So… it’s a few days after the big race, and I’m feeling a little down. The runner’s high – and let’s face it, the runner’s agony – from yesterday is gone. I’m moving a bit slowly and stiffly this morning. My right big toe is very sore, and the best Mother’s Day present ever would be a pair of new quads. But all in all, I’m not feeling too bad.

Race day was full of ups and downs. I loved all the spectators along the way, especially at the Wilson Street bridge. At another point, what appeared to be an entire high school greeted us with cheers, high fives and applause, which really helps keep you going in the middle of the race when your mind is wandering and it’s easy to lose focus. Miles three through nine were the best by far – I felt good, nothing was hurting, my pace was right where I had planned it to be. The adrenaline rush of being part of this huge thing called the Fifth Third River Bank Run was thrumming through my veins, and well, I was having fun!

And then mile 10 came and I hit the wall – yes, the proverbial wall that all runners talk about. My pace began to dip. Unfortunately, I never “flew” yesterday, but I had been running right where I wanted to be. Then my legs just started to feel dead. I don’t know why. We could spend days analyzing what went wrong, I guess, as we runners excel at that kind of thing. But every step taken was a conscious effort to move forward, with my body going on pure muscle memory while my mind literally screamed “You can do this!” I had a constant stream of affirmations running through my head, chief among them that I only had five, then four, and so on, miles to go. I’ve never looked at my pal the Nike Sportwatch so often as I mentally subtracted what seemed to be every tenth of a mile to the finish.

The lowest point was around mile 13. I’ll admit, I was pretty out of it. The warm temperatures, race day stress and adrenaline, and no sleep the night before all seemed to converge right then and there. Walking seemed a pretty good option, to one part of me. But the other part – let’s call her the warrior goddess – would have nothing to do with that, and pushed me forward. There was not a lot of thought going on as I plunked one foot in front of the other. And please, let’s not even think about my form. But somehow, some way, I got to the last stretch of the race.

The crowds were yelling for all of us as we made our way down Fulton Ave. Some runners even sped up those last few hundred yards. I was in a fog, just trying to get to the finish line. People later told me they were cheering for me, but I didn’t really hear anything but the noise of the crowd. I crossed the finish line at 2:26. Results would later put my chip time at 2:24:43, a little more than my goal. I immediately headed for water and a bagel. That did help some, and by the time I made it back to the gear check, I was feeling more like my old self – a sore, stiff and tired version, but one that could make a coherent thought.

So, I did it. Not quite in the way I had planned, but then what in our lives ever goes as we have planned? It wasn’t pretty. It was hard and long, and took every ounce of whatever I had to give. But I’m glad – and proud – that I did it. And now onto the next battle – because now we know that nothing is impossible, right?

And one last thing… thank you to EVERYONE who supported me, cheered me on, asked how I was doing during training, and then later after the race. You all were a big part of the strength that pushed me through those hard miles, and I honestly couldn’t have done it with out each and every one of you!!

Gazelle Girl Vicki