I don't know where to start, but I guess I should preface this with: I had no idea that training for a marathon involved so many tears.
No, I haven't cried from the pain of any runs (yet). OH, well there was some chafing that caused me to squeal in agony. Does that count? But, that said, I can see how a person could cry at the end of a miserable 20 miler in the heat and humidity.
Last week when I finished my "awesome" 20, I got a bit welled up because I finished a TWENTY mile RUN! And I ran at a good pace, with good friends. No, I take that back - I ran it with the BEST of friends. (even Jack, who I've decided to make an honorary skirt by naming Jackie P.) It's like J.K.Rowling says in Harry Potter... something about "once they'd defeated a troll and nearly gotten expelled, they became best friends". That 20 miler was our troll, and Jackie P. officially joined the ranks as a "skirt buddy".
I even got a bit welled up last night when I was placing my online AWESOME skirt purchase (have I mentioned how much I love my www.runningskirts.com skirts? Yes? Oh, OK). I kept thinking about how I was planning another awesome year of running with my team, and how I had "actually stuck to this" all the way through the training, "and I am going to be a marathoner!" Then T called, we chatted about the order, went back and forth for a few minutes about non-sense, just joking around. It was a little odd to talk on a Sunday night - it's generally a time that we reserve for our mates, so we got off the phone to be with our families. I did a little holiday shopping and typed in my blog as I was making lunches and wrapping up leftovers.
But last night I cried real tears of sadness when T called back an hour later and asked me "what was I doing tonight". For just a second I thought, is she kidding? But suddenly, just as quickly as the thought popped into my head, I knew something was REALLY wrong, because she sounded so off. I'm welling up right now.... damn. I leapt into the JEEP and plunged into the dark with tears rimming my overly bright eyes. My laughs were a little forced, because I knew I was supposed to try to make light of the situation, though inside I was weeping just a little.
I had a totally different post to write, about how we were a comic duo worthy of an HBO special at the physicians office, lesbian lovers out for a date (or at least "girlfriends") to the eyes of the women at the office, cracking jokes about "reading articles about managing long run pain", etc. all while determining which comments about girlfriends, pain management, duct tape and body glide were blog worthy. We were really funny. I was "on". T was "on". I was trying, hard. I nearly lost it for a minute there - I didn't realize how much of my emotion was riding on the surface when I told T the "G lost his tooth, and I mean LOST it for real in the zip lock baggy that I may or may not have used to store those lunches" story. Took me a minute to get the laughter and tears back together on the right side of the story. Thinking back now to her pale face and over bright smile, I suspect I wasn't the only one suffering with a little panic.
But. NO matter how funny the hospital adventure story is, no matter how prepared we were for a "night at the ER" (cue the cheesy disco music) with magazines and such, I just can't make this a funny post. Because it's not. T's hurt. She's wearing my boot right now because her foot is hurt. I took her dinner tonight, with the boot, because I could and it's all I could think to do. Too bad it ultimately doesn't help anything.
I wish I could be the Fairy Tale Godmother who comes into the story and waves a magic boot over a pumpkin and turns it into something else....