Chasing Snakes 10K Recap

I raced in my first 10K over the weekend, and it was great to visit with some of my Johnson City friends.  I came in dead last, and my time is embarrassing.  But that I even participated is impressive considering that I was nauseous all day Thursday and Friday.  You see…(pregnant pause) (Anyone who has ever taken a Tim Dillon class should be giggling right now.)…I have ovarian cysts.  From time to time, they really bother me.  The better I eat and the more active I stay, the less often they plague me, but they’re still there.

Even with all my training and nutritious diet, sometimes it seems my ovaries really have it in for me.  When my ovarian cysts bother me, I can barely keep food down due to nausea, and I am usually doubled over in pain.  Sitting down pinches, and putting any weight at all on my right leg triggers pain.  If standing hurts, I’m sure you can image that walking and running aren’t the most pleasant (or possible) activities.

Ovarian cysts are a bitch, and I hate them for interfering with my life.  I hate them for making it so damned hard to have children.  I hate them for confining me to bed to suffer alone writhing to find some semblance of comfort amidst either sharp, stabbing pain or dull, draining pain.  Sleep escapes me.  I can’t take anything for the pain because of my digestive sensitivities, and the hormonal imbalance of it all causes its own host of unavoidable, unpleasant problems (fuck you very much facial hair).

I was on my way to a site inspection for work on Thursday when I had to ask my coworker to pull over so I could be sick.  We all continued on our way, completed our survey and visited another site on the way back to the office.  When I got home, I took medication I keep on hand for nausea, and I thought I’d be okay.

When I woke up from stabbing pain in my lower right abdomen in the wee hours of Friday morning, the first thing that came to my mind was, “How am I going to run 6.2 miles in this condition?”  I stayed home Friday and nursed my nausea/ pain while trying to get as much rest as possible.  I was scheduled to run two miles Friday, and I told myself that if I couldn’t do that, I certainly wasn’t going to run in my race the following day.  So I did it, and it wasn’t the worst two miles ever, so I figured the rest and nausea meds were working.

I woke up very early Saturday morning, prepared my breakfast, and hit the road for Johnson City.  I ate my awesome breakfast on the way, and I got there early enough to warm up properly.  I was the only one doing dynamic flexibility exercises and drills, so I looked ridiculous even before the race began; but it was all part of my race plan, and I stuck with it.  I did my pre-race jog, and I felt ready.  The pain was still there, but having lived with this pain for over a decade I’m accustomed to a certain level of constant discomfort, and I was determined not to let the pain keep me sidelined.

I stuck with my race plan the whole way (run 5:00/walk 0:30).  I even kept up with my pacing as planned.  Until mile three.  At mile three, I was supposed to run all out and pass as many people as I could (while still running 5:00/walking 0:30).  And I just couldn’t do it.  I wanted it, but my body just wouldn’t go any faster or any harder than it already was.  I’m so grateful that my friend, Cora, decided to run easy and stay with me through the whole race because I might not even have finished were it not for her encouragement.

Just before reaching mile five a state of dejection had set in.  My low back was killing me, and though I had used my Gu and water, I just wanted to stop.  I didn’t stop, but that’s all I wanted.  As we rounded the last corner to the finish line, we saw Cora’s husband, daughter, and daughter’s friend.  While her husband was telling us, “They’re pulling up the finish line.  Y’all better hurry,” the little ones were saying, “Why are you guys last?  Momma, why are you so slow today?”  These are not usually the things one likes to hear ever, but at the end of a painful 6 miles, it took everything I had to smile and tell the children that Cora was running slow because of me and because she’s such a good friend.  So I finished dead last.  There were only 350 finishers, but I was the last one.

We went to Olive Garden and treated ourselves to carbs and cheese (Yum!), and I was able to see my recently impregnated friend, Jen (who is unbelievably adorable right now with her baby bump!).  I also had a nice visit with my dad on my way back home.  Though my weekend was filled with overwhelming disappointment due to my piss poor race experience, visiting with everyone was definitely the highlight of my weekend.

I took yesterday off, slept a lot, and got another amazing massage from my beloved, and I began mentally preparing for my next event, just two weeks away.  Considering how difficult a 10K was for me, I seriously don’t know how possible a half marathon is going to be right now.  And it scares me, to be very honest.  Today, though, I’m telling myself I only have 2.5 miles to do.  And even though I still have the pain (ugh when will it ever go away?), I know that if I did 6.2 miles Saturday, I can do 2.5 miles today.

Most people who do half marathons and marathons are actual athletes.  Most of them can run three miles without stopping.  Most of them have conditioned themselves to run through a certain level of pain. I do not live in the same universe as those people.  My road to a half marathon is a lot bumpier, a lot lonelier, with more weight and less conditioning, and with occasional excruciating pain that I just can’t escape.  And I’m still doing it.  I hope the pain subsides soon and that my ovaries know peace until after Mother’s Day.  Even if it doesn’t, I’m still doing it.  Yes, I am a masochist.