After Saturday’s fabulous 7K, I came home and went into power recovery mode. I got a good breakfast and plunked my butt (actually, it was more about my calves, but whatever) on the foam roller. I drank water like it was my job. I did some easy stretching and I took my son shopping. Oh, wait. That last one maybe wasn’t about recovery, but it was definitely about the fact that we’re cruising into spring and he doesn’t have any clothes that fit. We sprung all of our clocks forward at something like 5 pm, to make sure we got into bed early and would hopefully get enough sleep.
- I’m still in total and complete denial that this whole “asthma” thing is a problem for me. I seriously haven’t even Googled it. I don’t want to know. I am like a toddler who has flung herself to the ground at bedtime. I don’t wanna have asthma! I don’t want to and you can’t make me!!!
- My symptoms are like slippery fish – some days it’s super obvious that I’m as wheezy as Mrs. Jefferson, and sometimes it just feels like I’m not quite right. Like throwing a blanket over a lamp – there’s still light, it’s just not very bright. I can still run, but it’s hard. It feels a lot like I’m underfueled, or maybe just fatigued.
Of course, I am beyond grateful that I haven’t had any full-on asthma attacks that have made me stop running. At worst, I would call what I have an inconvenience. But, there ya go – it’s pretty fucking inconvenient to feel like crap and still have twenty-two miles left to run in your race.
- The race bibs were issued in alphabetical order, with the 50K-ers first, so I was bib NUMBER ONE! The whole time I was out there running (and walking, lots of walking), other racers and random strangers were cheering for me, “Here comes number one!” “Hooray for number one!” “Look, you’re number one!” It was sadly ironic – what with being in nearly last place and all – and incredibly awesome all at the same time.
|Make way for Numero Uno, baby!|
- I got recognized from the blog! I freaking LOVE IT when that happens!! It was nearabouts the turnaround, when things were feeling a little desperate for me (there was still a long way to go, I was just about out of fuel and still several miles from the aid station, it was getting hot, etc. – you know how it feels in the middle of a long race), and it was so nice to see a smiling face. Actually, more than one smiling face, which was pretty exciting, because I don’t think I’ve ever been recognized twice at one race before. Famous! And my apologies if I wasn’t properly enthusiastic in return – it wasn’t my best day, as you’re reading here.
|The turnaround was a little tiny caution sign on the side of the trail. Just a bit anti-climactic.|
- Speaking of smiling faces, there were plenty to be had along the race course, and man, did I appreciate them! Some friends of ours were volunteering for one of the aid stations, so I got hugs and high fives (and some much-needed water and salt tabs) at the start, the finish and twice along the out-and-back course. Thank you J-squared! Another friend who was out for his long bike ride found me several times during the day and lied and told me I was looking good. Even though I knew I looked miserable, it was really nice to hear. One of my badass mama friends was out running with her Boston training group, but she took the time to give me a hug and tell me that UIH was looking awesome in his race. I carried that hug and those kind words like a little treasure in my pocket for miles – I was so happy that UIH was having a good day!
|On his way to a second place finish!|
- This guy. He ran a kick-ass marathon, then got on his bike and came down the trail to find me and cheer me on. He ended up riding sixteen miles, smiling and talking to me and keeping my spirits up. I’m not sure how I got so lucky, but I managed to marry the best man in the whole wide world!
|I love my UltraIronHubs.|
- I have shared with you that my to-do list occasionally has some oddball items on it. Here’s one: quite a few months ago, I posted a photo on Instagram of a lovely canyon view that I took while on a long run, and the caption said something about how Folsom Prison was just off-camera. My girl Andrea asked why I didn’t take a picture of the prison, and I have been meaning to ever since. Boom – here it is!
|The barbed wire is actually from the Bureau of Reclamation, which protects Folsom Dam, but it makes the photo more dramatic, no?|
- If you’ve ever privately wondered if I exaggerate my OCD tendencies, wonder no more: when I realized at Mile 9-ish that my problems were asthma-related, I turned off my music and slowed way down so that I could just concentrate on my breathing. Easy in, easy out, keep it managed so that I could actually, you know, run. While I was focusing on my breathing, I found myself unconsciously counting breaths and matching the rhythm to my steps. Three footfalls on inhale, three footfalls on exhale. I decided to run for 100 breaths, and it relaxed me so much to fall into the zen of counting that I ended up counting my breathing for the rest of the race. Yes. 22 miles of counting. Three thousand seven hundred and seventy-five breaths.
- I passed four people in the last two miles. Listen, my victories were very, very small that day, so I’m taking ’em where I can!
- And maybe one of the brightest moments of all – I CROSSED THE FINISH LINE! As crummy as the day was, I never truly considered quitting. Even if I crawled through the finisher’s chute in last place, this was going to happen:
|It totally looks like I’m about to give that volunteer a hug. I should have. I was SO happy to be done with it.|