They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I will start with this:
Yep, that pretty much sums it up.
I ran my first half-marathon in a lonnng time this weekend (since may 2011, which was also a pretty tough race). I had done all the training and felt pretty good about breaking 2 hours, which in the past would have been slow, but I’m starting to adjust to also having a life.
Friday night (2 days before the race) I felt some rumbles going around in my stomach, but didn’t think much of it. Saturday morning I started vomiting and didn’t stop until 3pm. After one round of puking so hard that I started crying, I started crying because I didn’t think I was going to be able to race. After everything was out of my stomach, I passed out for a few hours, honey-badger style. When I woke up my boyfriend had made me chicken soup and I started to feel better. We still did not think I would race the next day, but I went to sleep a little bit early … just in case.
The next morning we woke up at 7:20am to the sound of pouring rain and both started laughing out loud. I got up and started getting my stuff together. I’m racing.
We arrived at the race and everyone was warming up… I decided I didn’t want to warm up and just stretch a bit and try to stay dry. Alexei observed everyone jogging around before a 21km race, turned to me and said, “are you sure?…They all look crazy.” We both laugh and dance to “Moves like Jagger” until 5 minutes before the start, when I went into my corral.