Marathon experts
and running gurus trumpet the value of post-race resting. Lots of them urge
runners to take time off, perhaps calling for one day of rest for every mile
(or five miles) they ran in the big race. Some advocate reverse tapering, with athletes
gradually increasing their distances (and speeding up their paces again).
Others simply suggest easing up a bit for a while and listening to one’s own
body.
Toss MS into the mix, and well ... I probably should heed that advice better. But sometimes it's worth the risk.
Oops.
I kind of got
off-track recently, while recovering from the Chicago Marathon, which took
place nearly three weeks ago.
My intentions
were good. I skipped my morning-after weight training class. I eased up on my
training mileage for the following week or two.
Then I headed to Washington, DC, with friends.
I’d signed up for
the Marine Corps Marathon 10K, rather than the full 26.2, acknowledging that my
body still needed some recovery time from the Chicago race.
But things didn’t exactly go that way. And I’m
honestly glad they didn’t.
Marine Corps race
day arrived, along with crazy-heavy rains and strong winds that overflowed
puddles and the Potomac River. Runners slogged
through ankle-deep (and higher) waters to follow the race course. It was a
mess. Then the sun came out, bringing system-shocking humidity.
Runners were
dropping like flies. Skilled, well-trained, fit runners climbed (or were
loaded) into rescue vehicles.
Two friends and I
completed the 10K and then checked in electronically on two others, who were slugging
their way through their first-ever full marathon. One was tired and hurting around
the midway point. She’d come back from major surgery (with complications), but
she wouldn’t let any of that stop her from doing the marathon.
We 10Kers jogged
to the nearest subway stop and made our way to that friend’s next mile marker
on the marathon course. Once we spotted her, we tucked our 10K finishers’
medals into our shirts (to keep them from beating our chests) and fell into
step with her to offer some encouragement for a mile or two.
The other back-of-packers at that point didn’t
seem to mind our company, either.
We shared our goos
and pickle juice and other snacks (along with shoulder taps and words of
encouragement) with total strangers, as we all trudged along together. I handed one lady a tiny snack
bag, with just 4-5 pretzels left in it, and she actually hugged me.
We made it to the
final bridge, a dreaded gauntlet, not long before many later runners were swept
off the course into buses. We outran the final pickup bus and passed the final
turn-off, sharing a cheering roar with fatigued runners all around us.
But we didn’t stop there.
We actually ran
almost a half marathon, accompanying our intrepid friend all the way to the
start of the marathon finish line chute, before veering off to let her conquer the final
battle alone and receive her well-earned finisher’s medal.
Our two
marathon-entry friends completed their first 26.2 races. The other three of us
totaled about 19 miles, between the two races, although only 6.2
officially counted.
All in all, the day was worthy of true
celebration.
Today I’m a
little tired. That was more than I ought to have done, so soon after my own
full marathon in Chicago. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. The glow on our
friend’s face, as she beat the marathon dragon at his own game, was well worth
it.
My next race is
just under two weeks out. It’s a 10K. And I promise I will leave it at that.
Images:
Public domain image.
