@*#! %*!!
That’s grawlix for a particular four letter “f” word.
It’s about the only word I can think of during the majority of the 26.2 miles this morning.
I haven’t run for several weeks due to a lingering pulled muscle in my right thigh… and because last week I came down with a terrible virus that made my entire body feel like it weighed 3 times as much as usual. Indeed, I spent 36 hours or so straight in bed, unable to motivate myself to get up or do much of anything. I spoke to my doctor and because I didn’t have a fever, or shallow breathing, or congestion per se, it was most likely NOT Covid-19. But I went and got a test just to be sure. The results, which were supposed to be available within 72 hours “at the latest” were sent to me five days later. No Covid.
So I felt like I could run for Liz Warner’s charity event. I met Liz last year at the Outback Marathon and she was trying to do 30 marathons before she was 30… and to do them with NGOs and raising awareness of global issues at the places she visited. Noble cause so I thrown a few donations to the various groups she highlighted. With the pandemic, her final marathons were cancelled so she decided to host a virtual eevnt for folks to sign up for and provide donations to Covid-19 relief agencies. I agreed… albeit I agreed weeks ago when I was still in pretty good running form.
But it’s amazing how quickly I lose my fitness level when I don’t maintain a marathoning schedule.
Today was FUBAR… or @*#! %*!! up beyond all recognition. I hit the wall around mile 3 (!!) and just struggled throughout the opening half mileage. I was just exhausted and unable to get any kind of rhythm going. I would see other people out and about, some running, some walking, and I would be infinitely jealous at how easy they made it all seem. By mile 15 I was strugling to run even for 30 seconds at a time… so I wound up just walking the remaining 11 miles. It was demoralizing and depressing… it was actually worse than starting from zero to rebuild my fitness level because I know I should be able to run these things. For @*#! %*!!’s sake, I’ve run over 450 of these things. And yet… and yet…
I found myself stumbling back and forth on the sidewalk like I was in Medoc and drinking heavily… but alas, there was no alcohol involved here, just good old fashioned delusional dehydration. I kept pounding water… even stopped at home for the final 5 miles to grab a powerade and a water bottle. But nothing seemed to help. I was just… defeated. Three times I sat down on the sidewalk or on one of those giant green cableTV boxes trying to catch my breath. And three times, my legs seized up with charley-horses, and my burning desire to just be done. There were at least two times I thought about just quitting and calling for a ride to take me home. I can’t recall hitting that much of a low point when I wasn’t running a mountain. This is Florida. It’s flat. It’s humid, sure, but there was really no excuse for me to be struggling this much.
In the end, somehow, through sheer stupidity and gruesome arrogance, I finished the distance 2 hours slower than my last “official” marathon in Los Angeles.
Staggering into my house, I laid down on the cool tile floor of my kitchen, unable to move, just perspiring onto the floor and wallowing in vile pools of sweat. If I moved too much, my head spun… and my muscles spasmed. But I desperately needed a shower. So after 45 minutes on my kitchen floor, I somehow made it into the bathroom… where I proceeded to lie outside the shower door for another 45 minutes, propping a towel under my head, trying to catch my breath and soothe my muscles long enough to climb into the tub.
It was an awful, awful day. Even after the shower, I fumbled into my bed to try and get some non-movement rest to recover… and two hours later, I still would be overwhelmed by charley horses and hallucinations.
I rarely have felt as ashamed and dispirited from a run… and may try and avoid sending Liz my Mortal Kombat worthy “finishing” time.
@*#! %*!!.
@*#! %*!!
@*#! %*!!
@*#! %*!!.
Besides, Liz sent me a bib with my name misspelled. It’s not a palindrome! Although, maybe we can just chalk this awful run up to Kevin Hannah and pretend it never happened.
