Oh S#!+...Chasing 2:45

So it has been 2 weeks since Thanksgiving and I finally have my thoughts together to talk about why I am still “chasing 2:45.”

For those of you who are not “friends” on Facebook, the day before Thanksgiving I posted a time goal, something I rarely do. However, this Thanksgiving Day 13.1 was going to be different. I trained different; therefore my goal was not unreasonable. I even signed up for the 2:45 pace team because I felt just that good.

Fast forward to race day.

I woke up 3 hours early as I typically do before a race to make sure everything was in order. I completed the final check of my race items, I mixed up my “super starch” protein shake, prepped my Osmo hydration for my fuel belt bottles, and took a selfie…lol  Next up should have been “moving the crowd” if you know what I mean; however this was not the case. I messed around a bit more and made sure the rest of my family were up and about, they were participating in the 5k. 

530 am- I decided it was time to wrestle with my CW-X tights so we could head down to Turner field…still no crowd movement. I started to get a little anxious because a successful “poo plan” is imperative to my race day strategy.

I’m in wave E and see familiar friendly faces, Janelle and Priscilla. We chat. We take pictures. We are ready. If you haven’t noticed, I have not mentioned being grossed because I had to leave “the crowd” in the port-o-pot.

I really hope they did not smell that. : /

Mile 5-6: I can’t believe this is happening, my stomach starts to cramp but I run until the pace lead signals us to walk. I walk. The cramp does not subside. I pass some gas (sorry folks behind me). Relief. Time to run. The more I run, the more I want to pass gas. My gut is doing all sorts of foolishness. I feel like if I could just let a good one rip, I would be fine. After all, my mother-in-law swears that passing good gas will relieve any body ache. However, I can't bring myself to let it go. I know my body the end result of passing what may be gas, may also be a “shart.” 

I stop running and fortunately there are restaurants nearby that are very runner friendly. I’m pissed. I see my pace group run off. I take my turn in line with the rest of the folks who either can't hold their water or "poo plans" failed.   Bye "crowd." Bye 2:45.

I called Dorian and told him not to look for me with the pace team and cried (I’ve got that bad lately…crying) but reassured him I wasn’t hurt. I continued on my way, really pushing myself hoping I could make up some time. (Yes, I was channeling positive energy). I saw Jurmain. She saw tears. She cursed me. Really, she did. Something like "quit crying and hurry your ass up" but don't quote me. I'm certain that was her way of cheering me on. I needed it. Then I saw my warm and fuzzy people, Cassie and Raquel and pushed a little harder.  They were at mile 12.

I finally cross the finish line and of course my family is screaming and cheering. I smile. I am thankful and blessed for such an amazing support system. I applaud all of them for earning their medals; I was proud of them. 

Well my “poo plan” failed but overall I had an amazing day. I was with family and friends and completed the final race of the "Triple Peach" Series...mission accomplished. I am still chasing 2:45, but I am confident that the next time it won't go down the toilet...lol

Atlanta Half Marathon Medal

Triple Peach