My mom took the first shift. She dropped me off part way to the park so I could run there. Then she drove around and found me a couple different places to give me water. Then she handed me off to my dad. Dad had cross country practice that morning but once he was done, he was ready to bike alongside me. I put a basket on the handlebars of his bike so he could carry my Powerade, water and Huma gels. He stuck with me for most of the last 11 miles. (He somehow managed to lose me for 3 miles on a trail running from the park to the nature center, even though there is only one path there and back. It's not the first time he's lost me and I'm sure it won't be the last. It's tradition, really.). Then as I got to mile 13, my 6-year-old niece Addison joined me for the last 1/10 of a mile. The run was a family affair. I dubbed it the first ever Rinchiuso Family Half Marathon.
Since I live in the land of flat, running anywhere else seems like scaling Everest. And that is what happened this weekend. On the route that I was using, I knew there was one particularly steep hill and as we headed down it on the way out, I said to my dad, "I'm planning on walking up that on the way back." What I didn't realize at the time was there was another hill in my future - this one a good half mile long. I ran the whole thing, felt fine and continued on my way. That was not the last hill. Not by a long shot.
I finished my run, enjoyed my vindication of getting my half marathon in despite mother nature's plans to the contrary and even came up with a slogan for the first ever Rinchiuso Family Half Marathon: "No shirt. No medal. No Hurricane." Hey - I had lots of time to think and less oxygen getting to my brain.
After the run, I hopped into my mom's SUV and asked if we could stop to get a fountain soda. There's something about several hours of running and drinking water and electrolyte beverages that make me crave a sugary drink. We stopped at a gas station a few miles away. We arrived and I was ready to hop out and grab a drink. Let me re-phrase - my spirit was ready. My legs, however, had already turned to jelly. Using the "oh crap" handle above the door of the car, I eased my way out of the vehicle and limped to the door of the gas station, my niece walking ahead and turning around every few seconds to stare at me limping along behind. She would ask several times that afternoon if I was ok.
I quickly realized I was in for a painful afternoon. I have never before been so sore after 13 miles. Here is a partial list of things I could not do without pain:
- Sit down
- Stand up
- Bend over
- Pick up something I had dropped
- Get into a car
- Get out of a car
- Walk down stairs
- Walk in any way
Not related to the sore legs but still painful, I had discovered 10 miles into my 13 mile run that my shirt was rubbing my right arm in such a way that it was producing a good deal of chafing. Every distance runner knows and dreads that feeling - knowing you're causing yourself pain but knowing there's nothing you could do about it until your run is done. So I continued on for my last 3 miles, dreading taking my shower and the crazy pain that would come when the water hit my raw skin. A little Body Glide before the shower helped, but my moving arm at all caused rubbing against my t-shirt. I had to spend the evening and all of today with my arm bandaged. At least it looks a little badass - like I have a legit injury and am not just a victim of aggressive rubbing.
So to sum up my weekend - good run, family support, jelly legs, aggressive rubbing.
We marathoners are an odd bunch.
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