Say hello to my little friend.
Prior to the afternoon of April 20th, this was going to be a Boston Marathon recap full of excitement, celebration and tears of joy.
Rather, I have no race recap but lots of tears.
At mile 6, one of my worst fears came true. I got intense ankle pain out of nowhere. It wasn’t an ache. It was radiating pain that went down into the arch/beginning of my heel. I tried to walk it off. I tried to stretch it out. It wasn’t going anywhere and just got worse with every step.
At mile 8, as much as I wanted to keep going, I knew my race was over.
I’m disappointed. I’m angry. I’m sad. I feel bad for having my family make the trip to watch a race in the freezing cold, pouring rain and then not even get the chance to see me run by.
I’m f*cking pissed off. You know what also pisses me off? When I’m trying to write f*cking in a text and it auto corrects to ducking. Really?
Why on this day? At this race? At this time?
I’m distancing myself from social media for a bit. While I’m so extremely happy for everyone who had an amazing race, it hurts way too much to see it. I need some time to wallow in my grief of what was supposed to be my “IT” race of the year. I had huge expectations for it and to see those expectations disintegrate within minutes, is quite painful. Yes, I know it could have been worse. Yes, I know I have a lot to be thankful for. Yes, I know it’s only running.
But it meant a lot to me.
Thank you for all the kind emails, texts, tweets and Instagram messages. I truly appreciate the concern. I just need some time to lick my wounds.