Just One More Mile
I'm going to begin by saying that I thought I was going to get the first DNF (Did Not Finish) of my running career this morning. I've had this twingy hamstring for several weeks and, if I'm honest, I hadn't done nearly enough to get it race ready. Yesterday I stretched and rolled and heated and massaged it, but as it turns out it was almost too little too late. From the very first warm-up step I took, I could feel it. And it didn't feel good.
But it was Race Day, and what are you going to do? Not race? Drive home? Not a chance. What's the worst that could possibly happen? The thing could seize up, pop, or tear and I'd end up (1) DNF'ing or (2) hobbling to the finish line just before they closed the course (I have never hobbled in a race EVER, not even during the '93 Wichita Marathon when a stress fracture in my tibia broke through). Chances were I'd be able to avoid the worst. At least I hoped I could.
Hamstring aside, the race started well enough. Happenstance (i.e. a convenient break in the stanchions) had me lining up between the 1:45 and 1:40 pace groups. My pre-race-hamstring-not-being-a-total-fuckwaffle goal was to finish under 1:43. The decision in the moment was easy, regardless how my hamstring felt - Head out with the 1:40s and try to hang on as long as I could. Well, as large race starts tend to go (the term "cluster fuck" comes to mind), I immediately lost the 1:40 flag. They were out there and I was out there so I imagined I'd catch them at some point. Or I wouldn't. It was what it was. Not like I could get a do-over.
I hit the first mile in 7:27, my fastest start to any race since the 90s. I felt fantastic, with the exception of the hamstring. What's the 1:40 per mile pace? I had no idea and the math failed me. I just kept running.
Mile 2 - 7:15. Oh, look it's the 1:40 pace group. Incidentally, 7:35 pace for 13.1 miles will get you a 1:40 finish. I was well on pace. After two miles. With a craptastic hamstring.
I considered hanging out with the 1:40s for awhile, but I felt like they were running so slow. Seriously. 7:35 pace seemed slooooooow. As in "I can run faster." So I did. I left them behind figuring I'd get a solid reality check in a few miles (I can't really run sub 7:30 pace, just FYI) and they'd reel me in.
Mile 3 - 7:26. Yep, slowing down. But damn, that's gotta be a 5k record!
Mile 4 - 7:13; Mile 5 - 7:16. So much for that slowing down theory.
Meanwhile, the hamstring... It didn't get any better. Or - thankfully - any worse. It seemed content to be an asshole but one I could tolerate for a couple hours. At various moments, I chastised it; at others, I cheered it on. I won't say I got complacent. Ok, I think I got a little complacent. We - me and my fuckwaffle of a hamstring - had made it almost to the halfway mark. It wasn't comfortable, but as long as it didn't get any worse, I'd be fine. And even if I slowed down a little - as much as 30 seconds/mile. Doing the rough math, I figured I'd banked that much time - I'd still be damn close to a PR.
Then the 10k marker (Mile 6 - 7:17) happened. I don't think I stepped on it weird. I don't think I did anything different at all. Suddenly, though, my hamstring went from "I can do this" to "There's no way I'll finish." "Tight" didn't begin to tell the story. Each and every step was painful. Not merely niggling like the first six miles. Painful.
Fuck. Not F***. Fuck. I hadn't run this fast and felt this decent in nearly forever. Not since my twenties. I'll be fifty in two months. I was on the verge of breaking one. Fuck.
Alright, Stacee. It is what it is. You didn't expect to run this well, so even if you have to quit you ran extremely well. Nothing to be ashamed of there.
Within a couple steps, I'd committed to Plan B. Run until it locks up...or tears. Run until it you're on the ground. Run until you can't anymore. I also a rationalized that slowing down was ok if it bought me another mile. Mile 7. Let's see if you can get to Mile 7.
Mile 7 - 7:18. Hmm... So much for slowing down. Ok, now let's get to Mile 8.
Mile 8 - 7:28. That's ok, I told myself. I was still running consistently faster than I ever had in this race. Now let's get to Mile 9. Just one more mile.
Mile 9 - 7:29
And that's how I did it - One painful mile at a time. Each mile was a small victory. The hamstring held and the pain vacillated from horrid to not quite as horrid. It actually felt better on the uphill sections (not great, however, considering the race is nicknamed "Downhill to Downtown."). At some point, I reminded myself that I'd run more than eight miles of a marathon on a fractured tibia. This pain was nothing compared to that and if I could endure that...
Mile 10 - 7:31. I was still running well and everything - literally every part of me - except the hamstring felt amazing. Like I wouldn't have slowed down at all. Like I might have sped up. Come on Mile 11. If you can get there, you can finish. Hold, hamstring. Just please fucking hold.
