"You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run."
Ah, Kenny Rogers, you sing it so true. When I signed up for the Green Stride Half Marathon in Newburyport, MA a few months ago, I looked forward to training for a PR. I was primed and ready, having come off of some nice summer races and feeling like I was getting into a running groove. I began training towards a time range of 1:34-1:37, which I felt was realistic and achievable. Never in my wildest "worst case scenarios" did I imagine what would actually happen- I would get my first DNF (did not finish).
So, how does a primed and ready runner go from awesome races and great training runs to a DNF? Let's just say there were some red flags (skipping cross-training, doing a bit too much speed work, hurting my back, to name a few...), which I virtually ignored. I kept plugging along with my training, because I was LOVING running! I was on a roll, enjoying the cooler mornings and beautiful fall weather we were having, meeting up with running friends I hadn't seen all summer, and enjoying the endurance I had built up so that going for a 10 mile run felt like a piece of cake.
When, 2.5 weeks before the race my back suddenly spasmed while I was cooking dinner, I tried not to panic. I had never had back pain before, so I took it easy, went to the chiropractor, got a massage, saw a PT, and stayed on top of it, or so I thought. (On a side note, with all the attention to my back, this was quickly becoming the world's most expensive race). When race weekend rolled around, I was fresh off a little stomach bug (yet another red flag), and my back and hamstrings were tight and achey. But I wasn't ready to "fold 'em." I had planned this race weekend as a get-together with two good friends who live in MA, and we were going to live it up at a hotel, kid-free. And by living it up, I mean we went out to dinner, got gelato, and were in bed by 9:00 pm. It was so great to see these dear friends, though, and there was no way I would have bailed on the race, because that would mean missing out on our weekend. Not running the race did not even enter my mind.
Race morning comes around. While waiting in the giant port-potty line (PSA: do not ever, ever get behind me in any line. I always pick the slowest one. Always.), I was starting to become aware of some tight muscles. I stretched a bit, but could not shake the sense I had that the slightest movement, even a little sneeze, would send my back into spasms. I decided to ignore this feeling, because really, what could I do at this point? It was race day, the sun was shining, blue skies above, beautiful autumn colors all around. It was a good day to run.
I lined up with my friends. We gave each other hugs, said good luck, and reminded ourselves how lucky we were to run and how we just wanted to enjoy this day. The starting horn blew and we were off. The first mile we went out a little fast- 6:53. I felt great though. We tried to dial it back a bit, and the next mile we were closer to our goal range - 7:10. I was happy and still feeling good. The third mile had some little hills and we were at 7:20. The next mile we came in at 7:17, and I was still feeling surprisingly great. Phew, I thought to myself. I'm going to do this! I made a plan to try to pick up the pace at mile 7 and try for some negative splits.
There was a water stop just after the mile 4 marker, so literally moments after deciding to try to speed up in a few miles, I reached out for a cup, took a big swig, and when I went to toss the cup to the ground, my back suddenly seized up. I jerked back a bit from the pain, and when I did that my left hamstring seized up. Crap! I did not know what to do. I looked around in a panic, fully expecting a random spectator to tell me what to do. That didn't happen, and I watched as my friend ran on ahead, unaware of my gimping behind her, as she was fully expecting me to be at her side soon. I thought about calling out to her, but I didn't want to break her stride and I thought with great hope that I could just shake this out and catch right back up.
No such luck. I was hampered by two things- if I lengthened my left leg out to my normal stride, I felt searing pain down to my heel. So I had to shorten my stride. Second, if I took deep breaths, I got jabbing pain in my back, so I had to take little breaths. Mile 5 I came in at 7:40. Ugh, but I still wasn't ready to fold 'em. Mile 6 came in at 7:53, and I was really struggling at that pace. Ok, I'll dial it back. At around mile 6.5, I was at an 8:30 pace, and I had a horrible sinking feeling when I realized what I needed to do. I was only hurting myself more by continuing to run. People zoomed past me, and I started to feel like I had become a spectator, watching all the racers running by. They were all going to finish but me.
I passed a sign taped to a tree that said "pain is temporary, pride is forever." I thought of all the other races I had done where I had struggled. I've raced a lot, so there were many. Those races were physically hard, emotionally challenging, and yes, sometimes heartbreaking. In those races, I had to let go of a time I wanted mid-race, or shift my goal to "just finish." But every time, I finished the race. I had never stopped running. I always ran through the pain, ran through the disappointment, just kept running. But this time was different. When I saw the mile 7 marker, I hit "stop" on my watch, and hobbled over to the side of the road. This was the race where I needed to swallow my pride, this pain was not temporary. I stopped running and stood there on the side of the road, not sure what I was supposed to do next. What happens after you fold em'?
The next 45 minutes was a huge low for me. I ended up getting a ride back to the finish from one of the race directors, who was so sweet as he tried to reassure me that I'd be racing again soon while I sat quietly in his truck, wishing I was still running. He delivered me to the finish just in time to see my friends run in. It was great to get to cheer them on, and I was so proud of them, knowing how hard they had worked for this race. As I watched them come in, though, I was surprised when I felt not a twinge of guilt or remorse, but actually I was proud of myself, too. I was listening to my body. The pain I felt in my back and leg was unlike any injury I had experienced before. It was time for me to stop and listen to what my body needed. It was time to fold 'em and walk away.
Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment that I hope will help me get on the path to recovery. I haven't let go of my PR goal yet, I'm just going to shelve it for now. I'm going to take this opportunity to reflect on how I got this injury and how I can avoid injuries in the future.
As for the rest of the race day, shortly after the race it was time to say goodbye to my friends. They were supportive of my decision to drop out of the race and encouraged me to rest and recover. They have both dealt with major injuries and know how hard but necessary it can be to take a break from training. We hugged goodbye and decided next year we're going to a spa instead.
We are two sisters living on separate sides of the country. One of the things that connects us, beside our love of hot beverages, is fitness. We love to run and strength train, and share the benefits of exercise with others. From the sisters who created Illume Fitness, we bring you Illuminated Runners: musings on running, cross fit, strength training, family, travel, life, and some serious dorkiness in there, too. "The spirit illuminates everything."
