gadget

gadget

Monday, June 24

On Quitting

More than a month has passed, but here's the ending to my story: I didn't finish my marathon.

It still sort of feels like a bad dream.

I did all the work. I didn't show up on race morning unprepared--no, I did 18 solid weeks of training. 18 weeks of speed, long runs, tempos and high mileage. I tapered properly. I hydrated, I woke up early,  I was mentally strong. What I wasn't ready for was the weather.

WHY SPRING, WHY? I trained in the coldest temperatures, only to find 20+ Celcius on race day. Last summer I learned that heat is not my friend--I sweat like my dad, my stomach rumbles, and my blood sugar plummets. I knew that the heat would be bad, but I thought, surely, I'll be finished racing by the time it gets really warm out!

No. I felt totally great for 15k, right on pace, holding back even. Around 16-17k my stomach started to feel a little woozy. I tried to shake it off, but I was feeling more rotten with each step. At 18k I started to lose focus. Pretty soon we were running down Southdown, past a Pizza Pizza and into industrial land. It was hot, and even though I had been drinking plenty of water and Gatorade, I was heading fast into dehydration. My face was grainy with sweat salt. I passed 25k and knew I was in real trouble. I ran Around the Bay at a faster pace just a month earlier, feeling totally great the whole race. I ran 35k in training just three weeks before and felt completely fine--never had I felt this bad. This wasn't just muscle soreness or body pain--obviously I had those too--this was my body shutting down. I checked my blood sugar (which I never do in a race) and it was hovering around 6, but this was after shoving down a gel and downing two cups of Gatorade. My legs were shaking. I wish that was an exaggeration. I didn't feel confident I could keep my blood sugar stable over the remainder of the race.

At 27k two women running by me commented on the "running on insulin" bib I wore on my back: "Is that performance-enhancing insulin har har har," they said. "It's actually life-saving insulin," I said. And that's when I knew I wasn't finishing this race. "I hope you don't stab us with needles!" they said, cackling. Bitches.

I stumbled through a few more kms and then started to walk. A man stopped beside me and asked me what kind of insulin I used--holy crap, a fellow diabetic. He told me that he'd run 10 marathons since being diagnosed, but admitted that he always finds them tough and wondered if he'd run another after this. He pledged to keep running with me--walking with me, if needed. This was my second wind! This was my guardian angel! I tried running with him for a few minutes...but as soon as we came across the medic tent, I waved him on. My race was over.

This race was supposed to be the biggest accomplishment of my running career, and a defining moment of my diabetic life. Of course, I put way too much pressure on myself. I was hoping to run a 3:40-3:45 race, but I would've been content with a 3:50 or 3:55. The way I was feeling at 30k? I probably would've had to walk the rest of the course, or risk passing out. I knew for certain I would pass out if I kept running. And a diabetic passing out from dehydration and heat stroke in the middle of Mississauga? I would've ended up in the hospital. I got scared.

There are so many people that run marathons these days, and the prevailing opinion among nearly all of them is that the only thing that matters is finishing. Felt like death for the last 10k? Who cares, at least you finished! Fueled improperly and cramped and barfed and never want a run a marathon again? AT LEAST YOU FINISHED.

My goal for this race was to not feel like death for the last 10k. That's why I went out easy in the beginning. I shouldn't have felt like I was dying at the halfway mark. Something was seriously wrong with me, and I made the smart decision. Smart, but it sucks. I didn't finish. There's no finality to all the time and energy and blood and sweat I put in.

And that sucks.

But you know what? I'm ready to run again. I've peppered my summer training schedule with track parties. Through this winter training cycle I learned how to train properly, what not to do, how to stay mentally focused. And now, through this failed race, I've learned that I can't gamble on a spring race date. I need cooler temperatures. So maybe this fall will be it?

I didn't finish the race. My body said no. My body reminded me that it's built imperfectly. I never expected my "running on insulin" bib to be so prophetic. Insulin and I started the race, and then we quit it, but we're still running.

"You DNFed your first marathon???" At least I didn't finish DFL.