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Nov. 8th, 2022 08:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dreamsrundeep Here are disjointed things:
1) My little brother and his wife are having their baby today! The baby's growth seemed to stall and Lindsey's blood pressure was all over the place, so here comes the little one. Only about two weeks early, which is fantastic. I've been getting sporadic text updates since the induction started late last night.
2) I missed most of them because I went to bed at 7PM. Time change + Marathon = EXHAUSTED.
3) So. I ran a marathon.
Here's how that went:
It was 80* degrees. A freak warm day in Raleigh for this kind of race. There's a *reason* we run these distances in the fall. It's downright dangerous to run in that kind of heat and humidity for that long. Especially when you've been training in the low-humidity, pretty temperate fall-like conditions on the East Coast. If you haven't heard what happened at the New York Marathon with the people collapsing and tapping out due to heat-related conditions, it definitely also happened in Raleigh.
Also. I don't know HOW it's physically possible, but I swear the entire city of Raleigh manages to be UPHILL. Like. The whole thing. Every downhill was slight, every hill was brutally tall.
Around mile 5.5, Anna burst into tears and said that something was wrong. She was numb between the shoulders, had tingles running up her neck, and was finding it difficult to draw a deep breath. We'd been running up a hill in the blazing sun around some elementary school and I was honestly questioning all MY life choices when she broke down. I stopped and pulled her off the course with Ashton and asked her what she wanted to do. She wanted to try to make it to the next aid station. And y'all. There weren't that many aid stations in the first ten miles. I asked, "Are you light-headed, too?" My worst fear being she would faint and then we'd have to worry about a broken skull/bones or something if she fell. She said yes.
I told her there was no way she could continue. I marched over to some police that were blocking the nearest intersection to us and asked them to call the EMTs. Anna told us to continue on without her. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in a race. Feel like shit myself, be afraid of what was to come, and to lose our experienced marathoner at mile 5.5?
I was sick. I somehow managed to gut-bomb myself. I couldn't eat. All this time training with 'real food'. I had three uncrustables, a package of pickles (dilly bites) and some gummy electrolyte chews as backup. I could barely eat the morning of the race and I figured my sick stomach was nerves. At an hour into the race, as per usual, I started to eat an uncrustable. I nearly puked. I tried to drink water. I nearly puked. I got some gatorade at the next aid station. Nearly puked. Every thing I put in my stomach destabilized me for several run/walk cycles. I was afraid that I wasn't going to be able to eat enough calories to sustain me for the distance, much less in the heat. I was low-key panicking.
Around mile 8, we saw a half marathoner on the course that was having a seizure and EMTs were surrounding him. He was already bagged with an IV and covered with cooling blankets.
Around mile 10, we realized we were on an out-and-back on their greenways with very little support and lots of hills. First Marathoner came back by us. (That's when we realized we were out-and-back-ing - which, by the way, is both terribly demoralizing and also kind of fun. You can cheer on and see the elites and other runners coming back toward you ... and know you still have a REALLY FAR WAY to go before you turn around and start to come back, too. And you're looking at the route knowing you're going to have to come back UP all these hills ...)
Mile 15, another young woman down and bagged with an IV on the ground crying.
Mile 18, a runner goes down in front of us, asks us to tell the police at the next intersection to come get him. The greenway was REMOTE y'all. The stretches between aid stations and intersections were scary lonely. Like, you're in the middle of everything and still so isolated. I felt an anxiety attack that I barely managed to control.
Because at mile 18, Ashton's uterus gave up. She was telling us she had low-level pain in her abdomen for a week and thought maybe her IUD had gone walkabout. Or a UTI or something. At 18, she couldn't run anymore. She was sunburned and pale at the same time.
So from mile 18-26, we walked a 15 mile per minute pace.
At mile 17, a woman at an unofficial aid station refilled our water packs. We were each carrying 2 liters when the day started.
Mile 20, we lost the friend we'd been walking with. He was an older man who was incoherent at the aid station at mile 20 when we stopped to see if Ashton needed to pee. He tried to talk to the aid station worker and asked for directions, said he was lost ... we were clearly on course. The EMTs at that aid station were asking him all sorts of questions he couldn't answer - like, "What day is it?". Ambulance time.
