I ran my second half-marathon on July 15th. Once again, it was hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut, but I somehow managed to have a good day. I shaved 11 minutes off my time and felt pretty good for nearly the whole run. I was happy when I finished, and began to have high hopes for October’s marathon.

Then a double whammy of a heat wave and a cold knocked me off running for two weeks. This past Monday, I hit the road determined to get my mileage back to where it should be. Monday night I pounded out 7 miles. Wednesday I dropped it down to a quick four.

Saturday was the real test.

I headed out for my first four mile loop, then stopped back at the house for water. Joy hopped on the bike and I grabbed Tes and we did another four miles, looping back to the house. More water, and a gel pack, then off again [leaving Tes home].

Now, I’d lost a lot of steam around the 7th mile, so I wasn’t really looking too fondly at the prospect of this next loop. But Joy rode behind me and provided silent moral support. Silent because, well, I sure as hell didn’t feel like talking. But I got back into my groove around mile 10, just in time to ease back to the house in mile 12. Once again, I hydrated [and threw up a little] and we set out for the final loop.

I was beyond “lost steam” at this point. I think I was only moving forward because my legs had forgotten how to stop. That being said, I probably walked a half-mile total during the last 2.5 miles. My legs felt like I’d been given a steel-toe-boot beat down. My feet were convinced someone had smashed them with a sledgehammer. My ribs swore that a steel band was tightened around me. My mouth was twisted into a sneer.

Some old people backed out in front of me and I yelled at them.

I was in pure agony. There were no endorphins to make me feel better when I hit the 16-mile mark. I could barely walk. There was nothing left.

Well, nothing except for an intense craving for sour cream and chive potato chips. Man, those were good.

A few days ago I checked the Lakefront Marathon website to see how many people had registered. There’s a limit of 2500, and I think it showed 2478. I’d originally planned on waiting to see how that 16-miler went before I registered, but something told me I should do it right then. So I did. By the time I got home, registration was closed.

But hey, I’m in now. Nothing short of a broken body part will keep me from this race! (oh please, something break)

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