The dead horse
I wrote this a day or two after the Detroit Marathon. I’d say the horse is quite dead from all the beatings, but I wanted to record it in my blog so that I remembered how I felt and some of the reasons for it, even if I don’t feel that way now. Its important to me that I know the reasons, so that I can have a more prepared mindset for the next race. I moved the date stamp on this post so that it coincides with the race better.
Some of this I have talked about privately with others and it really helped to cement my thoughts on it. Its nice to know there are good people out there willing to listen to some of this.
Its taken me several days to understand why I feel so badly about the race. Everyone else that I have read about was thrilled with their race, and they were happy to have pulled through the struggle and finished. But not me, and I didn’t know why.
I keep talking about the pain and I know that sounds like whining. But it wasn’t like my sore shins that make me stop running. This was all over, deep inside. And for the first time ever, it was more than I could mentally take. I’ve never had an injury that hurt like that, so bad that I can’t even get my thoughts around it.
It was like being tortured. And it didn’t hurt just flesh, I feel like it hurt me, inside, myself. Afterwards, I think it made me afraid of running, racing, like it would hurt like that again. I don’t feel like it was something I did and endured, I feel like it was something terrible that was done to me, and I was unable to control it.
It was just so awful. I pushed it too far. Just much too far. It hurt so bad for so long. It wasn’t like pain in other runs, where your lungs are aching, muscles are burning, and there’s nothing left in the tank. This was where tissue was tearing and joints were popping. Things were being ripped apart. It wasn’t right at all. It shouldn’t have been like that.
I had a bruise on my side and I didn’t know what it was from. I realized its where I was pinching myself to distract me from the pain in my legs. It works for sidestitches sometimes, but this was just too awful. The whole thing was just wrong.
I went and told the whole damn world I was doing this, bloggers and local folks too. And in nearly every race I ever ran I have exceeded my goals. Now to back out from the marathon was unthinkable. And to quit during the race, was almost unforgiveable. I don’t think it was the detemination that drove me, I think it was the fear of shame. The shame of quitting after going out there when I wasn’t ready.
I think being driven by that fear is what made it so awful. That’s what made it feel like something external was pushing me into the pain. And that made it like torture. I wasn’t doing it for me. I was doing it so that I wouldn’t be embarassed for having failed. That makes it all about ego, which is dreadfully pathetic.
Maybe that’s why it still hurts. Its like being tortured, but surviving. I didn’t want to have to go through it, and its like it wasn’t even my choice to make it through, I was just allowed to. It makes me feel like a fraud about it all.
