Oh The Battles In My Head...

" I'm not going to do this.  I'll send Katy a text saying I've got...uh...diarrhea and I can't go.  Damn, I have her bib.  Okay, I'll deliver her bib to the race site and come back home to sleep"
" No. Don't do that. That's not right.  For God's sake you haven't even paid her back for the registration fees." 
" I can't do this.  Forget it.  I'm not a runner. I quit."
" Oh shut the *&^# up and get your @ss out of bed.  Whiner.  Sh!t.  No wonder you aren't improving your time."

"I just don't want to.  It's lost it's appeal.  It's not fun anymore"

" God, she'll be so disappointed. Okay, I'll go.  But then I'm done. For good."

There it is. 
The battle that loomed my head before I even finished hitting the snooze button my usual six times. 

Had I been doing that last race alone, I'd never have gotten out of bed.  Ok, so it's true...having a partner really DOES make you get out there.  Especially THIS partner.  My sister.  If I never showed up for a race, she'd make me feel guilty, for a minute or two.  But then seeing her move on, faster and better than me would kill me. 
( as if she's not already way faster than me already...yeah, no logic there. Big surprise)
But...you know, it's not like she'd totally reject me if I didn't show up, right? I mean...she's family, she has to like me and be nice to me, or I'll tell mom. 
Yes, this was the conversation in my head driving to the race. 

My heart wasn't in this last one.  Not surprising.  I can't say my hearts really in any of them, because it's just hard.  I don't like hard.  I like easy and tasty.  Running is neither of those. 
I had had a weird twinge in my ankle a few days prior, nothing huge, but didn't seem to be an issue come race day.  So I moved forward. 

About 1/2 mile into it, I felt that ankle twinge from a few days prior.  "Eh, whatever.  It's not that bad."  Not even allowing myself to think about hurt, pain, quitting....Nope. 
By mile two, I knew I was in trouble.  It hurt.  Every damn step was like pounding nerves into my heel.  I altered my gait, my feet, my strike to see if I could work with it.  Nope. 

I could still see Katy, and Company ahead of me, and still held the hope that I'd not come in dead last out of the group.  I had not even considered quitting.  I could still catch up with them.  A burst of speed, another burst of speed and I can do that.

Meanwhile, there was a wonderful realization that I was not dead last.  Because this was a charity race, there was a group of 'militaries' in their full camo and gear doing the race too.  Most of them looked like the sh!t they carried on their backs weighed more than they did.  That kept me going for a bit. 

My left leg began to get incredibly tired.  I realized that I was overcompensating, trying to relieve my ankle, only to be putting more weight, pressure and work on my left leg, namely my thigh.  Ok, back off on the thigh.  Less than a mile until turn around.  I got this.  I can still see my peeps. I got this. 

Ohhh, no I don't.  About .20 from the turn around, I see Katy on the other side, after the turn around and I knew I'd have to stop.  She told me 'stop!' ' Wait for the others, sit down...' something to that effect.  As If I was going to listen. 
I decide I'm just going to turn around right then.  I've never cut shirt a race before, but .40 on a 10K wasn't the end of the world.  I still could get out about 5.8 miles.  That's good.  I can do this. 

But sh!t, it hurts.  I wonder what I've done.  I might need to stop. 
'nope, you've never gotten a DNF. No.  Worst thing ever'
"oh whatever. It is not. If you are hurt you are hurt.  There's no shame in a DNF"
' Really?  So you'd be proud?'
" Well no...but isn't well being more important?"
' sure, so the guilt and shame can set in? that's not well being'
" true"
Oh God, here's the battle of my head again.  One of these days I'm going to meet someone who can read minds and they'll petition to have my @ss locked up for being crazy.  hell, even I'd sign that petition. 

In the end, I did not quit.  But I very likely should have.  I hobbled more than I've ever done.  Barely there.  But I had to finish.  I was glad to finish, but I did pay the price.  The pain was horrific by that night, but I heal.  I always have.  I assume I always will.  I wasn't proud, nor embarrassed by the decision I made.  It is what it is. In the future, I'd like to think I'd know what to do, but no.  I'll have to learn it the hard way...again.  Like I always do.  So is me.