RACE DAY DOLDRUMS
One week before the race, one of my KyserunKrew teammates texted me about running the race together and pacing me. Despite my initial misgivings that I would just slow him down and frustrate him, saying yes may have been the saving grace to my first marathon experience. On the day of the race, I was feeling fantastic and optimistic. I had wrapped my knee carefully, taken all the precautions I could and went to the start line with a skip in my step.
My pacer and I started at different pens, so for the first 10 kilometres or so I ran on my own, grinning and calling out to fellow wolves and other running friends whenever we passed each other. On hindsight, my knee did start to twinge at the twelfth kilometre mark, but I ignored it and kept going. My hydration and nutrition were on point. My two biggest nemesis – stomach ache and headache, were blessedly absent that day.
I followed the 6-hour pacers for a while until the 19th kilometre mark, when the niggling pain on my knee began to turn into a constant, dull ache and forced me to slow down. That was when my teammate found me, to my delight and surprise. It was clear from the outset that he was in pain. He winced whenever he placed pressure on his leg, and hissed in agony and frustration whenever we ran downhill. It was ironic to think that we were both hampered by the same injury. I found out later that he decided to run the race with me all the way to the end as soon as he learned my reason for running. He could have pulled out and saved himself a worse injury (which, I’ve recently learned could lead to surgery), but he stuck with me. If that isn’t the definition of crew love, then I don’t know what is.
Whenever I faltered, my teammate would urge me onwards, and vice versa. We spoke about life, about our priorities and fears, about our family and friends. I spoke about my mom, who also happens to be my hero and one of the people I was looking forward to seeing after the race. I think those conversations helped us through the worst of the undulating Duke Highway. We even kept pace with the 6:30:00 balloon pacers for a while.
Things took a turn for the worse by the time we reached the 30-kilometers mark. My optimism about finishing on my targeted time of 6:30:00 drifted further and further away as we took step by limping step. Dull aches turned into agonizing stabs. Despair started to sink in when I saw that we were lagging far behind the 6:30:00 balloons. We stopped often to stretch until we didn’t know what else we could do to ease the pain. Moving forward was the only option. My teammate reminded me about why I was running this race and I thought often about the family, friends and crew waiting for us at the finish line.
