Isn't It Ironic?

12 weeks of training.  12 weeks of getting up early to get my miles in before the boys woke up.  12 weeks of getting excited about running this race.  And I wasn’t able to run it…

I ran my first half marathon in 2007.  I ran it for two reasons.  The younger brother of one of my student’s was diagnosed with leukemia when he was 1.  His mother started training with Team in Training and I thought that was awesome.  Then one of my best friends was killed in a car accident.  I was having a hard time with that loss and someone suggested I do something for closure.  So I signed up to run a half marathon. 

Enjoying a bagel after a long run down by the river.

Running really wasn’t my thing.  I had tried several times to “become” a runner, but it wasn’t happening.  Now I had two reasons to push myself.  When I didn’t think I could run anymore, I thought about that sweet little boy going through treatments.  I could do this for him.  I thought about my friend, who was training for a marathon when he was killed, who didn’t cross the finish line.  These two helped me push past my comfort zone.  The training was tough on my knees and I said that it was going to be my last marathon.  

Then came cancer.  And I decided I needed to run another one and dubbed it my f^%$ cancer race.  I had two friends who said they were going to train with me and cross that finish line with me.  I often cried thinking about these amazing girls and what they were doing for me.  

So we started training.  I felt surprisingly strong.  In 2007, I had to put frozen pees on my knees after my long runs.  I walked like an old woman for a couple days after those long runs.  This time?  Not one pack of frozen pees was needed.  This time when I ran, I thought about the fact that I was alive and healthy.  I thought about how horrible I felt going through chemo and how unbelievably tired I was all the time.  I thought about missing out on my baby’s tiny moments because I was in the bathroom for hours.  It felt so good to be outside and pushing my body.  A body that was finally feeling normal and STRONG.  

Same river 7 years later!

The week before the race, I was so excited.  And emotional.  I pictured crossing that finish line with my girlfriends.  I pictured my family waiting for me.  I pictured how I would feel finishing this race.  I pictured myself bawling like a baby.  The only part that I was right about were the tears.  I cried on Saturday, but because I was too sick to run the race.

Wednesday before the race I had an annoying cough.  But it was just a cough.  I could handle running with a cough.  Then Thursday came and I had the aches and chills and swimmy head.  Friday we drove to Savannah and I was eating vitamin C like it was candy.  That night, I put my timing chip on my shoe, laid out my race clothes, and went to bed praying I would feel better.  I woke up several times with chills and coughing fits.  At one point, I woke up and my eye was sealed shut.  I think that is when I realized I was not going to run.

The first marathon was for my two friends and to say that I could do it.  This one was because I wasn’t sick anymore and was feeling so alive.  Pretty ironic that I was too sick to run it.  But I think that is why I didn’t feel horribly guilty for not running.  I felt guilty, but knew I had made the right decision.  Even if I had somehow managed to run 13.1 miles, it wouldn’t have been pretty.  It would have been awful.  And that wasn’t the point of me doing this race.  I wanted to run it because I felt so good.  

I have signed up for another half on Dec. 14.  It is here in Atlanta.  I am going to rest and hit the ground running (pun intended) on Sunday.  

                                                                 http://jeffgalloway131.com

4 weeks of training.  4 weeks of getting up at 5 to get my miles in before the boys wake up.  4 weeks of getting excited about running this race.  But this time, I am going to run it. 

My wonderful, supportive friends.