Rain and Shit Storm

I shall not lie; the last couple weeks have been rough on me. I think I started out okay but somewhere along the line my attitude just started sucking and the avoidance of things starting kicking in. I am sure it’s not nearly as horrible as I played it out to be in my mind but this last Monday and Tuesday were terrible rough for me and I almost had a mini mental breakdown. I hate those. It is all stupid and completely my doing. It is a case of applying too much pressure to myself and having far too many things on my metaphorical plate. In a nutshell, reached my breaking point and wanted to shut down.

What I hate about this scenario is it’s entirely my own doing. There is nothing really going on causing this stress. Nothing major or in particular happened. It’s just a lot of little things that ultimately led to a giant, I am fucking tired and I mentally am checking out. Did I also mention that the rain is nonstop and horrendous and it’s driving me batty and depressing the fuck out of me. I completely understand that a vast part of our nation is still covered by snow which really blows and therefore I should not complain about the rain but it’s just crazy depressing.

Sunday I ran another half marathon that was the most ridiculous unbearable run of my entire life. It was not just raining, it was a freaking monsoon. It was rain like I haven’t seen in a while mixed with winds that were intense and crazy and of course blowing the rain directly onto my face and body pelting me with what I am pretty certain was hail at some points. It was heavy. This particular race was at the Oregon Coast and I am pretty sure that cold and rain and wind is more intense at the ocean. Whatever. It didn’t start out that horrific or else I might have honestly bagged the whole thing. When we started running it was only raining and I could deal with that. I ran solidly for 6-7 miles as the weather worsened. Then, the dark skies and nasty weather took its toll on me and I had to stop at a rest stop for a drink of water. And as if the earth parted and the skies decided it was now time to torture those people on that lonely highway, it started monsooning. I tried to run. I would run a stretch and then walk. I was freezing. Like a freezing you would not believe, my fingers were literally numb they were so cold. Not to mention that I was getting soaked thru and thru.

As I passed the mile 9 mark I wanted to cry, I still had 4 miles left of this torture and even running that was a minimum of 40 more minutes and I was not solidly running at that point. It literally took every ounce of mental strength I have ever had in my entire life to keep moving forward. Minute after minute ticked by and I was a drowned cold mess. At some point I realized that when I tried to run my feet hurt. Like I knew my sock was rubbing hardcore against my soaked shoe. Excellent times. I kept going. I kept telling myself that I have to finish and the more energy I can expend to get to the finish line is one less second I have to spend outside in this horror. Of course, that did not come easy by any means.

I pushed on. I hit Mile 11 and was like okay, 2 more miles. I always drop that last tenth of a mile when I am computing distance because once you reach mile 13, that last tenth is like nothing. So 2 more miles. And I tried to run and it was at this moment with 1000 percent wet water logged socks and shoes, as if I had just dipped them in a swimming pool for an hour, I realized that running was going to be near impossible as there was now pain. The pain in terms of blisters cascading across the bottoms of my feet. Sure enough, post-race, I was greeted to blisters unlike any I had ever seen, giant quarter sized ones that were painful to the touch. But I did run. I made myself run a stretch, and then I’d walk.

I pushed thru. Even though I swear I was moving at a snail’s pace because I was numb as fuck. When I got to close to Mile 13 the relief I felt was only overshadowed by the horror of what I had just done. Surely, I am so close now. The problem is, somewhere around mile 12.5 and 13 the route distance was off. My Garmin had been dead on with their mileage count the entire race. I hit mile 13 and that familiar feeling of relief kicked in, cause now it’s only a tenth of a mile, I am practically done. The problem is, they freaking lied. My tenth of a mile came and went and I was not at the finish line. Then another tenth of a mile ticked by. Now I am pissed. I have never been so pissed off during a race. And then to make matters worse another tenth of a mile ticked by. When I finally saw the finish line my Garmin told me it was 13.35 miles. LIARS! Normally I would not sweat this stuff but on this particular horrific day that extra quarter mile was quite upsetting. But I crossed the line, full well knowing my worst half time was being recorded officially in the books.

