Run, Fat Girl, Run

So for the people who already know me, you’ll know most of this story already, but I thought maybe I could be a little more detailed by blogging it.

Some time ago (about 2 years and 60 pounds ago) I put “Run a 5k” on my bucket list. Why? Because a) I was had a lot less weight for my legs to carry and b) I was stupid. A few months ago, I felt like I had the perfect timing/opportunity to finally train for a 5k and participate in one. So I signed up for a smaller local 5k and started the Couch to 5k training program. I had done the C25k program before, but on an elliptical. Running on an elliptical does not equal running on pavement. I figured this time, I shall do it on a treadmill, and if the weather cooperates, outside on the road.

So the time comes, I start working hard at it. I didn’t just run, I also lifted weights to strengthen my legs so that I wouldn’t constantly be in excruciating pain after running. About 4 weeks in, I realized that it was actually working. I was running more than I ever had in my life (which was still a pretty pathetic distance) and my knees and ankles were holding up just fine. I was even able to play softball and run bases without hurting myself. Given the unmitigated disaster that was the last time I tried to play softball about three years ago, this was a big deal.

So I’m all pumped up by the success and keep trucking along through week 5 just fine.

And then it all fell apart.

I got sick.

And then I pulled my groin playing softball.

And I didn’t run for 3 straight weeks.

And then I still tried to do the 5k.

Not only had I not run for three weeks, but when it got to the morning of the race, I felt like everything was working against me. I barely slept. When I got up, I ate a terrible breakfast of poptarts or something. I felt anxious to the point of a near panic attack (this is a problem common for me that you’ll probably read about regularly). It was just bad. And I probably should have just stayed home. But I had paid $25 to run this race, and it was on my bucket list. I was at least 5/8 properly trained for this thing. I could do it.

So I get there with my stomach tied in knots. I’m not properly rested. I’m not properly hydrated. I’m still on the verge of a panic attack, but then the race starts, and everyone around me is running, and so I run. I might be using the word “run” a bit loosely by society’s standards, but for this fat girl, it was running.

So, I run. I had to slow down to a walk for a minute or so, but I run most of the first mile and according to my runkeeper app, I finish the first mile in 13:30 which is my fastest mile ever. I hope that this illustrates how much of a runner I am NOT. I’ve never been, nor will I ever be a runner. Even when I was an athlete in incredible shape, I still didn’t run except when I was being conditioned or punished by a volleyball/basketball/softball coach. So that time was my personal record for my entire life not just this incident of training. I felt fantastic. I felt like I was on cloud nine. And then at 1.1 miles...

I puked.

I wasn’t puking my guts out or anything. It was just a little bit...probably because I had barely eaten anything that morning. It happened pretty suddenly, but I’m pretty sure it was a result of all those reasons mentioned above for why I shouldn’t have gone through the 5k. As I was off to the side of the road heaving what little my stomach contained, a few of the race workers came to check on me and my answer surprised myself.

“I’m fine. I’ll just slow down.”

I hate vomiting. I feel like it is about the worst physical sensation in the world. I have always despised it. I don’t know anyone that actually likes vomiting, but I have a special kind of hatred for it. I always swore that if I ever barfed while running, that I would immediately quit because there’s just no way I could continue after spewing my guts. No way. I would have to just lay down wherever I am and hope that someone would eventually come scrape me off the pavement and wheel me away on a stretcher.

But not today.

I was not about to be the only person who didn’t finish this thing. I could hear all the nonexistant people judging me “Of course the fat girl wouldn’t finish it. She’s fat.” Screw you phantom people!!! I’m going to finish.

So I kept going. Much slower than before. There was no running involved whatsoever. I thankfully got water at about 1.7 miles and then saw my husband cheering me on at the 2 mile mark. I walked up, gave him a quick kiss that made me feel empowered to keep going, and then at 2.1 miles...

I puked again.

I mean...seriously? I had been walking. I had got water. I had just gotten a kiss from my wonderful Hubby who was there to cheer me on. It seemed like every time I felt awesome during this race, I would vomit. It was pretty discouraging. So once again, someone came to ask me if I was okay.

“I’m fine. I’ll just slow down.”

I’m an idiot. But the same thoughts that ran through my head the previous puke, flooded my mind again, and I knew I had to finish. So I trudged forward all the while praying to God that I wouldn’t die before getting to the finish line. And then it happened.

I finished.

I even ran the last 100 yards or so because I saw that they were taking pictures at the finish line, and I didn’t want to look pathetic. 

Yeah. I look thrilled.

So I finished it, and I wasn’t even dead last. There were like 20 or so people behind me. I finished at 52:26 which is horribly slow, but still...to ralph twice and still finish is an accomplishment for me.

Hubby was there when I crossed the finish line. Although I felt immensely proud for still finishing it, I also regretted doing it at all almost immediately. I felt like I was going to die. Thankfully, Hubby came to the rescue by getting me some water and bananas, and eventually I was okay.

Then we went to IHOP so I could finally get some breakfast which is awesome because I love IHOP, but then I didn’t get pancakes with my meal, and I became angry and disappointed because I thought pancakes came with EVERYTHING. I was looking forward to pancakes, but no. No pancakes. So all in all, it was a terrible day, and I was painfully sore for the next few days.

The moral of the story? I have no business running, and I will never run another 5k again...


...except for maybe the Hot Chocolate 5k because a bunch of chocolate might be the one thing that would properly motivate a fat girl to run.

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FYI, my posting has been scarce this week because my mama is visiting from Ohio, so I've been busy spending time with her this week. I'm sure I'll get back to more regular posting next week. Until then. Peace.