Mile 11 - 7:36. Slowest mile yet. Most painful mile yet. If you can just will yourself to Mile 12, the last mile will take care of itself. Two miles. Fifteen, maybe sixteen minutes of your life, Stacee. That's it.
My race plan - other than going out fast looking for a 1:40 - had been to find the edge of my comfort zone and hang on as long as I possibly could. In all my race prep, I thought my comfort zone would have to do with pace, not with an excruciatingly tight hamstring. Still, the goal remained the same - Find the edge and hang on.
Mile 12 - 7:27. Back to sub-7:30 pace. It's not that bad. You can hold this pace. One more mile. Two songs. That's it. Finish. You're going to finish.
I crossed the finish line in 1:37:21. I'd blown away 1:40, completely blown it away (P.S. I never saw the 1:40 pace group again). With a fucked up hamstring. How fast might I have been able to run if I'd been completely able-bodied? We'll never know...and really, that's ok. Because the way I see it, how I ran that race today - mile by mile - was why I ran it so well. If my hamstring hadn't been threatening to blow, I'd have thought it terms of miles - plural - as in "Can I hold this pace for x-number of miles?" or "How many miles can I possibly run this fast?" I would have been thinking of the end rather than just one mile ahead. Deena Kastor, my running guru/shrink (Regular readers, you had to know she was going to make an appearance at some point), says to find a thought that serves. Today "one more mile" was a thought that served.
And, you know what? I defined myself today. Not as a nearly fifty-year-old woman who can run a sub-1:40 half marathon as many might immediately think. No, today I defined myself as someone who doesn't give up easy. This summer I ran in terrible conditions - heat and humidity - and they only made me stronger. In October, I ran through an icy headwind along the Icelandic coast as I fought my way through the last half of a race. Today, I endured a devilish hamstring cramp. I wanted to give up SO MANY TIMES - a DNF wouldn't be so bad - but I didn't. I persevered. I found a thought that served, added the smallest sliver of courage, held on, and finished.
It doesn't apply to you? You're not a runner so it couldn't possibly? I've got news. You're a human being and it damn well does apply to you. Today wasn't about a hamstring or a race. It was about life. Fucking life. Enduring. Persevering. If that isn't life, I don't know what is. Because the next time life knocks me around, I'm going to remember today - the day I didn't let a jacked up hamstring get in the way of one of the best races of my life. I held on - when all I really wanted to do was quit - for one more mile, just one more mile.
This who I am, who I will be. And it can be you, too.
But it was Race Day, and what are you going to do? Not race? Drive home? Not a chance. What's the worst that could possibly happen? The thing could seize up, pop, or tear and I'd end up (1) DNF'ing or (2) hobbling to the finish line just before they closed the course (I have never hobbled in a race EVER, not even during the '93 Wichita Marathon when a stress fracture in my tibia broke through). Chances were I'd be able to avoid the worst. At least I hoped I could.
Hamstring aside, the race started well enough. Happenstance (i.e. a convenient break in the stanchions) had me lining up between the 1:45 and 1:40 pace groups. My pre-race-hamstring-not-being-a-total-fuckwaffle goal was to finish under 1:43. The decision in the moment was easy, regardless how my hamstring felt - Head out with the 1:40s and try to hang on as long as I could. Well, as large race starts tend to go (the term "cluster fuck" comes to mind), I immediately lost the 1:40 flag. They were out there and I was out there so I imagined I'd catch them at some point. Or I wouldn't. It was what it was. Not like I could get a do-over.
I hit the first mile in 7:27, my fastest start to any race since the 90s. I felt fantastic, with the exception of the hamstring. What's the 1:40 per mile pace? I had no idea and the math failed me. I just kept running.
Mile 2 - 7:15. Oh, look it's the 1:40 pace group. Incidentally, 7:35 pace for 13.1 miles will get you a 1:40 finish. I was well on pace. After two miles. With a craptastic hamstring.
I considered hanging out with the 1:40s for awhile, but I felt like they were running so slow. Seriously. 7:35 pace seemed slooooooow. As in "I can run faster." So I did. I left them behind figuring I'd get a solid reality check in a few miles (I can't really run sub 7:30 pace, just FYI) and they'd reel me in.
Mile 3 - 7:26. Yep, slowing down. But damn, that's gotta be a 5k record!
Mile 4 - 7:13; Mile 5 - 7:16. So much for that slowing down theory.
Meanwhile, the hamstring... It didn't get any better. Or - thankfully - any worse. It seemed content to be an asshole but one I could tolerate for a couple hours. At various moments, I chastised it; at others, I cheered it on. I won't say I got complacent. Ok, I think I got a little complacent. We - me and my fuckwaffle of a hamstring - had made it almost to the halfway mark. It wasn't comfortable, but as long as it didn't get any worse, I'd be fine. And even if I slowed down a little - as much as 30 seconds/mile. Doing the rough math, I figured I'd banked that much time - I'd still be damn close to a PR.
