Three miles in I was toast. Like the kind of toast that pops
up charred and inedible because you forgot to turn the knob down after the last
weirdo who likes burnt toast cranked it all the way up.
Three miles in and my left knee is throbbing. I’m thinking,
“shit, I’m only gonna be able to do the half marathon.” Which would work out
just fine because it’s just half of this stupid two loop, out and back course
(whoever plans those kinds of courses clearly hasn’t run them themselves).
Except for the expensive plane ticket. And the expensive hotel room. And the
expensive race entry fee. And the fact that I’m all the way over here in
Northern Idaho (which I hear is where some white supremacy groups are hanging
out these days. What?) to check another state off my marathon list, and if I
don’t finish the marathon I’ll have to spend all of that money over again
anyway.
Well fuck.
Looks like it’s time to pour some water on the burnt up
toast and choke it down.
At mile seven the wretched knee pain mysteriously wanders
away. I tweaked my knee in the Santa Barbara Wine Country Half Marathon two
weeks ago, haven’t done any sort of running since in hopes that the tweaked
knee might right itself (well let’s just be honest, I’m a marathon runner who
doesn’t really run, except for during the marathons-so the tweaked knee didn’t
really have anything to do with the lack of running-but the lack of running
probably had something to do with the tweaked knee-oops).
So here I am, less than half way through the race and all I
can ponder is when the knee pain will wander back. But it doesn’t. Until after
the race is finished.
What wanders up instead is a bout of serious nausea and
light-headedness. Which I’ve never had in a race. Ever. I got to about mile 22
and I started feeling absurdly thirsty (you might be thinking ‘well drink some
water doofus,’ of which I had been, crazy amounts of, in fact). I’ve made a
habit out of getting water at every single aid station no matter how closely
they stack those things. When you’re running a marathon, it’s not really
possible to over-hydrate. At least from my experience. So I chugged at least
one, sometimes two cups at every station. And I had been chugging water all day
prior. I don’t really know what caused the drama that day, all I know is that
it took everything in me not to throw up and pass out at the same time during
the last four miles of that race. I was just envisioning myself toppling over
50 yards before the finish and being whisked off in an ambulance to be left in
debt for the rest of my life (I can’t afford them medical bills) when all they
had to do was slap me upside the head and hand me a glass of water, maybe a
banana or somethin’. I think watching this clip https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3iWI72c42gc
the night before might have had something to do with the weirdness I was
experiencing (serious psychological distress caused my body to wig out, I just
know it).
Anyway, I finished. Took me an ugly 4:39 but I did it. Yet
again. So Idaho is officially checked off the list and I won’t have to fly back
to that Ku Klucky place. Ok, I shouldn’t call it that, because in all
seriousness Coeur d’ Alene, Idaho is a magical place.
Let me tell you about it.
We (we being Teagan, Ali and myself-reunited for yet another
running event I’ve recruited them to complete with me-it’s a love/hate
relationship) stayed in the Flamingo Motel, which is the most adorable little
mom and pop spot, just bocks from the start line. The elderly gentleman that
checked us in sweetly tells us about all the amenities as well as the most
delicious restaurants to go to (all while the potent smell of Domino’s pizza
wafts through the tiny lobby). “Man that pizza does smell good don’t it? That’s
my dinner and I can’t wait to eat it.” We leave him to it and head over to the
Country Cottage, our home for the next three days.
We open the door and fall in love. The décor screams country
(if country could scream). Everything about this place is perfect. The beds, the
coffee, the magic fingers. ‘Hold up, what are magic fingers?’ you’re thinking. Apparently they were all the
rage in the 70’s (basically just vibrating beds) but now the only place you can
find them is at The Flamingo Motel. So of course we enjoyed the Magic Fingers
many times throughout our stay. Get your mind out of the gutter. They were
especially nice after our marathon endeavors.
Now that I am home and preparing for my Peru travels,
marathonning is on the backburner, but only until July 13th when I
cross Montana off the list. Oh, and in other news, I finally officially joined
the 50 States Marathon Club: http://www.50statesmarathonclub.com/cgi-bin/main.cgi?form=3
and I am currently in the process of
registering for Marathon Maniacs. What what?! Four marathons in four months qualifies
me for a gold star on the bronze level: http://www.marathonmaniacs.com/are-you-a-marathon-maniac/maniac-criteria
Big things are happening on this fiftybythirty marathon endeavor.
Get excited!
Ps…currently working on a website. Will be launching soon!!
