The word that keeps coming to mind is 'broken'. I have gone from a point where I felt strong and capable in my running to a sudden and constant state of being... 'broken'.
Jesse, my loving husband and cruel coach, promises me this IS the point of the Jack Daniels training. I think it is important that I point out what a lier I think Jesse is. I also hate Jack Daniels (a.k.a "Jackass", my nickname for the Doctor and professional running coach). Jesse started lying some time ago, a sprinkling here and there, but now it is all the time and it is very confusing...especially when you are 'broken'. He started with things like "you are doing great!" or "nice job today!", but on a recent "easy run" I realized it is pathological.
The alarm sounded at 5:15am. I had just fallen asleep after spending the entire night freaking out about having to get up and run so early. Ya, really awesome that I could keep myself awake panicked about this. I am not a morning person. As an irritable waker upper, waking up to take my 'broken' body out for a run sounded terrible, doing it at 5am was enough to put me in the grave. I decided we should run with our ipods, a first, but like I said, this was desperate and I couldn't even try to speak I was so distraught.
Mornings in Dixon, our idyllic community, are truly amazing. The sun sparkled through the chartreuse green tree leaves and glinted off the tractors that rumbled awake. It was beautiful. Not that I said so when my chipper hubby joyously proclaimed it. I think he got a grunt as acknowledgment that he had said something.
I'll spare you all the details of the run, but it was NOT an "easy run" and I felt that my coach was a truly mean SOB. But I did manage to tell him that Dixon was the most beautiful place on earth first thing in the morning. See, I'm a good sport sometimes.
I would have written about that run sooner, but being 'broken' means this blog comes harder and slower, I keep stalling hoping the next run I will have something clever or witty to say or maybe I'll be inspired and can share something great. Then the liar tells me we will "just do a simple run" that means no Dr. Jackass add ons, just running the miles. This sounds like a vacation and lures me out on a long run.
Almost to the top of the hideous steep road to the neighboring town of Penasco, I started to dwell on my husband's lying. I swear he said the mile finished "just around the corner", yet I was still huffing up a grueling incline well past several "corners". I realized he always said things like that or "just a little further" or "it'll be easy" all lies. Finally at the top we turned around and looked down at the steep decent back home. I suddenly had the heart thudding realization that this sicko was going to make me run fast down this hill from Hell. You could see by the gleam in his eye and the way he started to tell me about strategies for running down hill well that I was doomed. I stood there 'broken' wishing for an escape.
*I do have to add in that my husband is actually an incredible coach. I only tell you are the horrible stuff, but he is supportive and encouraging and puts a great deal of time and energy into figuring out what will get you to the next level...a level YOU have picked and asked for help to get to so it is important that I say that I asked for this.
Apparently there was no escape and my coach waited for me to catch my breath and stop my panic attack. He then looked me in the eye and lied some more. "You got this", "This will be fun", "Just do what you can".
A heart attack and a half later, I find myself hurtling down this hill at a breakneck pace trying to best my fastest minute mile...EVER. The beeping of Jesse's watch announcing the finish of that mile was like tasting the liquid gold of a great Sauternes wine (sorry, I actually don't know any experiences to use as an example of pure pleasure other than wine...well I could think of another, but I'm trying to keep this under an R rating). I folded forward 'broken' from pain. My head thumped, my stomach twisted, my lungs heaved and my legs...oh man, my legs seared with deep bone crushing pain. I looked up into the happy eyes of my coach who announced my winning time and wondered, if I asked him to, would he go get the car? He must have read my mind because he took that moment to say "oh, it isn't that bad". Liar!
After the miracle mile, I was done for. Imagine a favorite shirt that has been worn past feather softness, worn past a hole or two, worn to the point that the stitching is letting go at the seams. That was me. I tried to jog at a reasonable pace as coach cheered "you're kicking ass!", but my stomach was in sever knots and I literally had giant buzzards flocking over head. The heat beat down on the pavement and the liar announced "you'll be fine". You would never know this was the down hill portion of the run from the pain and effort it took to propel my wretch of a body forward. Finally, I had nothing left. Nothing.
I walked the last mile home, a mentally crippling event, and collapsed on the floor. Every part of my body ached. Jesse proudly told me "honey you did great!". I turned my 'broken' soul toward him and said "I quit".
Turns out I'm a liar too. I have quit a handful of times now and I keep finding myself out on another run. Maybe you need to be a liar to push yourself to do something that scares you, maybe you need someone to lie to you so that you continue to have hope. Maybe the lies are all I have left.
-Cheers from the Vivac Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com
