|I don't do graphic injury photos so this is it.|
I was really looking forward to Sunday's run. The temperature has dropped and it's finally starting to feel like fall! I had 16 miles to run where I planned to average in the 8:30-8:45 range for the first 12 miles then ramp up for three miles just below an 8 minute pace before a cooldown mile. I love fast finish runs because it's a huge goal of mine to negative split a marathon and finish feeling strong and fast instead of fading at the end.
I was in the groove, finally! I took the first two miles really easy but then got up to my goal pace and started clicking off the miles, each one slightly faster than the last. Everything was coming into place, feeling effortless as I cruised in to mile 8. Metallica's "Enter Sandman" was on my ipod (I know, I know) when it happened. My toe caught the edge of a part of the sidewalk that was jutting out and I.... flew? At least that's what it felt like. I launched forward, Superman-style, and landed sprawled out on the pavement. I literally made the sound "Oooof" as I landed and immediately rolled over onto my back and started contemplating the meaning of life. It was strangely a perfect metaphor how training has gone for me this summer: One minute I'm high as a kite and the next, SPLAT.
I don't think anyone saw it happen. That or maybe nobody cared that it happened? A few cars passed me on the street but I just sat up and started surveying the damage.
Anything seem to be broken? No. Did I twist my ankle? No. Basically I tore up my right knee, elbow, and a bit of my left palm. My knee was bleeding pretty bad at first but it didn't hurt too bad. I really just wanted to get everything cleaned up and I didn't really feel like slogging home with blood dripping down my leg so I did something I've never done before: I called Jason to come pick me up.
While I was sitting there on the side of the road waiting for my ride I started to get mad. Seriously? The first really good long run I've had in I don't know how long and this happens? I was pissed. Jason rolled up in the car not 5 minutes after I made my distress call and I hobbled to the door thinking to myself "Don't bleed on the seat."
Of all the things to think in this moment.
Anyway, by the time we got home I was doubly sure I wasn't actually seriously injured and I had already made the decision to patch myself up as quickly and get back to the run. (Side note: I absolutely wouldn't have done this if I was in any serious pain at all.) So I cleaned up my scrapes, applied some Neosporin and bandages and headed upstairs to my treadmill to get to work on 8 more miles. I chose the treadmill *just in case* something went wrong after my restart. I didn't want to get far from home and realize this was a bad decision.
But it wasn't! It was actually an awesome decision. I must have been jacked up on adrenaline from the fall, or being mad about the fall, or some combination of the both because I laid down 8 more miles at and average 8:10 pace and finished the last three with an 8:00, 7:54 and a 7:48. I felt like I could have have even knocked out a couple more! Way to turn things around.
I'm not sure why I felt like writing such a detailed entry of this weird run. I guess maybe other than it being a good illustration of how my Chicago Marathon training has been this summer, I also feel like I turned the corner a bit today. Like I'm leaving all the bullshit behind and going to shut up and get this done.