Hitting THE Wall.

I have heard about this "wall" that runners hit. A point in their race where they feel like they can't go on any further. I didn't really understand this wall.... mainly because I had never had one...

Fast Forward. Me. laying flat on the floor of my bedroom. My face landing on a pair of jogging pants(ironic). Crying. Well, sobbing. Ok, wailing.

"I don't want to run anymore"

Scott...my confused for the moment husband...sits next to me and tries to hide his smile and act very concerned about my current state...

"Sweetie...you signed up for a marathon... and you just ran 15 miles! You can't stop now"

The wailing continued for about 35 seconds. Then, after a few moments of listening to him trying to stifle his laughter, I start to laugh....and cry....but more so laugh. I imagine this moment will be re-lived in the Zibell house... except it will be with our oneday 4 year old child who is crying over a missing button on a favorite stuffed animal or a lollipop that fell on the floor and shattered. And this time, Scott will be calming down the appropriately aged person. (Unless, I lose my mind and train for another marathon...which in that case, I will definetely be in a corner somewhere wailing)

Rewind. 3 1/2 hours earlier. And the wall has been hit. And man, I totalled that bad boy. I was not even TWO MILES into a FIFTEEN MILE run and I was already done. over it. tired. physically worn out. mentally gone.

It was the worst 3 hours of my life. AND YES. It took 3 HOURS! That is how bad it was. Last week, I ran 14 in 2:22. And this week, I added not only a mile but almost 40 minutes to the run. Em to the barrassing.

Lindsay, my faithful running partner and I, tried everything we could to get over it as she, too, was not wanting to keep going. We changed things up and started listening to music for the first 5 miles instead of the last. We tried to talk about things that would take up a lot of time and hopefully distract us, like wondering if hell was a marathon race that never ended. But nothing. Two days ago, I was running a 9 minute mile. And today. I could hardly get to 12 minutes. I'm not kidding. It was so very bad.

It was like my body was not my own. I could contort my face and strain with the best of 'em and my body would react by slowing down instead of moving faster. I couldn't find a rythym and felt like I was running for the first time. I haven't been out of breath running in a long time unless I am doing sprints and I couldnt catch my breath. The normal self-talk I do was backfiring left and right because all of the sudden I had a new voice in my head cussing out the inspiring voice. And she was mean.

I wish I could tell you that I won. That I overcame the wall and bounded like a gazelle to the finish line. But, no. I jogged...if you can call walking with a slight hop jogging...to the end with a pained look on my face and an even more pained body for spending the last 3 hours in awful running form.

And afterwards, I walked through the door of my house, dropped my half frozen Gatorade on the floor and crawled to my bedroom where the carpet welcomed me. And wept in self-pity and agony. like a baby. IT. WAS. PATHETIC.

And I have a 16 mile run in 5 days. And I have 5 today. And 7 on Wednesday. And 5 again on Thursday.

So. Today, I need to make a quick list of why I am running. And maybe this will help. If it does not help...then, I may need to pay one of you to get all Tanya Harding on me. Go for the shins.

Why I Run:
For Jennifer Aniston. Well, for Jennifer Aniston's stomach. Actually, because of Jennifer Aniston's stomach. This feels like it is getting creepy. I just want to have a stomach like hers.
For my three little ones. I want to make them proud.
For me. Because I love the space and the thinking time and the music and the empowerment and the challenge.


Ok. I can do this. I just need a little more gusto. A little more Gatorade. And a LOT more carbs.