I can be stubborn. In fact, I think I am one of the most stubborn people I have ever met outside of my father. This weekend was one of the hardest times I had to lay down my "Priest pride" and do what I actually needed to do. The Big Sur international marathon was on Sunday. Saturday I woke up feeling just fine and drove up to Monterey California. At the event expo I decided to get some tape for my knee because it hurt during my last long run. I taped my knee that night and felt fine.
3:00 am my alarm went off and I felt great. I showered and geared up for the run. Made sure I had everything, kneeled to pray and made my way out the door and to the bus that left at 4:00 am to the start line.
40 degrees. It was cold but I still felt fine and when your adrenaline is pumping, you somewhat forget the cold.
6:30 am. They called for wave 2 to line up. I got into the line with the 4:15 pace group, which means if I stuck with them I would finish the marathon in 4 hours and 15 minutes. He warned us not to go out too fast and that the first 8 miles were downhill. Downhill my arse! It was rolling up and down, nonetheless, I was good. I felt great...but my knee had another plan. I decided not to listen to my iPod rather instead I would listen to the coaching of the pace group leader.
8 miles down. This was good. My knee was starting to hurt but I was ignoring it. He told us to think of our inspiration for running as we approached the 2 mile uphill at mile 10. Goose. I had her name on my bib number and I would think of her. Look up to the horizon he said, looking at your feet shortens your stride. I did just that.
No walking. I wouldn't let myself was up the hill. Slow and steady wins the race kept going in my mind. I had a good pace, it was no 8 minute mile but I was keeping a good 10 minute mile pace up the hill. The hill was endless. I kept waiting to see the mile marker for mile 11 but nothing. Part of me thought maybe they don't have mile markers on the hill, and then I saw it. Mile 11 great, it's only been a mile, one more to go. I turned on my iPod and kept my steady pace until I reached the top, mile 12! The two mile downhill was next. My knee started popping but I had made it this far and up the hardest hill of the course, I refused to quit. Crossing over Bixby Bridge with a man playing the grand piano was breathtaking as the waves crashed on the coast.
Mile 15. The popping became intense and the pain even worse. I pulled off to the side trying to stretch and pray. A bystander looked at my bib and shouted, "You got this Goose." A medic came over and asked if they could help. Choked up and in pain, I let them tape my knee, but I wasn't ready to give up.
Mile 18. I couldn't do it anymore and I knew I had to quit. I tried walking to see if I could at least still finish but the main was just as excruciating. I swallowed my pride and realized finishing wasn't worth a knee injury for the rest of my life. With tears in my eyes I pulled over and told the medics I couldn't make it.
As the medics took me to finish line I watched the pace group that I had been with cross. Pure sadness. I felt like such a loser and I am still having a hard time accepting this weekend. I see a doctor today and hopefully get some insight as to what happened.
Pride. It sure is hard to let it down.
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