Here’s the deal. I’ve been depressed, angry, frustrated, jealous, and just downright sad over the fact that I’m not running the full marathon. I felt great last Saturday during the entire 13.1 miles, but when I had to turn around as the rest of the group ran on to complete their 20-miler, the tears welled up in my eyes on the run back…alone. I wanted to keep going…to see how far I could go…to say F-you, diabetes. Instead, I turned around and felt defeated. I know that 13.1 miles is nothing to laugh at, that it’s a huge accomplishment in itself, but I set out to run a marathon, a full marathon, and I’m falling 13.1 miles short.
As the big day draws closer, the letdown just keeps building. This experience has given me confidence, strength, and an amazing group of new friends. That’s what hurts the most…the fact that my friends are going to keep going as I turn off towards the finish line…that I won’t be able to laugh and cry with them at the end of our 26.2 mile journey…that I won’t feel the beautiful pain of accomplishing what at times seemed like an insurmountable goal. It hurts.
This has given me the determination to run the hell out of those 13.1 miles, though. I am not going to let this be the end of training. The half marathon is just a step on my way to completing a full one. I will do it, it’s just too bad that it’s not going to be 2 weeks from now…
As I was typing this, I received a call from my diabetes educator, and my hopes of having an insulin pump before the race have been all but crushed. Due to hold-ups with my endo’s office, it will be a small miracle to have it by the end of the month, let alone in time for the half. I’m pissed, and I’m already fed up with an illness that I’m going to be dealing with for the rest of my life…great.