The Last Leg

The Flying Falcon Relay team for the Detroit Free Press Marathon last weekend-at least three of us-- Science teacher Michelle Tindall, Math teacher Jason Kong, and me.

This was my first race relay and it was exhilarating: watching members of other teams waiting on the tips of their toes as another runner raced in the hand off chute to pass the timing chip. One sprinting in, the other sprinting out, barely touching as the Velcro bracelet switched hands. My blood swirled with anticipation as I went from window to window on the bus, gawking at the elite runners.

I saw, for the first time, the glorious Kenyon Bird. That's my name for the elite Kenyon runner--so fast they are exotic. My lord did those first and second place winners of this marathon fly, sprinting at mile 20 so fast, by the time I got my camera phone to photo they were accepting their winner medals. I crouched on the steps of the relay bus in awe, and they ran by close enough I could have touched them. I think I actually tried to.

I did some jogging along the beach (near Belle Isle) while I waited for Judy because I couldn't sit on the bus watching anymore. I couldn't wait to run.
Our team had gone to dinner the night before to estimate timing-- Michelle did a full half-marathon, Judy's daughter did the second leg, Jason the third, and Judy handed off to me (we estimated the earliest possible times and she got there around 10:50, later than we estimated but earlier than we thought she would, and, when I saw her, I knew we were doing better than we hoped.) I ran the last leg of the race.

Well, it was my last leg in more than one way.

The Saturday before the marathon, I did something unpleasant to my right hip and thigh on my long run with TNT. After the run, I took an ice bath, felt better, and ran the next morning. This further did something unpleasant to my hip and thigh, so I stayed off of my legs, at least running-wise, until the relay marathon. All the runners I complained to about running on cold, untrained legs said that was perfect, that I would be well tapered for the race. I was. I also took mucho vitamen IB (Ibuprofin) and some muscle relaxers the doctor gave me so my leg would not bother me on the run. And, for the most part, it didn't.

The last leg was about a 10K length, starting a little after mile 20. I planned to go almost a minute faster with each mile (I started at an oh so brisk pace of 13 minute per mile) so I could slowly warm up my legs, esp. my right hip and thigh.

I was starting to feel really good around what I thought to be mile 24 of the race and what my Garmen assured me was around my fourth mile of running. Someone on the side of the road was cheering for us and I had passed a few of the runners I saw at the hand off chute. Someone, well or ill intended, I don't know, but someone yelled: "Only one more mile to go!!"

Well, almost unconsciously, everything in my body surged forward, I pushed myself as in a fartlek and dropped two minutes from my pace--which had speeded up to an 11 minute mile. I was now sailing at a 9 minute per mile pace (for me that's sailing; the Kenyon bird probably sleeps at this pace.) I envisioned seeing the finish line and my team any minute. I think this image made me even faster as I passed a few more people I recognized from the hand off chute. This surge strained my leg and my lungs a bit past where I thought I could go. No worries though, because soon I could gulp down some water and collapse beside the finish chute. My legs felt like they were on auto-pilot but that the circuits were going to break and shut them down any moment. Just a few more minutes, and I'm there. When I saw it.

The 25 mile mark.
OH SHIT! That liar!! Why didn't I trust my Garmen??? I looked down, sure enough, I had only gone 5 miles. I had an entire mile left to run on flagging, auto-pilot, felt like tree stump legs and squeezed in the fist of a giant lungs. There is a law; a law I am sure no runner has broken. That law is simply this: you do not run your last mile slower than your first.

In fact, I think there is a related law: you run your last mile faster than any of your previous--esp., idiot, if you are only running a 10K and you have smartly paced yourself to have left over energy for a surge at the end. So with these two laws in mind, I dealt with auto-pilot legs and squeezed up lungs and surged a bit more just to show them who was boss.

I have seen a video of me finishing and it is not pretty. Everyone else seems to have their arms raised, shouts of joy carried on the wind, babies held in their jubilant arms, streamers of celebration emanating from their pores. Then I come bounding in, no smile on my face, just grim determination. The minute my feet pass the timing mat, I stop--not slow down. Just a stop and a sigh, my face red, my legs about to collapse under me and I hobble off camera. It's as if I didn't even know I finished and I think that's how I felt. When I got home, I slept all day, all night, and woke up nearly late for work. That's when I realized something was not quite right with right leg. I hurt so bad I had to crawl up my stairs to get my clothes for work. I went that night to Dr. Jurist, the sports doctor for our school, and he gave me news I can barely think on. He took X-Rays and said that it looked like I have two stress fractures: one on my right hip and one on my right femur--yup that oh so important, weight bearing femur.

Tomorrow I go to Troy Beaumont for a radioactive bone scan. Yippy, I get to drink nuclear shake and then sit in a tube for 90 minutes. I am praying that it is soft tissue damage and not bone fracture. I must get back to training. I will run that marathon. I will not let my early nightmares come true. The doctor said I should pick another marathon. No. I told him I couldn't. I had raised money for the Leukemia society for this particular marathon. He said I should reevaluate how I "participate". I will participate and I will run it, I thought, but didn't say cause he had already looked at me like I was a lunatic about three times during our discussion of how I might have gotten injured. He especially didn't like my comment about the fists fulls of vitamen IB I took before the Free Press race.