Mile 21 we were dive-bombed by a Red Tailed Hawk who was so close we could feel the wind from its wings as it crashed into leaf-litter and left with a mouse.
At mile 22, I thought I wasn't going to make it. We stopped again at an aid station and refilled our packs with more water.
Mile 23, I still wasn't able to eat more than my chews, but had my first hunger cue of the day and hoped my stomach was uprighting itself.
Mile 24, I was sure we were going to make it.
Mile 25, I didn't want to walk anymore and said we weren't going to make it. Ashton just started talking. She told me the story of the most expensive wedding she ever went to. She talked me through her neighborhood like we were walking her dog down to the library, describing all the houses and dogs.
And somehow, we finished. Six hours, 29 minutes.
My whole bra-line is chafed like I have a ring of burn around my chest/trunk. My feet are a blister. The whole pad of one foot and between several of my toes.
Anna was at the finish line. She refused care even though the EMTs said she could have a heart attack the way her heart was acting. She said she was sure she was fine and it was the heat. But she had her own stories to tell because once the ambulance got her and she had EKGs done, she was on a ride-along with them as they continued to get SOS calls (more than what Ashton and I saw on course) and just accumulated people in ambulances/golf-carts along the way. Once they got close enough to the finish line, they let her out to walk to her car.
We still had a two mile walk to Anna's car (all uphill, I swear) once we finished. Slowest walk of my life. But we made it. The day before we bought wine and cheese and charcuterie things at Whole Foods while we charged Anna's electric vehicle. Anna whipped up charcuterie and we grazed all night but my stomach could only handle a few bites and then 30 minutes of rest or so.
We watched an entire season of Love is Blind.
Went to bed at 9.
Yesterday we slept until 5:30 AM because we're all EAF risers. I took a meeting from 9-11 and we left. Stopped by Crumbl cookies to get cookies for our families. Went to Trader Joes. Home by 3:30.
I'm still walking like I hurt all over. Because I truly hurt all over. But I'm also happy I did it. And glad I don't have to do it again.
Until we run that 50K in December. Geeeeez. We're questionable.
1) My little brother and his wife are having their baby today! The baby's growth seemed to stall and Lindsey's blood pressure was all over the place, so here comes the little one. Only about two weeks early, which is fantastic. I've been getting sporadic text updates since the induction started late last night.
2) I missed most of them because I went to bed at 7PM. Time change + Marathon = EXHAUSTED.
3) So. I ran a marathon.
Here's how that went:
It was 80* degrees. A freak warm day in Raleigh for this kind of race. There's a *reason* we run these distances in the fall. It's downright dangerous to run in that kind of heat and humidity for that long. Especially when you've been training in the low-humidity, pretty temperate fall-like conditions on the East Coast. If you haven't heard what happened at the New York Marathon with the people collapsing and tapping out due to heat-related conditions, it definitely also happened in Raleigh.
Also. I don't know HOW it's physically possible, but I swear the entire city of Raleigh manages to be UPHILL. Like. The whole thing. Every downhill was slight, every hill was brutally tall.
Around mile 5.5, Anna burst into tears and said that something was wrong. She was numb between the shoulders, had tingles running up her neck, and was finding it difficult to draw a deep breath. We'd been running up a hill in the blazing sun around some elementary school and I was honestly questioning all MY life choices when she broke down. I stopped and pulled her off the course with Ashton and asked her what she wanted to do. She wanted to try to make it to the next aid station. And y'all. There weren't that many aid stations in the first ten miles. I asked, "Are you light-headed, too?" My worst fear being she would faint and then we'd have to worry about a broken skull/bones or something if she fell. She said yes.
I told her there was no way she could continue. I marched over to some police that were blocking the nearest intersection to us and asked them to call the EMTs. Anna told us to continue on without her. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in a race. Feel like shit myself, be afraid of what was to come, and to lose our experienced marathoner at mile 5.5?
