.

on doing hard things.

{this post has been "in draft" for three weeks because i'm a wuss. in this post i talk about the hardship of my running. and the hardship that was my marriage. i worried that it would sound as if i think those two things are equally challenging. i don't. they are each challenging, yes. in their own way. i don't know, i'm hoping that those who read this post know me well enough to understand what i'm trying to convey with these messy words of mine.}

After church yesterday (Feb. 2) we headed to Richland so I could run.  I had run eight miles last Saturday and then again on Wednesday, I wanted to run nine miles yesterday.

I changed into my running gear and realized I forgot my socks when packing my clothes and shoes. Oh, well. I would just run without socks. It couldn't be that big of a deal, right?

Wrong. Oh so wrong.

I'm running. Running on this beautiful winter day. It's cold. Sunshine. But snowflakes, too. The Columbia River to my right.  My Nike app tells me one mile is completed. Nine minutes, 51 seconds.  Sweet. My pace is quick (for me) and I feel good. Great, even.  Getting closer to the two mile mark and I realize my feet are beginning to hurt.  I can feel my shoes rubbing on my feet. At first it was just annoying, but after about Mile Five I was in so much pain I nearly stopped, took off my shoes and walked.  I hurt so bad.  But I started thinking about my goal.  Nine miles. I couldn't get there by quitting.  

It made me think about my life, and how so often when something has made me uncomfortable, I have quit.  Or attempted to quit.  The time I was thinking about most yesterday was when, about 10 years ago, life got so uncomfortable, marriage got so uncomfortable, I decided to quit.  

I was done being married.

I'm at Mile Six.  I can tell something bad is happening inside my shoes.  "Three more miles, baby. We can do this." I was talking myself into it.  Encouraging myself to not give up.

But it hurt.

Just like life and marriage were hurting ten years ago.

But 10 years ago I wasn't strong enough to believe in ME enough to encourage myself to push through the hardship that was my life and my decisions.  I wasn't strong enough to believe I could and would make it out of the pit I'd dug for myself.

I didn't think I could, so I didn't.

So we filed for divorce. Because I decided it was too hard and Sarah doesn't do hard things.  Sarah quits.

Mile Seven. Nike tells me my average pace is nine minutes, 37 seconds. How is this possible? How am I crushing my regular average when I hurt so terribly?  I was hurting but I was happy. I was doing a hard thing.  I was pushing back.  I wasn't quitting.

My marriage could be much easier than I've made it.  My husband is a rock star.  He's hardworking, fun-loving, loyal, there when you need him at the drop of a hat, he's silly, would give the shirt off his back for a stranger in need, he's hilarious and the most amazing daddy.  And to top it off, he's freaking hot.

My marriage woes have always been mine alone.  I make my life harder than it needs to be.  I always have.  But Josh never gave up on me even though I gave up on me.

And with my running. "I never thought you'd be a runner. Ever. I knew you could, I just didn't think you would."  He knew I could. I didn't, but Josh did.  That man always thinks the best for me.

He always thinks the best of me.

Mile Nine. Goal complete. Average time 9:37 per mile. My new numbers crushed previous numbers!  I was tired and I was in pain but I didn't quit.  I was scared to take off my shoes.

Blood. Blisters. Missing skin. My pinky toe on my right foot is doubled in size for the blister atop it.  There's some oozing.  There's a lot of wincing.

But I didn't quit running until I reached my goal.  And that felt so freaking amazing.  I did a hard thing.  And I did it well.

We didn't quit marriage ten years ago.  I tried.  But we've kept on.  And I've still made a mess but I'm healthier now than I was 10 years ago. I'm healthier now than I was two years ago.  

I don't know what really prompted this running.  I hadn't been to the gym in so long and knew that running a couple of miles would be good for me.  I never thought those two miles would turn into me running a few times a week and having big goals.  But that's what's happened.  It's been an amazing few weeks to see what I'm capable of doing.  What my body is capable of doing. And I'm looking forward to the next hard thing.

{for 12 days after that run on Feb. 2nd i could not run. i could hardly put my shoes on. those blisters i had were unlike anything i've ever experienced. but they healed. and they healed in time for me to run this last Saturday (Feb. 22nd) in a Half Marathon.}

That's its own post.

and some more running, because it's all i think about anymore

so the last time i posted i was running up to six miles.  a few days later i ran seven.  two days ago i ran eight. eight miles with my best time.  i averaged 10:01 minute miles!  i know it's still slow compared to many people, but a few weeks ago when i first decided to run, i ran two miles in 25 minutes (and thought i was gun die!).  that's 12.5 minute miles.

i'm excited to be improving my time and distance.  i'm excited that i can run eight miles without stopping to walk.  it's just so foreign to me.  this running.  this euphoria.  i kinda feel high.  i couldn't sleep saturday night.  i couldn't sleep last night.  i just get so excited thinking about the possibilities of just running.  and not stopping.

it feels good to be capable.

