#and having them whipped out from under me at the 11th hour has been. Challenging.

[ampleappleamble]

Me: aw man i don't wanna be induced at week 38, that seems too soon! ...maybe if i'm lucky i can make it to week 39–

My doctors, today: good news! because of Reasons, you'll have to be induced at week 37

Me:

[a-running-bean]

October 13

Today’s story began with a beer and a challenge.

The beer: My friend Ashley was visiting from NYC in July. I took her to my favorite Catskills town, Livingston Manor. We hit up the Catskill Brewery after dinner and I spotted a poster for a local half marathon on the one-year anniversary of our accident. It was decided right then and there that I was going to do it. It sounded perfect. My favorite race distance, my favorite town, and the anniversary of my and Michael’s second chance at life?! Sign me up.

The challenge: Run a half marathon in under 3 hours (an average pace of roughly 13:45 per mile). The race directors had set a time limit of 3 hours for this race -- something I had not previously considered or worried about in the past, due to the simple fact that I never had to. I was more concerned with (a) making it to the end, or (b) setting a new PR, depending on my training. I really didn’t think I could do it.

As soon as I registered for this race, I sent an email to the race directors. I told them our story, about my injuries, and that I was going to participate (despite the “runners only/3 hour limit” directive on their website. I received a response along the lines of “okay, if you run past 3 hours, you will lose course support” and I said “sounds great, I’m still coming.” I knew I would do it and finish, no matter how long it took. I was prepared to arrive at an empty parking lot, no volunteers left to cheer me on, finisher medals long since packed away and taken home.

Fast forward to today. This was to be my 11th half marathon, my second 13.1 in the last three weeks. The last one was... interesting. I walked 90% of it, only attempting to jog at a few points between miles 9 and 12, and I eventually ran the last half mile hand-in-hand with Michael, blinded by tears because I couldn’t believe I was actually able to do this again. We finished that race in about 3 hours and 42 minutes. But today, the pressure was on. The pressure for 3 hours. I wanted that medal, I did NOT want to keep my friends waiting at the finish line, and I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that I still had it in me.

A brief side note here: I have been unable to train or run regularly since late July. I’ve been suffering from daily, persistent, debilitating pain in my left knee that I suspect is related to some hardware in that area. I am having some screws taken out on October 24th and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this solves the problem. BUT that means that I did this race with zero preparation other than the last race in late September.

The weather was cold (wind chill of 36ºF) and rainy when we arrived at the start line. We were bused 13 miles away from the finish line and dropped off at Mongaup Pond Campground. I spent the entire bus ride trying to ignore the chatter of racers seated near me and also trying not to whip myself up into a panic attack. I took several deep breaths, closed my eyes, and kind of wished that someone around me would ask if I was okay. As we got closer to the campground, I became more and more convinced that this was a bad idea, that I was woefully underprepared, and that I would do better to ask the bus driver to take me back to my car. I felt a lot like I did back in 2016, waiting at the start line of my first marathon, when I turned to my mom and said, “What am I doing here? I can’t do this!!”

But, just like any other race, the gun went off and we went forward. I placed myself at the back of the pack and told myself I’d try to shuffle along for the first quarter mile. I was pleased to see that there was another lady plodding along at the same pace as myself, as the pack took off and we were left staring at a sea of neon windbreakers. I introduced myself and told her the elevator speech version of my story. And eventually, I passed her at the first mile... having run the entire first mile without stopping to walk. 

It stung a little bit every time one of the volunteers stopped me to ask if I was okay. One guy asked if I was going to make it. Because of my knee pain, my gait is affected, so I look like I’m running on a twisted ankle, limping pretty noticeably. I made sure to smile really big and say, “No, I’m fine -- it’s always like this! Thanks for checking up on me!” After the first three and a half miles of running around in this campground, we were turned loose onto the road out of the park until mile 7. That’s when the fun began.

This course was full of rolling hills, with a net downhill. I decided that I would run the uphills (because, as my former running partner Ryne knows, I love to tackle a good hill) and the downhills (because downhills are just free speed, and I needed all the help I could get) and do whatever felt good in-between. I spent a good 2+ hours trotting along by myself, listening to my favorite playlist that has gotten me through many a race, taking in the scenery, and thinking about what this day means to me. I was alone, other than the occasional volunteer passing me in their car or waiting at a water table. I was DFL (look it up if you don’t know) and I felt a little bad that they started packing up as soon as I passed. But then again, I stayed in front of that 3-hour cutoff pace the entire time, so I really wasn’t keeping them from anything after all.

I had a moment at one point in the middle of the race where I was running down a nice hill, the fields were spread out before me, the blue sky was peeking out behind some giant puffy clouds, and I just started crying at it all. Running gifts me these moments of feeling most alive. I haven’t had one of those moments in a looooong time. It has happened before; I am just bowled over by the good fortune of being alive, the privilege of being able to participate in running, whatever stars aligned to put me right there at that moment. And it brings me to tears every time. This is what I felt in that moment: Maenesia Mathews did NOT kill us; she may have changed my body and made it harder for me to do what I love, but I am ALIVE and I can run in some capacity, and that’s something to be thankful for.

Around mile 8 or 9, the wheels started to come off. I definitely bonked and hit the wall. I spent a lot more time walking during the last four miles. I hit #10 and the last 5K felt like an eternity. But I realized, “I’ve made it this far... I can make it that far.” So I just kept power walking, and shuffling when I felt like I could. Unfortunately there weren’t many big downhills at that point, but I had also banked enough time where I felt I had a decent cushion to allow for walking and still make the cutoff.

After mile 11, I passed a girl who had sat behind me on the bus with her sister. She was walking on the side of the road. I greeted her, thinking she had already finished the race. She mentioned she was waiting for her mom to pick her up. After mile 12, I felt a hand on my shoulder: she had run to catch up with me. I misunderstood her before -- she had decided to give up and had called her mom to come get her off the course. But when she saw me pushing on, and realized she only had a mile left to go, she decided to keep going. We ended up finishing together, hand in hand, total strangers helping each other finish. And then my wonderful friends showed up to have a few beers and celebrate the fact that I’m alive and can do things like half marathons!

My final time was 2:57. I cut nearly an hour off my time from September’s race. The medal now hanging from my rack is probably one of the most hard-fought, well-deserved medals I own. I am so proud of my effort today; I left it all out there and didn’t hold anything back. I didn’t let fear overtake me. I dug into myself to find the power to keep going, even when my hamstrings and glutes and calves felt like rocks and my knee was screaming at me to stop. 

The point of all of this is to highlight the fact that, a year ago today, a distracted/drowsy driver swerved into my lane while I was driving us to work, and caused Michael and I to experience the most traumatic event of my life. She took months away from my job; took away my ability to run for a long time; has caused me indescribable amounts of physical, mental, and emotional pain. But she didn’t take my life and she didn’t take away my fight. I will never forget the details of that day, or the trials over the months that followed. I am most thankful that nothing serious happened to Michael that day, and that he has since been my biggest cheerleader and supporter through every hurdle and speed bump.

A final PSA: PLEASE don’t drive drunk, drowsy or distracted. You think you can record a Snapchat video while you’re driving, or you can respond to a text, but someday it could be you who is responsible for an impact like this accident had on me. You could be responsible for changing someone’s life forever, and not in a good way. It feels like a slap in the face to see my friends and loved ones post videos online that have clearly been recorded while they were driving. Please know that I have no place for you in my life if you do that, and that I do take it personally. You know me and know what I’ve been through -- don’t do that to someone else.

Much love to everyone who thought about me, cheered me on, or congratulated me today. Stay tuned for more adventures next year!