The San Diego 1/2...one for the books!

What a crazy week it has been!

I came home from my trip to Europe and got right back into my workout routine – morning bike ride on Monday, 6+ mile run on Tuesday, 2000 meters in the pool on Thursday – all while horribly jetlagged from the trip.

And, Friday morning, Anne was at my house (with baby Lyla) at 5:30am to get us to the airport for our San Diego ½ marathon weekend.   Some history here – Lyla was born the day after Thanksgiving 2011, and, for the next month, Anne complained incessantly about how much weight she had gained with her and how fat she felt.   So, without hesitation, and as a Christmas gift to Anne, I registered Anne (and myself) for the San Diego ½.  I figured 6 ½ months might be enough time to get her in the condition to run a ½ -- and that naturally, the weight would start to come off, as a result.

Fast forward 7 months, Anne and her husband decided they’d make an extended weekend out of it and rent a house on the beach, which worked out nicely for me.  As soon as Anne and I arrived in San Diego we were excited.  Anne had worked so hard for this weekend and she was looking so good – over 50 lbs shed from the time she’d given birth.  When she’d first started training in January, she had a goal of finishing in 2:45.  Originally, I had agreed to pull her through it, if she really wanted the 2:45, but as time wore on and managing babies, feedings, illness, bizarre sleep routines and whatnot, she told me to run my own race and that she would simply hope to have times under 3 hours.  (Her last ½ marathon in Nov 2010 was 3:15).

After landing in SD, we took this quick shot at the SW gate.

As luck would have it, Anne’s son, Sean, and Lyla were recently getting over some stomach virus – which John so eloquently named “The Butt Bug”… so they were moody and Lyla didn’t sleep at all on Friday night.  Needless to say, I was worried for Anne’s run on Sunday, but John agreed to be on baby duty Saturday night into Sunday, so I was a little more at ease.  
Saturday morning, however, Anne and I went for a lovely 3 mile jog along the beach.  There were thousands of people doing the same – many of whom, we could tell, would be running the ½ or the full the following day – some proudly wore their race shirts while out for their pre-race jog.

On the beach - so nice!

After a fabulous pre-race dinner of steaks and angel hair pasta, I crawled into bed at 8pm and said goodnight to Anne, John and the babies.  The race was to start at 615am, so Anne and I needed to get up at 330am to be ready and out the door and to the shuttle by 430am.
 
But, at 1am, I awakened in a pool of sweat with a wretched stomach ache and raced to the bathroom.  “Oh, no…the butt bug!” was all I could think.  I laid back down, feeling ok after my bathroom visit, and feel asleep until 3am when I awakened again with the same sweats and the same race to the bathroom.  Now, I was feeling nauseous and just wanted my last 30 minutes of sleep – praying it would pass by the time I woke for real.

My alarm went off at 330am and I could hear Anne in the kitchen.  I slowly walked out of my room as she told me the coffee was brewing and would be ready shortly.  I was feeling awful.  The first words out of my mouth were, “I think I caught the kids’ stomach thing.”  Anne just stared at me with a huge, “Oh no!” written all over her face.  “Did you vomit?” she asked.  “No, not yet, but its comin’” I told her.  And, within moments of uttering those words, I was back in the bathroom hunched over the toilet seeing every bit of energy pour into the toilet.  (Sorry!  You chose to read my blog…its only going to get more entertaining from here, trust me.  Feel free to scroll though the photos and be done, if you want.)

We had a quick conversation about “what was I going to do”, but goddamnit – I was just going to dope myself up and take some Imodium.  Maybe that would hold me.  I have done dozens of these marathons, at this point, I knew there would be medical tents along the way, if I couldn’t do it.  But, I have to admit, I had visions of that guy…yeah, you know the guy.  I did NOT want to be him!

I KNOW!  Click on it to really see the horror!  (No, I don't know this guy.)

So, somehow, we got to the starting line at 5am, and I was worried.  I was trying VERY hard to be upbeat and excited for Anne, but the entire time I was wrecked – all I could think about was not getting sick again.  I was in the porta-potty four times before the race, attempting to eliminate whatever might have been left – and I was CERTAIN, by the way, that there was nothing left.  This also caused me enormous stress because WHO runs 13 miles on a dehydrated, empty stomach?  (Raising hand)

Pre-Race Shuttle - I don't look so bad.  

I texted Matt and Kris to let them know this would NOT be my race.  I also didn’t want them to worry if my times seemed odd.  All I wanted to do at this point was cross the finish line – even if it meant crawling.

The race started and the energy was amazing.  I was determined not to let the stomach flu get the better of me.  The first several miles seemed to fly by – I was feeling ok, my stomach wasn’t achy and the humidity in San Diego helped a great deal.  I simply wasn’t feeling as dehydrated as I would in Phoenix.  By mile 6, I was still feeling ok, well enough that my times were still around 9:40 (average) so I was really hopeful.  I had electrolytes in my waist pouch and there was water and Gatorade along the route, but I have to admit, I was too scared to take anything.  I was deathly afraid of it coming out one way or another and not being able to finish the race.  I also want to note that this race course is beautiful.  I have heard people complain about the slant of the highway and the sharp hill climbs from highway entrance to exit, but honestly, this may very well have been the greatest course I have ever run.

