DNF

Lost Turkey Marathon

We hit the road late, so I knew it would be a long drive. We arrived at the campsite close to midnight. Put our tent up in epic time. Enough to get maybe 3.5 hours of sleep. Alarms on our phone buzzed over and over until finally we started moving. Still, our timing was impeccable. We picked up our packets at 5am. On the bus to the starting area at 6:00. I slept on the ride, but it wasn’t enough. The race started at 7:30. 

The very first mile was extremely technical. Already my foot began to complain. But it wasn’t just my foot that worried me. Right from the start I lacked energy. I hoped it was just due to lack of sleep, and I’d start to feel more energetic once I got moving and I really woke up. But my body was just not having it. I felt like I was at the end of a marathon. Sluggish. Slow. Running on empty. Except it was only 3 miles in. I know the terrain didn’t help; it was a lot of uphill the first few miles. I started to get frustrated. Stopped to stretch as a couple of runners passed me by. I knew I was letting my mind get the best of me, but I couldn’t help it. I was already alone. I kept stopping to walk, but I didn’t want to. I turned off once in the wrong direction but didn’t go too far off the trail. I finally arrived to the first aid station just around 9 miles. And told them I might drop out. 

The organizer said that it was only a few miles to the next aid station, and even there I would then have to wait until all the runners finished so they could drive me back. She was trying to push me to continue, I knew, which I appreciated. A runner herself, she knew my mind was playing tricks on me. She said the next section was mild, and the volunteers assured me I was fine for time, told me to ‘just take it aid station to aid station’. Which is exactly how to do it when running an ultra. But I know my body, and I knew today was not happening. I managed to saunter through the next few miles but it was already in my head that I was going to stop. Every time I took a break to walk and resumed running I felt miserable. I wasn’t enjoying the run at all. Which I realized completely defeated the purpose of doing this. 

Running for me has always been therapeutic. I enjoy it. I need it. Sure, there are times I struggle, but I didn’t really want to today. Didn’t want to spend another 3½ hours fighting to get through a race. Didn’t have it in me. My mind kept thinking about the second half of the race, realizing how I’d have to hike for miles uphill, and I had no desire to do that. I probably could have forced it, but why? Partly I think I am over-trained, I’ve been logging too many miles recently without sufficient rest. I was physically lethargic. But the rest was mental. I started to worry about the 50-miler in 4 weeks where I knew I would have these same struggles. It was scaring me. I didn’t want to go through it twice, and so close to the 50. I just did not want to be running any more today. 

I arrived at the 13.1-mile aid station, and immediately told them I was done. I didn’t want to argue with anyone or have the friendly volunteers try to convince me I could go on. I walked off to the side and let myself cry for a minute. I was frustrated and disappointed in myself. Worried. Nervous. It was the first time I have ever dropped out of a race. Although I knew it was right for me, I hated doing it. But I have to let it go. It’s just one run. There have been many before, and I know there will be many more to come. I will be okay.