![Pictured (Clockwise from the middle of my face): Sunglasses-shaped sunburn; foil emergency blanket that doesn’t do anything other than make me look like a Big Bacon Classic; Boston marathon finisher’s medal
Not Pictured: OW OW OW OW FUCKITY OW
The race was both a success and a disappointment for a number of reasons: the former because I lowered my shoulder and barrelled through the miles even when things reached Misery-status and the latter because my time was the slowest of my trio of marathons.
The abridged version of today is that everything was swell until about mile 11 when something popped in my left Achilles tendon. When I stopped to check it out, it felt like there was a jellybean lodged beneath my skin (pain flavored) but decided if I could make it to the halfway point, I’d keep on keepin’ on. I was still cruising past the 13 mile marker but the fact that I’d changed my stride caused everything else to suck. Cue the uncontrollable sobbing for miles 18-24.
Boston Fun Fact: You have to qualify to run the race based on standards set by the Athletic Association. Girls my age get until 3:40:59 to cross the finish line and as I was hobbling up Heartbreak Hill, it started to look like I wasn’t going to make it. Fast forward to the 25.2 mark when there was a sign that said ONE MILE [to the finish line]. I had 6 minutes and 17 seconds to get there.
I made it…in 6 minutes and 17 seconds.
I requalified.
I get to go through this again next year.
THEN after the race, as a handsome Australian (sadly, not @indefensible) was removing my timing chip, I went down hard. He quickly scooped me up, dropped me in a wheelchair and I was pushed to the medical tent where I was treated for hypothermia since my temperature had dropped to a lizard-like 93.5.
Despite being terrified, I held my head together until they asked me for an emergency contact number, then freaked out because I didn’t know how they could get in touch with Robyn Hitchcock.
CONFIDENTIAL TO ROBYN HITCHCOCK: Hi. Someone would like to talk to you about my icelike extremities.
After 90 minutes being buried beneath a pile of blankets, I was released back into the wild…and got to walk another mile and a half back to my hotel.
I know I mentioned this before, but I honestly can’t thank everyone enough for the outpouring of support you showed me today. I also hope you know that you were all a HUGE part of what kept me running because—no matter how this thing had turned out—I knew it would be way easier to endure the pain than it would to tell you guys that I quit. Thanks for giving me so many reasons to keep going.
Love,
#9456](http://www.tumblr.com/photo/1280/gordonshumway/98312676/1/gopjZw2t0mjcqe1gdZxg0LbH)
Pictured (Clockwise from the middle of my face): Sunglasses-shaped sunburn; foil emergency blanket that doesn’t do anything other than make me look like a Big Bacon Classic; Boston marathon finisher’s medal
Not Pictured: OW OW OW OW FUCKITY OW
The race was both a success and a disappointment for a number of reasons: the former because I lowered my shoulder and barrelled through the miles even when things reached Misery-status and the latter because my time was the slowest of my trio of marathons.
The abridged version of today is that everything was swell until about mile 11 when something popped in my left Achilles tendon. When I stopped to check it out, it felt like there was a jellybean lodged beneath my skin (pain flavored) but decided if I could make it to the halfway point, I’d keep on keepin’ on. I was still cruising past the 13 mile marker but the fact that I’d changed my stride caused everything else to suck. Cue the uncontrollable sobbing for miles 18-24.
Boston Fun Fact: You have to qualify to run the race based on standards set by the Athletic Association. Girls my age get until 3:40:59 to cross the finish line and as I was hobbling up Heartbreak Hill, it started to look like I wasn’t going to make it. Fast forward to the 25.2 mark when there was a sign that said ONE MILE [to the finish line]. I had 6 minutes and 17 seconds to get there.
I made it…in 6 minutes and 17 seconds.
I requalified.
I get to go through this again next year.
THEN after the race, as a handsome Australian (sadly, not @indefensible) was removing my timing chip, I went down hard. He quickly scooped me up, dropped me in a wheelchair and I was pushed to the medical tent where I was treated for hypothermia since my temperature had dropped to a lizard-like 93.5.
Despite being terrified, I held my head together until they asked me for an emergency contact number, then freaked out because I didn’t know how they could get in touch with Robyn Hitchcock.
CONFIDENTIAL TO ROBYN HITCHCOCK: Hi. Someone would like to talk to you about my icelike extremities.
After 90 minutes being buried beneath a pile of blankets, I was released back into the wild…and got to walk another mile and a half back to my hotel.
I know I mentioned this before, but I honestly can’t thank everyone enough for the outpouring of support you showed me today. I also hope you know that you were all a HUGE part of what kept me running because—no matter how this thing had turned out—I knew it would be way easier to endure the pain than it would to tell you guys that I quit. Thanks for giving me so many reasons to keep going.
Love,
#9456
