Last week I was returning home from a basketball game when I turned down a familiar street. It took me some time to recognize where I was. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks, it was the scene of my Thanksgiving disaster. Crossing over the 85 bridge reminded me of the horrible morning of cramps.
I had been doing my training for three months leading into the race. Then race day came and I felt strong. I arrived at the race with plenty of time to avoid the anticipated traffic and have time to let the stress of getting to the race subside. I had eaten a strong breakfast and I was mentally prepared to complete this race.
Then, just past the eighth mile they hit, and they hit hard. CRAMPS! The worse cramps in my calves that I have ever felt. They were so bad intense that I could not even handle the idea of running downhill, yet alone the remaining hills that were ahead of me on the course. I had no idea of what to do, of all the bad things that had happened to me on a run or even on race day, THIS was an absolute first. I ended up walking the last five miles of the race, barely able to limp over the finish line right into the medical tent.
And finally, after a month of loathing and feeling depressed about my effort, I finally hit the road again just before Christmas. My weight had ballooned a disaster 16 pounds in just three weeks. And unfortunately my running has not yet gathered the strength that it was did. I have been suffering through bad weather changes which have led to several bronchial infections. So I am hoping and relying on the cross training that I have been doing to help. I have lost eight pounds so far this month and am looking forward to being able to return to a somewhat regular routine within the next week or so, fingers crossed.
But I can definitely admit that seeing the scene of the crime was and is a great motivator for me to get back out there and prepare for the next race.