By mile 9, I realized I needed to stop and take some Gu and Gatorade.  I did so, and immediately I started to feel funky.  I walked for a minute just to let it all settled and picked back up my pace.  And, then things started to get ugly.  My bladder was immediately full –which of course made no sense.  And, by mile 10 my bladder just let itself go – and now I was humiliated on top of everything else.  I ran through the sprinklers provided by the race shortly after the incident, but it was what it was.  And, if you’ve never run/completed an endurance race before – don’t judge.  You have NO idea.

I walked and ran through mile 11 and was afraid to take any more Gatorade.  I grabbed water where I could and just tried to stay focused enough to finish the race.  I think I walked ½ of mile 11, but by the 12 mile marker I was determined to get the damn thing over with.  The last 2.5 miles had been awful and I was becoming delusional, so I just tried to stay focused and get through it.  A gal tapped me on my shoulder right around mile 12 and said, “hey neighbor” and moved on.  I was wearing my Phoenix Marathon shirt – so I knew she must have been a fellow Phoenician.  As I looked at my watch (12.65 miles) I glanced up and saw the Phoenix gal walking and mumbling at herself.  I smiled, tapped her shoulder and said, “Come on Phoenix, let’s finish this thing together.”  And we did.  We didn’t say much to each other and I didn’t tell her I was sick as a dog, but we crossed that finish line with what smiles we could muster.

I could see the Medical Tent as I crossed and knew that’s where I was destined to go.  The poor guy at the tent was icing someone’s calf when he said, “what can I do for you?”  I managed to eek out something like, “I have the flu, please help me get something in my system.”  He stopped immediately and handed me some Gatorade (Aaaack!) and some salt.  “If you get nothing in your system, eat half this pack of salt.” And off he went.

I knew I had told Anne (and her friend, Dave) I would meet her at the letter “A” in the family reunion area, so I struggled to make my way there.  I grabbed Gatorade, water, a banana, clementines, a popsicle and a protein bar on my way out of the recovery area, hoping something might appeal to me in time.   And, after finding the reunion area, I plunked my ass down and took out my phone to get updates on Anne’s race.

I was shivering beyond belief – the skies were cloudy and Sea World (where the finish was) had winds of 20-30 mph – and remember, I was soaking wet from the humidity, the sweat, the sprinklers, etc.  It was a dreadful combination.  I felt sick.  I mixed some of the water in with the Gatorade and looked for her texts.  I had very enthusiastic texts from friends who were rooting me on, but I was only really concerned with Anne.  And, her times were good!  I was doing the math and could see that if she kept up her pace and stuck with it – she would be under 3 hours.   
I looked up from my seated spot at one point and there was Anne’s friend, Dave.  I really don’t know what he said to me, but I know I told him Anne was pacing for a good finish and that I needed to find a sweatshirt or something.  He left and I could see a “Merchandise” sign in the not-too-far-off distance.   I left my array of food items on the ground and stumbled my way to the Marathon Merchandise booth.  I was smart enough to carry my ID and my debit card, this time, and I was grateful for it.  I asked the sales lady for a Women’s Large sweatshirt and she handed one to me and told me to get in line.

And, this is where everything went awry.

I was trying to stand there, shivering, holding the sweatshirt, my phone, my Gatorade and my debit card and I knew I was about to toss my cookies all over the line.  I quickly tossed the sweatshirt at the cashier and said, “I’m going to be sick, please hold this.”

I managed to get to a trash bin before the rest of my universe exhaled into the bin.  HOW COULD I HAVE POSSIBLY HAD THAT MUCH LEFT IN ME?!  Every ounce of Gatorade, water, Gu and whatever else my system found was being released to the wild.  Some guy came running over, “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, but for crissake, I am mid-vomit in front of 20,000 people, what the f**k is he expecting me to come up with?  He stood there in horror for several seconds before determining that I was not going to stop vomiting because he had asked a question and then simply left.  Another man came by with a very similar question shortly after and I still could not respond.  As I released the last of it, I looked up and a young woman had been staring at me.  “That happened to me after a race once; I hope you feel better soon.” And smiled.  MEN!

Now I was freezing, exhausted, sore, emotional and so so so embarrassed.  I looked at my watch and knew Anne would be finishing soon.  I zigzagged my way back to the merchandise booth – YES, I was THAT cold that I had to go back.  Cut in front of everyone in line and said to the cashier with tears in my eyes, “please don’t make me wait on line again.”  She said nothing, grabbed my sweatshirt and took my card.  I put it on before leaving the line.

Angry, I threw the stupid Gatorade bottle in the bin that I had just left my stomach in and walked back to the “A” in the reunion area.  As I walked, my phone beeped, “Anne Donnelly has crossed the finish line with a time of 2:55.”  I smiled and squeaked out my last bit of enthusiasm for that day – and then waited for her to find my sorry ass.  

On the shuttle - with our bling on

When Anne finally found me, I was a mess.  She felt so bad, but all I kept telling her was what an amazing job she had done and how proud I was of her – and to get me back to the house as soon as humanly possible.  And, so she did and I slept.

My mother asked me, as I texted her from the Phoenix airport, why I would ever run a 1/2 marathon with the stomach flu.  My response, "$135 race entry, $200 airfare, and because I am badass!"