I am planning to run a half-marathon this fall, as I have for the last two years. The only problem is that back in February, I tore a muscle in my calf and I have only been able to run for a few weeks. Last week, my physical therapist cleared me to begin training for the half as long as I keep my pace slow and gradually build up the length of time I am running.
Yesterday I ran for 50 minutes and it was a little bit over 4 miles, so that's my longest time running since Thanksgiving Day when I ran in a 5-miler. That run yesterday felt pretty good and I was proud of myself for accomplishing it when only a few short weeks ago, I worried I may not ever run again.
As part of my desire to train safely and not re-injure myself, I decided to join Team in Training, the organization that helps people train for marathons and triathlons while fundraising to help find a cure for leukemia and other blood cancers. I thought I would benefit from the group atmosphere, guidance and coaching while easing myself back into running, AND raise money for a great cause.
At the Team in Training introductory meeting, the team leaders and coaches were nice, the other attendees were nice... it seemed like a good idea. I felt good about my decision to sign up and was excited about beginning the upcoming training schedule.
Schedule conflicts kept me from making the first couple of group runs but I made plans to attend today's, even though I'd run 4+ miles yesterday. The scheduled distance for today was 3 miles, which seemed doable.
After work, I changed clothes and headed to the city park designated as the site for that evening's run. This was one of the most popular parks in town and lots of people, dogs and bikes were swarming around the path which circled a small lake. I was a bit early so I stretched and walked around a bit to loosen up my calves. Gradually everyone else arrived and we all signed in and introduced ourselves, stating which event we were training for. About half the group were full marathoners, the rest half like myself. Of the full group, 6-7 were walkers.
The walkers and runners split up and we moved toward the path. I considered the rest of the pack- they were all 20-something, young, thin; they all seemed to know each other. No one spoke to me or even acknowledged me. I assumed as soon as we started off that I would be the last one in the group. And I was.
The plan was to run 1.5 miles to a turnaround point and head back. I knew I was not supposed to run fast, even fast by my standards. Yesterday's 50-minute run had included two 11.2-minute miles, which was WAY too fast for right now. I needed to stay at 12-minute miles.
The distance between me and the back of the pack stayed consistent, which told me that I was at least maintaining my pace, whatever it might be. I didn't really have any idea how fast I was going. At the back of the group were two guys who didn't seem to be all that speedy. I knew that if I had been un-injured I'd have passed them. But I didn't try.
The group turned a corner and I lost sight for a few minutes. When I came in sight of them again, one guy was stretching and the other one was walking. I thought it might be nice to have someone to talk to, so as I came closer to the one stretching I got ready to say hello and though maybe we could run together for a bit. When I was about 20 feet from him, he started running again. Now I know there was nothing intentional, but I felt slapped in the face. I'd already felt like a pariah. Now I felt worse.
When we reached the turnaround point, I checked my watch. At pace, I knew I should show around 18 minutes. Imagine my shock when I saw the time at a hair under 16 minutes. I'd been going WAY too fast.
I rounded the turn and began the run back. One of the Team coaches who'd been walking alongside the stretching guy came alongside me. I told her a little about my injury and how I was supposed to keep it slow. She stayed with me for a quarter-mile or so, then hung back to walk with the other slowish guy, who'd been stooping over his right leg and rubbing it. I passed them and decided to take a walk break at 26 minutes. I began a pattern of running/walking, and finished in 33.03 minutes- imagine if I'd run it all! I couldn't believe it. The official distance was like 2.95 miles, but still! I'd passed the two guys in the back of the group and actually finished well ahead of them.
I reached the lakeside area where all the other runners were stretching, talking and drinking water. As I walked toward the fence to stretch, no one said a word. I had just achieved what was, to me, a major victory, considering I'd been unable to run for over 2 months and had come out of some very depressed mental places.
I ran (practically) 3 miles in under 34 minutes. On a good, un-injury-recovery-day, I'd be happy with that. Yet these skinny bitches looked at me like I carried some nasty contagion- as if being a 40, slightly overweight slow runner were a virus you could catch. It was high school all over again.
I turned to continue stretching even though I really didn't need to any more. I gazed out over the lake and felt an overwhelming urge to cry. Why was I doing this if the hoped-for guidance and support were nonexistent? Behind me the chatter continued and I wished someone would say something. Sure, I could have jumped into their conversation. I'm not afraid to talk to people. My mood worsened as I chided myself for lacking the nerve to do so. But by that point I didn't want to try.
The walkers began to filter in at this point. By contrast, they were chatting animatedly and seemed like a fun group. Of course, they were older and obviously had a lot more in common with me than the runners. I felt like I should have gone with them, and that the runners were probably thinking the same thing. "Look, as slow as you are, really, what's the point? Just go with the walkers."
I imagined they all secretly laughed at my explanation about my injury and the reasons why I needed to keep the pace slow. "Sure, sure..." they thought. "I pity her, poor middle-aged woman, trying to make us believe she's going slow on purpose. It's probably as fast as she can go. I'd hate to be like that." (Of course, I have no idea what anyone was truly thinking, but that's how I felt.)
It was weird. I didn't know what was supposed to happen next- was there a post-run discussion? Would we talk about how our run went and get tips or advice on how to improve?
Not really. Already feeling like an outsider, I just stood around as the rest of them took off in twos and threes. I eventually just left and got in my car, chugging half my bottle of water and feeling chilly.
As I drove home, I continued to fight that wave of sadness that threatened tears. I hadn't felt like this since I finished my first 10-miler back in 2006. My family was supposed to be at the finish to cheer for me as I crossed the line. But they took too long leaving the house and were nowhere to be found as I came in from what was, at that point, the longest distance I'd ever run. I walked among the parked cars, sobbing; others hugged their spouses and kids... but I had no one. A bit later I found them- they'd missed the finish by only 10 minutes or so. But it was really hard.
Tonight- I should have been happy and proud- I'd run 3 miles in a great time under the circumstances. Instead I felt ashamed, isolated and more than a little stupid.
At home, I changed clothes and got something to eat. I found a voice mail reminding me of the official Team in Training kick-off event, tomorrow night- and how EXCITING! it would be!! I knew I would go but I wasn't very excited about it.
I hope things get better. I want to enjoy this. Hopefully I will be able to turn things around.
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