That time I tried to run a 10k

I found out about Madrid Corre por Madrid in June. I was just getting back into running--if that's what you would call my 10min/mile zombie shuffle. The event description drew me in. Run through all the main sights of Madrid? Commemorative T-Shirt? Yes, please.

T-shirt

There was just one problem:

It was a 10k race.

To a seasoned runner, or perhaps anyone who isn't a couch potato like myself, a 10k is a doable distance. I had never run beyond 3 miles, and the idea of not only reaching but doubling that distance by September seemed an impossible feat. Plus, where would I find time among working at camp, going to Germany, and going home?

But I signed up anyway, and the goal of completing a 6-mile race kept me fairly motivated through a non-stop summer. Exhaustion, changing schedules, and persistent ankle pain didn't stop me. Well, the ankle pain kind of did.

Race day came, and I wasn't prepared. I had cut my training short four weeks before the race, due to that nagging left ankle. And then everything went wrong.

I slept maybe 4 hours, thanks to jet-lag and pre-race jitters. I woke up feeling awful and nauseated. Then, right as we were about to leave the house I realized that Álvaro had forgotten my motorcycle helmet back at his parent's house. He had promised to drive me to the race that morning. So, I ran to the metro. Álvaro didn't follow suit and suddenly I was running late, left by myself with no one to hold my stuff during the race.


I managed to miss both trains, adding an extra 13 minutes to my travel time. Once off the metro, I rushed to the bag check to drop off my stuff and headed to the starting gate. By this time the stress had intensified my nausea. I found my place at the back at the pack just as the crowd surged forward and the race began.

The nausea didn't go away. I spent the whole race gasping for breath and with my stomach in knots. I'd had easy run days where I could go for an hour without problems. This was not one of those days. I had to fight the urge to walk. The last kilometer was uphill and eventually I gave in and had to alternate between walking and running. 

Due to being so slow, I was out there for over an hour. That's a long time to fight with oneself. Despite this, the adrenaline of having finished kicked in and I somehow forgot every bad moment I had endured. It wasn't a great race but I had pushed myself farther than I had ever gone, despite less-than-ideal circumstances. I'm sure there's a life lesson in there somewhere.

And that ankle pain? STRESS FRACTURE AWW YEAH.