Helplessness Blues

13 miles down, 1 million to go

Running has always come easy to me. Even when months had passed since I laced up my shoes, I could head out for a few miles, no problem. There have been days when I've been sick, sore, injured, exhausted, etc. But until yesterday, I had never bonked. It was my most humbling running experience to date. I've never felt so helpless.

Carlsbad Village was hell and I was a passenger on a very slow, hallucinogenic train ride through town for the last few miles of the marathon. I remember a guy giving me a push start from behind and some words of encouragement. I remember drinking a cup of Ultima and accidentally throwing the cup at the legs of a volunteer because I didn't have the energy to direct my throw elsewhere. I remember many cheers from strangers directed my way, kind as they were, that I didn't want to hear. 

I so badly wanted to see the finish line and it seemed so far away. I wanted to see it so bad that I continued to run when I probably should have walked or not moved at all. I was clearly out of fuel, but not much was clear to me at the time except the fact that I wasn't going to Boston.

In shambles after the race, I sat in my car, wife by my side, and spent a full hour recovering. Banana, 8 oz. chocolate milk, 24 oz. Endurox recovery drink, Nature Valley peanut butter granola bar pack, 20 oz. of water. Color finally returned to my face.   

I don't know what left me so depleted. Last year for Marathon No. 1, also Carlsbad, I trained hard and the race felt easy. The last few miles were a challenge, but I held it together. This year I trained harder, felt like I was in better shape and was confident I could shave 5 minutes off my time to reach my new BQ. I consumed more calories (3 gels, 2 salt pills and 30-40 ounces of sports drink) and the weather was cooler. But it just wasn't meant to be.

By the halfway point, although I was on pace, it wasn't as easy as last year. I knew I was at my limit. When I hit the turnaround at mile 18, still on pace, I could feel the race slipping away. I was coming apart at the seams. I started to lose focus. I vaguely remember: Hearing a band playing STP's Wicked Garden, a random cover choice, I thought. Seeing James Li. Hearing a loud cheer from Marat. Seeing Deanna, me giving her the thumbs down and seeing her look of sadness. She felt my pain.

Another roadblock in my quest for Boston. Oh well. I lived to fight another day.