Let me start from the beginning. Sunday morning in Niagara Falls was beautiful. Nice sunrise, little to no clouds and certainly not the amount of wind we experienced on Saturday. Great! We hopped onto the buses, stopped to clear customs then were whisked away to Buffalo to view the art gallery before starting the marathon. It was a bit chilly but once I started running it was quite comfortable. The first 21.1 kms were excellent. I was exactly on pace, felt energized, heart rate was under control and I had little to no pain. The sun was out and the wind was dead. My half-marathon split was 2:22:50. That was a whole 5 minutes faster than my previous half-marathon split. Things were looking great - I was totally on target to beat my goal.
And then it happened. My hips started to feel very tight and then all of sudden I had a sharp pain, which felt like someone was stabbing me with a fine tipped knife on both sides of my body directly into my hips. I stopped to try to stretch it out and re-focus my mind. I started experiencing slight panic since I realized I was only half-way through. If this pain kept up for the remainder of the race, I wasn't sure I would be able to keep on pace. I started running again. We were now running along the Niagara Parkway, which was beautiful since we were running by the water, but also quite desolate. There were few scattered spectators but for the vast majority of the run there was nobody else, save for the few hydration stations we ran past. The wind was also starting to pick up at this point. The pain wasn't subsiding. It wasn't getting worse, but it was definitely not improving. What to do?
I decided to take a short break at the next hydration station and see if a little more extensive stretching and a bit of walking might help. It didn't. Full panic was really starting to set in now and I could feel the tears forming at the edges of my eyes. Then something amazing happened. A man ran past me and asked if I was OK. No I stammered, I was in a lot of pain - a lot of hip pain. The man stopped running and offered to show me some hip stretches. I graciously accepted. To my immediate relief they seemed to help, if only a little bit. He told me we would walk a little bit and then start to run again - I agreed. We got to talking and I found out his name was Mike and he was from Dallas, Texas. He had run a bunch of marathons and had even finished some ultra trail runs - talk about hardcore. I felt better knowing someone was there. The pain was coming back though and I could tell I was really slowly down, I could feel my dreams slipping away and the tears were instantly in my eyes again. I was looking ahead and I saw my dad in the distance with his phone obviously trying to take a picture. I waved to my family and tried to hold myself together. I introduced Mike and my family said they would be waiting for me at the next spectator area.
Mike and I running with me trying to regain composure and sending out the friendly wave.
By this point in the race the pain was quite unbearable. Running was not something I could consistently do. I think Mike realized this and he suggested we do some power walking for awhile to give my hips a break. He was being extremely positive and was saying things like - All that matters now is that we cross the finish line. Or, Even with walking we are only 1-1:30 min/km slower - not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. I know he was trying to be comforting, but the only word flashing across my mind was - FAILURE. I knew now there was no way I would be able to run more than 1 km without having to stop and walk for another km. My goal shifted from finishing under 5 hours to just finishing period. Somewhere between kilometer 33-37 Mike told me I was "too fast" and would have to go on without him. What an emotional parting that was. He told me to remember the stretches he had taught me and if I had to, I should walk and that I was much stronger than I realized. I pulled ahead and with tears streaming down my face attempted to walk/run to where my family was waiting.
I met my family and when I saw them, I burst into tears. My mum was running beside me but I basically just fell into her arms and started sobbing. There was no way I could finish this. I still had almost 5 km to go and I was done. The pain was just too much. Even walking at this point was hard and I knew I was compensating for the pain by slouching my back which was giving me back pain. Months and months and months of training had failed me and I was reduced to a distorted slow walk. My family kept cheering me and telling me I could finish, I could go on, I was almost there, so close. They would wait for me at the finish line. I reluctantly starting walking, tears still streaming down my face. I had to do this, I had to finish.
