walk it off
It's official. I will not be running the Portland Half-Marathon. I have known this since Tuesday, but have delayed writing this post as I have been working my way through the five stages of grief.
How do the five stages of grief apply to my dream of running a half-marathon? I'm glad you asked. 1. Denial:I fell and broke my elbow around 6:45 a.m. on Sunday morning. Then I ran three more miles. Then I took a shower at the gym (no small feat considering I had to get my sports bra off with one hand). Then I worked for five hours. Then I went home and pretended it was totally normal that I could no longer move my arm. Then I went to work the next morning, and attempted to ignore both the pain and stiffness, all the while telling people "It's just banged up. I'm sure it will be fine." Denial. It's not just a river in Egypt. 2. Anger: When I saw the ortho doctor on Tuesday, he confirmed that my elbow was broken in not one, but TWO places. I nodded attentively, taking note of phrases like "no lifting" and "loss of range of motion" and "two months in a brace." When Dr. Lee was done talking, I said, "Sure thing- I'm still good to run my half-marathon in two weeks though, right?" At which point, Dr. Lee looked at me like I hadn't been listening to a word he said (not true, see phrases listed above), and said "Absolutely not." You know the term "seeing red?" Let me explain it to you. Two months of sweating and energy gels and smelly clothes and dear god the chafing and getting bored of all of my playlists and ice baths and actually managing to keep a blog going. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. The anger was temporarily subdued by the issuance of a Vicodin prescription, only to flare back up when the pharmacy wouldn't fill it because I had just filled one the day before from Urgent Care. At least they validated my parking. 3. Bargaining: After the appointment, I started to think about the race some more. Apparently, the doctor's main concern was that I would fall again and injure my broken elbow more severely the second time around. While I realize my track record for this week is not so good, what are the odds that I would fall during the race? I mean, couldn't I just wrap the arm in bubble wrap and slow down my pace? I could be really careful, take some extra walk breaks. Since this is my first race, any time is a PR... And then I remembered. I am the embodiment of Murphy's Law. If I run this race, something will happen. And then I will have to blog about it. Worse, I will have to face the wrath of Dr. Lee. No deal. 4. Depression: This aptly describes the rest of the week, during which I ate an obscene amount of Taco Bell. And watched really bad sitcoms. Really bad. In real time, no less. There's nothing like commercials to sink you into a deep deep depression. Also to make you feel like you have time-travelled back to 1998. 5. Acceptance: I emailed the race organizers and changed my registration to walking the half-marathon. Since Erin (not me, other Erin) and Jon (the silent partner in this blog) will be walking with me, I think I'll even enjoy it. I also looked up the registration deadlines for the LA Marathon in March. I'm going for broke this time - the full monty, the whole ball of wax. I'm training for the full 26.2-mile marathon. While several people have suggested that the universe is trying to tell me not to run, I choose to believe the universe is telling me to stop wasting my time trying to do half of something. On November 14, I get to take the brace off. Then it's off to the races.