Then the 10k marker (Mile 6 - 7:17) happened. I don't think I stepped on it weird. I don't think I did anything different at all. Suddenly, though, my hamstring went from "I can do this" to "There's no way I'll finish." "Tight" didn't begin to tell the story. Each and every step was painful. Not merely niggling like the first six miles. Painful.
Fuck. Not F***. Fuck. I hadn't run this fast and felt this decent in nearly forever. Not since my twenties. I'll be fifty in two months. I was on the verge of breaking one. Fuck.
Alright, Stacee. It is what it is. You didn't expect to run this well, so even if you have to quit you ran extremely well. Nothing to be ashamed of there.
Within a couple steps, I'd committed to Plan B. Run until it locks up...or tears. Run until it you're on the ground. Run until you can't anymore. I also a rationalized that slowing down was ok if it bought me another mile. Mile 7. Let's see if you can get to Mile 7.
Mile 7 - 7:18. Hmm... So much for slowing down. Ok, now let's get to Mile 8.
Mile 8 - 7:28. That's ok, I told myself. I was still running consistently faster than I ever had in this race. Now let's get to Mile 9. Just one more mile.
Mile 9 - 7:29
And that's how I did it - One painful mile at a time. Each mile was a small victory. The hamstring held and the pain vacillated from horrid to not quite as horrid. It actually felt better on the uphill sections (not great, however, considering the race is nicknamed "Downhill to Downtown."). At some point, I reminded myself that I'd run more than eight miles of a marathon on a fractured tibia. This pain was nothing compared to that and if I could endure that...
Mile 10 - 7:31. I was still running well and everything - literally every part of me - except the hamstring felt amazing. Like I wouldn't have slowed down at all. Like I might have sped up. Come on Mile 11. If you can get there, you can finish. Hold, hamstring. Just please fucking hold.
Mile 11 - 7:36. Slowest mile yet. Most painful mile yet. If you can just will yourself to Mile 12, the last mile will take care of itself. Two miles. Fifteen, maybe sixteen minutes of your life, Stacee. That's it.
My race plan - other than going out fast looking for a 1:40 - had been to find the edge of my comfort zone and hang on as long as I possibly could. In all my race prep, I thought my comfort zone would have to do with pace, not with an excruciatingly tight hamstring. Still, the goal remained the same - Find the edge and hang on.
Mile 12 - 7:27. Back to sub-7:30 pace. It's not that bad. You can hold this pace. One more mile. Two songs. That's it. Finish. You're going to finish.
I crossed the finish line in 1:37:21. I'd blown away 1:40, completely blown it away (P.S. I never saw the 1:40 pace group again). With a fucked up hamstring. How fast might I have been able to run if I'd been completely able-bodied? We'll never know...and really, that's ok. Because the way I see it, how I ran that race today - mile by mile - was why I ran it so well. If my hamstring hadn't been threatening to blow, I'd have thought it terms of miles - plural - as in "Can I hold this pace for x-number of miles?" or "How many miles can I possibly run this fast?" I would have been thinking of the end rather than just one mile ahead. Deena Kastor, my running guru/shrink (Regular readers, you had to know she was going to make an appearance at some point), says to find a thought that serves. Today "one more mile" was a thought that served.
And, you know what? I defined myself today. Not as a nearly fifty-year-old woman who can run a sub-1:40 half marathon as many might immediately think. No, today I defined myself as someone who doesn't give up easy. This summer I ran in terrible conditions - heat and humidity - and they only made me stronger. In October, I ran through an icy headwind along the Icelandic coast as I fought my way through the last half of a race. Today, I endured a devilish hamstring cramp. I wanted to give up SO MANY TIMES - a DNF wouldn't be so bad - but I didn't. I persevered. I found a thought that served, added the smallest sliver of courage, held on, and finished.
"I had defined myself with a race that was the most authentic expression of who I was. A balance of caution and daring, desire and will, joy and gratitude, athlete and person." ~ Deena Kastor
It doesn't apply to you? You're not a runner so it couldn't possibly? I've got news. You're a human being and it damn well does apply to you. Today wasn't about a hamstring or a race. It was about life. Fucking life. Enduring. Persevering. If that isn't life, I don't know what is. Because the next time life knocks me around, I'm going to remember today - the day I didn't let a jacked up hamstring get in the way of one of the best races of my life. I held on - when all I really wanted to do was quit - for one more mile, just one more mile.
This who I am, who I will be. And it can be you, too.
Loved it, so very accurate of my own run today
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