The Loch Ness Marathon was supposed to be my comeback marathon – my FU to the pandemic, my FU to my cycling injuries, my FU to my running sprains. Was I nuts to think I could run a marathon after breaking and dislocating both of my elbows and tearing my rotator cuff? Well, yes and no. I have run marathons with injuries before – bursitis of the knee, ITB inflammation. Heck, I even completed the Great Wall Marathon and the Thunder Dragon Marathon on a sprained ankle. Some injuries you can’t run through, though, and sometimes you don’t know until you get out there.
Once my doctor discharged me from physical therapy in June and cleared me to run, I laced up and hit the pavement. (Not literally. That comes later :). However, the six-month hiatus from intense cardio, 30 extra pounds of body weight, and the oppressive Oklahoma heat made it especially grueling. I threw myself into Pilates and indoor cardio to build back my strength and stamina. I told myself I would lose the weight, and the cooler weather in the fall would make training more bearable. I was doing all right until I sprained my calf running two weeks before the marathon. No, not now! I barely hobbled back to my house. If I stayed off of it, though, I hoped I would heal enough to run on October 3. Luckily, it felt better a few days later.
As I rushed through the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport on the way to Scotland, I sprained my calf again! It took everything to hobble to my next connections. By the time I landed in Scotland, I had been awake 30 hours. Rain poured down. Of all the times not to have a jetway to exit the plane. I hoisted my bags over my shoulders and limped down the steps to the tarmac. On the last step, I lost my traction and flew facedown on the ground. Pain surged through my knees, elbows, and head. Other passengers rushed to me to pick me up. “Just let me lie here,” I told them. I knew I messed up and wasn’t ready to move.
A cute Scottish medic came over and pulled me up. “You have a cut on your forehead. Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I said. He cleaned off my head wound and grabbed my bags for me. I would be if you give me your number, I wanted to say.
The next day, I limped five miles through Edinburgh. We had only one day there, and I was not going to miss visiting the old city and the castle!
When I wasn’t hiking, I iced and elevated my legs as much as possible. My knees were so swollen, it hurt to bend them. I hoped by some miracle my injuries would heal in time for the marathon. Would it have been wiser to switch to the 10K? Probably. Even though finishing the marathon was a long shot, I had to try. I knew I could finish the 10K, but I would always wonder if could have finished the marathon. I had eight hours and fifteen minutes to finish. That is eighteen-minute miles. It was possible.
When the bus dropped us off at the starting line, it was cold, wet, and windy. Totally shitty weather. And we had to wait out in the elements for an hour and a half. Anticipating walking part of the course, I dressed in more layers than usual. When the race started, adrenaline coursed through me as I darted downhill. Maybe the downslope would propel me and ease some of the tension on my muscles. Four minutes in, however, my calf sprained again. No, not again! I knew if I didn’t slow to a walk, I would really mess it up. So I staggered and fell to last in the pack.
I tried to enjoy the lush scenery and hillsides of the Highlands. The rain brings out the greenery, I thought. How many people get to do this? Don’t focus on the sprain; just focus on the one-lane road ahead of you.
I was soon alone, expect for the course marshal who trailed me in his car. He asked, “Can you go faster?”
“I am afraid not,” I told him. “I am lucky I am moving at all.”
I came upon a cottage with some spectators. They clanged on pots and pans to cheer me on. “Thank you!” I said. It helped to have some encouragement.
I checked my watch. A 20-minute pace, and I was at 4.5 miles. And I really had to go to the bathroom. Even if I could speed up, it allowed no time for water stops, potty stops, or changing layers – all necessities. No way was I going to make it in time.
“I’ll walk to the five-mile marker,” I told the marshal.
“Are you leaving the course, lassie?”
“Yes, I am.”
As I finished my final stretch, I was disappointed, but knew I made the wisest choice. In the past, I would have berated myself for “quitting,” but I have been running long enough to know not all races work out. There will be another race and another day. At least, I got to see Scotland!