I ran/walk for another 3 kms. I was beyond frustrated and pissed off. My energy levels were fine, my muscles were fine, my heart rate was fine, it was my stupid stupid stupid hips that were holding me back. I could have made my time in under 5 hours, I know I could have. What had I done wrong?? Did I not do enough long runs? Did I under-train? Did I not stretch enough? Did I not rest enough? The questions came flooding out and I had no answers. I was devastated to think I would never run another marathon again. I came across a bend in the road and a woman running in front of me had her friends on the sideline run beside her. She too burst into tears as she hugged her friends and sobbed. I thought to myself - at least I'm not the only one having an emotional breakdown. As I ran by I said to her - I just did that myself a few kilometers back. She smiled and I hobbled onward. I came across a man who also seemed to be struggling and I said to him, we are so close! Almost there! (More for me than for him) He laughed and said I know! My body just doesn't want to get me there. How true I thought, either does mine.
The last 2 kms dragged on forever. The course was marked in miles but had markings for the full marathon, the half marathon and the 10 km and I was a little confused on how many miles/kilometers were left. I just kept telling myself - 1 km to go! That at least seemed manageable.
The last kilometer of the race was in fact downhill. Right before the downhill part there was markings on the road, obviously intended for vehicles, but which fit perfectly into my predicament. It said - NO STOPPING!! I actually laughed out loud and said damn right no stopping. The downhill part was winding so it was impossible to see the actual finish line although I knew it had to be close. A single spectator who had obviously ran either shouted to me - it is just around the bend!! I gave him a nod and threw every ounce of strength I had left into my hips and sprinted whatever distance was left. I was alone and I could hear the crowd. The instant I saw the finish line I burst into tears.
Seeing the finish line - the exact moment I burst into tears
The crowd saw me and started clapping and shouting. When I crossed the finish line I couldn't help it. I began to sob. A very helpful volunteer put a coat around me and said congratulations. With tears streaming down my face I chugged back 3 cups of cytomax and collected my medal. A photographer came over and offered to take my picture. I said sure, let me just pull myself together. He said are you kidding me? After what you have been through you look great!! This caused me to laugh and I was able to smile for my picture.
I met my family for a giant group hug. I heard - KRISTIN !! I turned around and saw that Mike had also finished the marathon!! He said congrats, I knew you could do it. He gave me a hug and I said thank you so much, without you I wouldn't have been able to do it. We walked away and my tears started again.
What can I say? This marathon experience was DRASTICALLY different from my last one in Toronto. I thought I was better prepared, not only physically but also mentally. Turns out I wasn't - in both regards. I lost it physically which in turn caused me to lose it mentally. The marathon really is a wild beast. Tough hardcore looking men that could kick my a$$ were also limping and hobbling to the finish line next to me because of knee pain, hip pain, leg pain etc ... It is so unpredictable and it is such a grueling event. Family and friends have been unbelievably supportive and keep telling me I should just be proud I finished. To some extent they are right, just the fact I could finish the marathon is a feat in itself considering how much determination it took to cross that finish line, but to some extent they are also wrong. I didn't set out to "just finish" this marathon, I set out to beat my previous time of 5:00.28 and that didn't happen. I in fact added 18 minutes to my previous time. It hurts, it really does, but I learned a valuable lesson. The marathon is very unpredictable and quite unforgiving. You need to be able to focus and handle yourself when something goes wrong. It also showed me the amazing kindness of strangers. Mike didn't have to stop and help me, but he did. That is what I love about running and running culture. I feel like the marathon spirit engulfs every runner and ties us together as we experience this true test of endurance together. The whole experience alone makes me emotional but this time around it took me to a whole other level.
I promised myself I would never run another marathon after this experience. It was just such a devastating blow to my ego and to my sense of determination. However, Mike mentioned to me that the Chicago marathon must be added to my bucket list. If he saw me at my absolute worst and in a fit state of mind suggested I might run another marathon maybe all hope isn't lost for me after all. I know one thing is for sure, I am taking a break from running. I feel like we need time apart. I might turn back to my true love (swimming) or maybe schedule in some yoga to sort out my hip but I need time to heal (physically and mentally) from this experience.
What will the future bring? Stay tuned !
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