i'm not good at many things (not that i'm good at running) or capable of many things, but to know that i can go out and run eight miles kinda makes me proud of me.  it feels good to be proud of myself for something.

when i first wrote my health goals out for the year i hadn't anticipated a full marathon.  partly because i didn't think i could, and partly because i just didn't think i'd want to.  that it wasn't a big deal for me.  well, now it's a big deal.  now i want to.  real bad.  so, October's goal of a half marathon has now been changed to a goal of a full marathon.

you can't grow while in your comfort zone.  these goals are big for me.  they push me right on outta my comfort zone.  especially to write them out loud on my blog.  but being outta my comfort zone will be good.

it's time i stop being such a chicken with my life.

running is free therapy

if running just a few miles stirs up the emotions and the feelers, what's going to happen on long runs?  when i'm out for more than an hour at a time?  that much time to myself is bound to be dangerous.  i find myself reading or FB'ing or texting or altogether ignoring life sometimes because i find it easier than the thinking and the feeling.

and well.

when you lace up your shoes and hit the road, it's a little harder to occupy yourself.

even music doesn't help.

in fact, it can make it worse.  that song?  oh that song takes me back to this memory.  and that song reminds of this event or that person

and.

and i'm nervous to be alone with myself.

today i'm driving to co-op and realizing that once again i wrote about my dad on my blog and how it makes me cry and i wondered, "are people tired of hearing about my sad pants?  do people think i just need to get over it already?"  i wished so much that there was an easy way to quickly delete that post and have it disappear so no one could ever read my dumb words.  i'm so tired of caring, though.  i really am.  grief is so very different for every one of us.  and maybe you haven't experienced it and that's great.  because loss sucks.  it does.  but in the experiencing of grief i've learned not to judge other's grieving process.

the cemetery isn't far from my house.  i drive by it nearly everyday.  there's a woman that i've seen many times who sprawls herself over one of the graves.  my dad had been dead 11 years when i finally started counseling and learning how to grieve.  before that, before learning about grief, i'd see this woman sprawled across that grave and i would wonder what in the world.  why do that?  what does it help?  they aren't there, doesn't she know that?

through counseling i learned there's no perfect way to grieve.  this woman lays across a grave.  i often let myself think about who she may be grieving.  her father?  a child lost too soon?  her husband and best friend?  i don't know.  i never will.  but my heart hurts for her.  it sucks to love someone and have them be gone.

anyway.  so i write about my dad here on my blog.  and maybe you roll your eyes.  normally i'd say sorry.  but i'm just not.  i'm not going to apologize for writing out the heart stuff.

i haven't been to counseling in quite a few months.  i could use it.  i sure have a lot of junk in this head and heart.  however, the drive, the time, the cost are all preventing me from going right now.

instead, i'll run.  because that's proving to get these emotions on a roll.  and if there's one thing i've learned about myself, it's that i need to let myself feel.  i need to give the emotions a safe place.  not a bottled place.

bottling is not healthy.

{on running}

Oops.

It's been nearly a month since I've written anything.  I don't even have any drafts started.  I just absolutely haven't written anything.

It's not for lack of blog material that's for sure.

There was Christmas.  My niece's 18th birthday (seriously, how is that kid 18?) New Years.  My new running shoes.  And my commitment to make 2014 the year I run a marathon.  

Okay.  So let's talk about running since running is what's on my mind these days.  These hours.

I said in this post how I realized I don't actually hate running the way I've thought all these years.  I've realized I just hate not being the best.  That's just something I have to get over.  I'll never be the best runner.  But any running is better than no running and so that's what I've set out to do.

I started a few weeks ago with two miles.  I'm now up to six miles.  I'm a slow runner.  I don't walk, but I'm sure a fast walker could keep up with my running pace.  I'm choosing not to care about how slow I am, and am instead focusing on increasing my miles.

I don't have a lot of miles under my belt.  51 miles since the beginning of December.  Already I can see this is going to be an emotional and physical roller coaster.  My body is adjusting to the physical demands.  There were a couple of days where I could hardly walk for how sore I was.  So I took a couple of days off, drank a bunch of water and am feeling pretty good.

I have this four mile loop I run and one day I was running and the sun was shining and I was on this high.  I was so completely thrilled to be able to run.  That I was given this body that is somewhat healthy and capable and I could run.  RUN.  I was smiling like an idiot and I was just so thankful to be alive and breathing and running.

The very next day I'm out and I'm running and thoughts of my dad came to my heart.  And I'm running and crying and thinking about how I just know he would be at every race and he'd be cheering for me and at the end there'd be a hug.  Oh, Lord, a hug.  It's hard to run when you're crying and your heart is aching and breaking and thinking of a hug from your dad.  A hug you haven't had in 14.5 years.  And to hear that voice.  I wanted to sit down against that chain link fence and bring my knees to my chest and cry it out, instead I pushed a little harder.  But you can't run from your heart, no matter how hard you try.  I learned that.

This running.  It's going to be good.  It's just not going to be easy.