I was sick. I somehow managed to gut-bomb myself. I couldn't eat. All this time training with 'real food'. I had three uncrustables, a package of pickles (dilly bites) and some gummy electrolyte chews as backup. I could barely eat the morning of the race and I figured my sick stomach was nerves. At an hour into the race, as per usual, I started to eat an uncrustable. I nearly puked. I tried to drink water. I nearly puked. I got some gatorade at the next aid station. Nearly puked. Every thing I put in my stomach destabilized me for several run/walk cycles. I was afraid that I wasn't going to be able to eat enough calories to sustain me for the distance, much less in the heat. I was low-key panicking.
Around mile 8, we saw a half marathoner on the course that was having a seizure and EMTs were surrounding him. He was already bagged with an IV and covered with cooling blankets.
Around mile 10, we realized we were on an out-and-back on their greenways with very little support and lots of hills. First Marathoner came back by us. (That's when we realized we were out-and-back-ing - which, by the way, is both terribly demoralizing and also kind of fun. You can cheer on and see the elites and other runners coming back toward you ... and know you still have a REALLY FAR WAY to go before you turn around and start to come back, too. And you're looking at the route knowing you're going to have to come back UP all these hills ...)
Mile 15, another young woman down and bagged with an IV on the ground crying.
Mile 18, a runner goes down in front of us, asks us to tell the police at the next intersection to come get him. The greenway was REMOTE y'all. The stretches between aid stations and intersections were scary lonely. Like, you're in the middle of everything and still so isolated. I felt an anxiety attack that I barely managed to control.
Because at mile 18, Ashton's uterus gave up. She was telling us she had low-level pain in her abdomen for a week and thought maybe her IUD had gone walkabout. Or a UTI or something. At 18, she couldn't run anymore. She was sunburned and pale at the same time.
So from mile 18-26, we walked a 15 mile per minute pace.
At mile 17, a woman at an unofficial aid station refilled our water packs. We were each carrying 2 liters when the day started.
Mile 20, we lost the friend we'd been walking with. He was an older man who was incoherent at the aid station at mile 20 when we stopped to see if Ashton needed to pee. He tried to talk to the aid station worker and asked for directions, said he was lost ... we were clearly on course. The EMTs at that aid station were asking him all sorts of questions he couldn't answer - like, "What day is it?". Ambulance time.
Mile 21 we were dive-bombed by a Red Tailed Hawk who was so close we could feel the wind from its wings as it crashed into leaf-litter and left with a mouse.
At mile 22, I thought I wasn't going to make it. We stopped again at an aid station and refilled our packs with more water.
Mile 23, I still wasn't able to eat more than my chews, but had my first hunger cue of the day and hoped my stomach was uprighting itself.
Mile 24, I was sure we were going to make it.
Mile 25, I didn't want to walk anymore and said we weren't going to make it. Ashton just started talking. She told me the story of the most expensive wedding she ever went to. She talked me through her neighborhood like we were walking her dog down to the library, describing all the houses and dogs.
And somehow, we finished. Six hours, 29 minutes.
My whole bra-line is chafed like I have a ring of burn around my chest/trunk. My feet are a blister. The whole pad of one foot and between several of my toes.
Anna was at the finish line. She refused care even though the EMTs said she could have a heart attack the way her heart was acting. She said she was sure she was fine and it was the heat. But she had her own stories to tell because once the ambulance got her and she had EKGs done, she was on a ride-along with them as they continued to get SOS calls (more than what Ashton and I saw on course) and just accumulated people in ambulances/golf-carts along the way. Once they got close enough to the finish line, they let her out to walk to her car.
We still had a two mile walk to Anna's car (all uphill, I swear) once we finished. Slowest walk of my life. But we made it. The day before we bought wine and cheese and charcuterie things at Whole Foods while we charged Anna's electric vehicle. Anna whipped up charcuterie and we grazed all night but my stomach could only handle a few bites and then 30 minutes of rest or so.
We watched an entire season of Love is Blind.
Went to bed at 9.
Yesterday we slept until 5:30 AM because we're all EAF risers. I took a meeting from 9-11 and we left. Stopped by Crumbl cookies to get cookies for our families. Went to Trader Joes. Home by 3:30.
I'm still walking like I hurt all over. Because I truly hurt all over. But I'm also happy I did it. And glad I don't have to do it again.
Until we run that 50K in December. Geeeeez. We're questionable.
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Date: 2022-11-08 09:56 pm (UTC)Congrats on being an auntie!