I feel paralyzed. Every thought of moving my legs is considered briefly and quickly discarded. Sorry, my brain says, just not gonna happen.
I finished running 15 miles this morning with a former boss. The most I had ever run before this was 3 miles on a treadmill.
The first half of the journey went great. My pace was steady, and I stayed neck and neck with my running partner, on and off road, up and down hills. Near the pier (the halfway point), I started to feel slight pain in my right lower back and left thigh, but it wasn't anything serious, and I was even able to sprint the final meters of the bridge. It was an awesome feeling to stand on the edge and see nothing but blue waves in front of me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my partner come running up. He starts doing little laps around the end of the pier, shouting out to me, "Tell me when you're ready to head back!" My pride stung, I start a quick jog, and my body immediately tells me that the pain in my back and thigh is still there. I decide to humble myself and take it slowly.
That sequence is a good introduction to the rest of the run: it only went downhill from there. Imagine brief spurts of enthusiasm halted quickly by mechanical failure. That left leg just wasn't going to start feeling better! As it started to give way, I began to take more of the weight on my right leg, taking on the appearance of a wounded (insert name of majestic African wildlife). Too much of this asymmetric running caused a near cramp in the right calf and I decided to try to ignore the pain and run proper.
Thoughts through my head on the final miles? Chants of hard work, dedication, commitment, every motivational speech and Ron Howard movie, Chariots of Fire, Dune's Litany of Fear. Memories of pledging returned as I tried to recall the mental fortitude to overcome my instincts. I think I did a good job of encouraging myself, but my body couldn't keep up.
During that final stretch, I remember the pain of every hill, rock, and curb. I remember the joy of seeing the "1 mile left" sign. I remember the despair at how long it took to finish that mile. And I remember how amazing that first bite was after the run. The victory apple, a welcome tradition that dates all the way back to 5th grade Outdoor School.
I think I will have to wait until after the next few days before I can objectively recommend this to anybody else. It might not be worth it.
edit: Nothing two doses of Aleve couldn't handle. Naproxen helped the knees, a few bananas and extra sleep helped the back. Small price to pay for the status of running a HALF MARATHON.
