Oh, week 10, why you gotta play me like that?
If I ever train for another marathon, I swear I may skip week 10. Just go from week 9 to week 11, you know like they skip floor 13 for some high rises? Week 10 is cursed to be a hot mess. During San Francisco training, week 10 was the breaking point with Hanson’s and I spent the last weeks just trying to hang on and get through the race without making my leg worse.
This time- I managed to hurt everything. Right shin. Left shin. Pulled a left groin muscle. Popped/ pulled something on the right side of my back. Oh and had a panic attack on the side of the road. As for running? I pulled off a whopping, crawling 15.75 miles last week.
whine talk about what I managed to do-
Tuesday- 1.54 miles I headed to lake path after work, looking forward to bringing it back into play. The path being back means speed work is an option again and I was looking forward to going back to 4 days a week. However my legs didn’t get the memo. I knew right away something was wrong but I was hoping it would go away after a lap of the lake. My left shin hurt but the scary part was my right shin. I felt like something was loose under the skin- kind of like the muscle was pulling away from the bone. It wasn’t getting better, getting worse in fact so I called if after a lap. Grrr.
Saturday- Rain What do runners in denial of injuries do? Buy new kicks.
Sunday- 12.55 run/ 1.66 walk The plan called for 18 and that’s what I set out to do. However between all the rain of the week and all the pains I had been feeling, I was tired and not feeling it but I told myself to get over it. I forgot my pepper spray and had to turn around to get it. I had to change my route less than 1/4 mile in as there was a funeral at the cemetery and I try to not run past when there are actual services. I started out slow and it never got any faster. I was dragging around mile 7 when a passer-by leaned out their car window and yelled “good job” with a thumbs up. It gave me a second wind for about 5 minutes but also made me wonder if I looked as rough as I felt.
My legs were aching, my feet felt like they were swelling. It was 70+* and I was hot. I was so damn thirsty and I had 2 bottles of water in my pack. I stopped for a bathroom break around mile 10 and doused my hat and Buff in water. I kept trying to move faster but I just kept moving through quicksand. I couldn’t catch my breath and it just got worse. By mile 11 I was sitting on the side of the road having a freaking panic attack, crying.
I somewhat pulled myself together, ha, called my mom and asked her if she wanted to join me for my last miles so I would have some company. She said no and told me I should quit and she would come get me and give me a ride. I was stubborn and said no. I tried to suck it up and run on. At mile 12.55, I knew I was being stupid. My pace was in the toilet and my head still wasn’t right. I stopped my watch and decided to walk a shorter way home. That was still almost another 3 miles. I didn’t make it. I ended up calling for that ride.
I was so damn irritated with myself for not finishing 18 but I also knew that pushing on would have done more harm than good. As it was, I was limping, dehydrated and exhausted. I was done.
Now starts week 11… and I am filled with doubt and lingering muscle pain. Oh boy.
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