Runners have to
register well in advance for the biggest races. It takes some foresight (and long-range
planning) to enter those popular big-city marathons that draw tens of thousands
of runners – like, say, the Chicago Marathon. (See sidebar.)
That sounded like
a really good idea last November, when I registered. It seemed fairly doable,
when I put up my
marathon charity page and began welcoming donations from lots of
wonderfully generous folks.
Sure, I can do this thing, I thought.
This October 2018
race felt a lot easier (or at least, less hard) in November 2017. Well, hey. It
was almost a year off at that point.
But now the date is fast approaching. Uh-oh.
My marathon training
is well underway. I’ve been right on schedule, logging the painful progression
of ever-increasing distance runs to ramp up for my first full 26.2-mile race.
Till today. Ugh!
I upped the
poundage in my weight-training class at the gym this morning. Afterwards, I
stepped outside for a 12-mile run – at 11 am on a scorching sunny summer day.
What was I thinking? (Don’t answer that.)
OK, I can be
given to overdo my own abilities (and energy resources) sometimes.
So off I went. I cranked
up my running playlist and kept my projected pace for the first 2.5 miles, even
chugging up a fairly significant hill. I clocked away along the edge of a major
county highway, measuring my miles and maintaining my cadence. Oh, and dodging
inattentive motorists. (But that’s another story.)
Then I hit rock-bottom.
It hit me like a
truck. (Ugh. That’s a bad analogy under these circumstances.)
The nausea,
head-spinning vertigo, back spasms, and innumerable body part pains kicked in.
My feet went numb. My hands grew clammy. My vision blurred.
I swigged some
now-lukewarm water and changed my route. After a painful return path, I trudged
up my driveway, having marked just 5+ miles.
Now I am
second-guessing my lofty goals and trying not to feel defeated. I’m reminding
myself that heat + MS = a recipe for disaster. (It’s called Uhthoff’s
Syndrome, and it’s common among those with multiple sclerosis.)
Color me cold-footed, even though it’s
blisteringly hot today.
I know this is
something of a fluke. Maybe it’s a slump or a one-day phase. I’ll get over it.
I’m not ducking
out of the big race or anything. I’m not really even questioning whether I will
be up to the task. I am aiming to finish and pretty sure I can do it. But I
wonder if I’ll be extra slow. I cannot fathom what sort of condition I’ll be in
when it’s over.
I’m praying my
body will hold together on race day, and that it won’t be a bazillion degrees
out.
And I have <90
days to finish training for it.
Whew. Here we go.
UPDATE: I did manage to step out later, once the shadows had stretched across the streets, and knock off a few more miles. My dogs wanted to tag along, so I had to keep them on the grassy roadsides, as the pavement was still like a griddle.
UPDATE: I did manage to step out later, once the shadows had stretched across the streets, and knock off a few more miles. My dogs wanted to tag along, so I had to keep them on the grassy roadsides, as the pavement was still like a griddle.
Related Items:
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- Remember when bathing didn't make you blind?
- Runners need guns … but that may not mean what you think.
- With MS, a hot flash may not be a hot flash at all.
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