26 Or Bust!

It’s been longer than usual between posts this time. I’ve been using the time to find a bit of perspective after a new problem arose on Saturday.

Around mile 10 or 11 as we crossed over the Williamsburg bridge into Manhattan I felt a twinge in my left foot. The discomfort quickly worsened and I slowed to a walk. My hopes that walking a few minutes was all I needed were quickly gone as even a slow jog brought sharp pain.

There I was, walking through the Lower East Side in full running gear, complete with spandex pants and an oh-so-fashionable fuel belt, a bit fragrant from the 10 miles I’d already run and on the verge of tears. All I could think was how unfair it was that my other foot was now holding me back. I’d rested and iced as directed, cross-trained like mad, tried to stick to a slow pace and build the mileage back up slowly. Despite all that, I was back where I started in February—injured. Only this time, I was out of time. Just over four weeks from race day, I didn’t have time to go through all that again. I knew I wouldn’t have time to rest, to build up the mileage slowly, peak and taper before the marathon. I’d never be prepared to run 26.2 miles.

I had been so proud of myself for taking on, what was for me, a huge challenge. I committed myself to the program and tackled the training with vigor. I wasn’t deterred by the large fund-raising goal. I started this blog, writing posts regularly. I was getting stronger, faster and starting to calculate my marathon time goal. Now that was gone and I knew race day would find me walking a portion of the marathon.

I was furious, sad, disappointed, completely and utterly broken. 26 or bust I thought? Busted, it seemed.

I got to my apartment and before I even could unlock the door, the dam broke and I was sobbing. Hysterically sobbing.

After a good cry, lots of hugs and kisses and encouraging words from my patient and understanding boyfriend, I realized the biggest mistake I made. The whole way back everything in my mind started with me. I realized what a selfish jerk I was.

This isn’t about me, it has nothing to do with me. I felt like Scrooge at the moment he realizes the true meaning of the day before him. This race is about raising money for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. An organization which helps people battle cancer—from the researchers in labs to the patients undergoing treatments. The purpose of this entire undertaking was to do something for others, to be a part of something larger than myself and hopefully make a difference.

Somehow, somewhere along the way I’d lost sight of everything and thought only of myself. Now, I’m glad, in a way, that I’ve had the extra challenge of these injuries. They’ve forced me out of myself, to remember why I’m doing all of this. The pain I feel is nothing in comparison to what the people I’m trying to help must undergo. This extra difficulty has helped me regain the perspective I lost. The training is harder now, but it means so much more than ever. When I cross the finish line, it will be so much more important. I won’t care what time the clock says, simply that I made it and that with luck, the money I’ve raised will help someone else make it through, too.