Is Eight the New 26?

While we are all waiting for results from Chicago (which, like an idiot, I kept checking yesterday thinking it was yesterday, despite all evidence to the contrary), I'll tell you a little story.

"Why did eight miles today feel harder than 26 did last Saturday?!?!?," I asked one of our coaches when I finally made it back to home base yesterday, 1 hour and 52 minutes after leaving . He said it takes one day to recover for every mile of the 26 you run. So, my feelings were normal. And, hence, the four-week taper.

It was raining yesterday. No, not raining. That would have been nice. Pouring. Buckets. Drenching, cold, miserable, non-stop rain. It started Friday night, in fact, dripping through the ceiling of my third floor condo (I live in a four-story building, so tell me how that is possible??!?!) Through the night, I had hoped it would lighten up by morning. By morning, as I drove to our practice site, through massive puddles threatening flooding, barely able to see out the window, I thought, it just has to lighten up by the time I get there.

It didn't.

Out of about 400 runners, maybe 30 showed up. Obviously, the 30 with no common sense. My group had dwindled to me and two others, and we were joined by a fourth runner from a much faster group, who was a delight to run with.

This would be my first actual running since last Saturday, so even though it was only eight miles, I was very apprehensive.

I wore my brace, but it didn't do it's magic this time. I went slow. And try as I might, my form was all screwy. I was limping while running, which was doing wonders for my left leg—the good one. I even asked someone to watch me and tell me how to stop it. All they could say is it looks like you are limping.

I told my group to go on without me after three miles.

I was a sorry sight. Soggy, glasses fogged up, splattered with mud, all alone, doing this gimpy running/limping thing. I kept trying to make myself not limp. I think I was limping partly out of fear of pain, not actual pain itself. Though fear of pain can definitely seem like pain, so it's hard to tell. I was running on sidewalks, through deep puddles, so I couldn't see what was beneath them, which was making me sick with worry that I would trip and really hurt myself.

I made it to the four-mile turnaround, and from four to five miles I took two extra walk breaks, contemplating my situation, and feeling very sorry for myself. Here I was at 9 a.m, on Independence Ave., in the middle of pouring rain, by myself, with four miles left to go. No money, and not a lot of options.

I ran/limped to mile five (around the Washington Monument) and then switched my watch to a 2:2 ratio, thinking that might help. And THEN what happened was,

I ran the rest of the way back to the start with no walking.

OK, it was a sloooooow run, but every time that two minutes beeped, telling me to walk, I thought, well, let's just see if I can run for two more minutes. And I'm telling you, at every beep I said the same thing: "Just run for two more minutes, then you can walk."

Am I one determined chick, or what??!

So you've seen the evidence that my PT is physically battering me. Here's my question: With less than three weeks to go to the marathon, is she doing me more damage? She's working on building strength, in addition to relaxing my ITB, but is that a reasonable goal in only three weeks? Or is she just leaving me in a weakened state after each session, legs and muscles too sore to run?

It makes me so mad when I think how I begged for PT more than three weeks ago; had we started then, I might have been finished now, and able to rest my legs. Now, I don't know what's best. I mentioned, again, to the PT, that I had only three weeks left, and got a lecture from her on how two sessions weren't going to cure anything, and how I had to do my part too, she couldn't do it all.

No s**t, really?

$!&^@!!!!!

That's all I have to say about doing my part.

So, while we're waiting, (and btw, GREAT JOB DIANNA!), weigh in, and tell me what you think. I'm so close and I feel like everything is falling apart at the last minute.

The end.

****

Late addendum: p.s. Kudos also to Susan, who kicked ass and took names in her 1/2. Congrats!