I tried to grapple with some harsh realities. I always swore I knew that one day I would have a bad one. And yet, getting my brain to forgive myself for what I considered mentally giving up was tough. Funny how I consider it a failure or a mental quit because I could not force myself to run every step of it. The fact that I had to walk parts of it just plain pissed me off. Somehow I felt like a failure. In the end my time was 2 hours 30 minutes and a few seconds. The weekend before I ran my half in 2 hours 11 minutes, but as a rule I tend to say that I run them around 2 hours 15 minutes and I am thrilled with that. So in reality I was only 15 minutes off of my normal pace despite some of the worst conditions I could ever imagine. So in hindsight, perhaps I didn’t do as horrifically awful as I thought I did. Yes, I walked far more than I have ever walked, but it couldn’t have been that awful as it only added an extra 15 minutes. I should be proud of just finishing which part of me is. Honestly, I wanted to quit. I was cold and wet and hurting but I finished.

In the end I did get a nice medal so I guess that is something. This one sucked. This one sucked all of my faith out of my desire to run half’s, but I’ve been grappling with the notion that I know in my heart I still love running these things and this one just happened to be a bad one. A particularly horrific run, but it does not define the entire experience for me. It was just a bad run. Not a bad sport, not a bad life you know.

This haze of mental funk continued thru the rest of the day Sunday and then carried into parts of Monday and Tuesday. I decided for the first time ever since joining the gym that I did not want to go and I bagged on going to the gym Monday night. That does NOT happen to me. Quite honestly it scared the shit out of me. I went Tuesday night but couldn’t muster up any desire at all and only managed about 20-30 minutes of lifting weights before I left. So ridiculously unlike me and it scared the crap out of me. I immediately went to my mom’s house where I vented for an hour about my lack of motivation. I tried to put things into perspective, which is always helpful. So what if I took off Monday and Tuesday from exercise. Really??? Why I am such a winey bitch? I mean, when I go back on the calendar for the past two weeks, from February 22 up to Tuesday, March 4… I exercised 8 out of the 11 days including 2 half marathons. So that means I took off a whole whopping 3 days, 2 of which happened to be Monday and Tuesday because apparently what I’m not realizing is that I am burning myself out. So cut myself some slack for not feeling it Monday and Tuesday. It’s not exactly like I’ve been a complete slacker. Geesh.

I did go last night and had a personal training session and then an hour of Iron Power class, all of which kicked my ass, made me lift hard and heavy and consequently left me feeling VERY amazing. Something that I was lacking lately and reminded me that I do love this shit. I sometimes need a good reminder of my love for this life. I got that last night so I have to forgive myself much more than I do.

Honestly taking off Monday and Tuesday were probably necessary as my body was clearly telling me to give myself a break. I feel better today, after going hard last night and feel a little more mentally on track.

With all that said, and the horrors of this last run, I am not letting any of it stop me from my goals and aspirations. I have also determined that I am completely in love with the large organized runs of the Rock and Roll marathon series. So much so that Chris and I have decided to go for the gusto and run some more of them. I have already signed up for San Diego in June. Yup, signed up for the race, purchased plane tickets and a hotel room and that is happening. We will also be doing San Jose in October, but clearly it’s too early at this point to really make definite travel arrangements, but that is going to happen. My next half is April 6 when I run across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. That shall be epic and I am certain return some of my missing love of not only the half marathon but of running in general.

Actually March 15 I am going to walk a 5k with my mom and sister. Sure, I could run a 5k, but that is not the point. The point is that my mom and sister are going to do it and I promised to stay by their side and help them along, so I shall be walking with them. That is much more meaningful to me anyway, than just running 3 miles. I think that will be a good time.

I’ve also been dealing with my older sister and her divorce stuff and it’s so sad and constantly changing and unknown and I think that mentally is taking a toll on me as well. I mean, it’s so sad and I need to be there for her as she has always been there for me and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Everything in life cycles. Up and down. I shall get thru all this, I guarantee it.

Photos from Sunday, sitting in the car before I became a drowned rat, and then the cool medal I got and the VERY bright shirt.... :)