They ran next to me, for the action shots.
Bottom line: I had to go slower. I could not maintain my pace for more than a minute. Knowing there were just 20 minutes left made it more difficult. It seemed like I should have been able to power through the pain. But I had been trained well enough to know that "powering through" can lead to permanent pain. I had to run the rest of the race with my brain, which I fortunately had been preserving.

And then - 2:47:05 after I started - I finished the race.
I stomped (using the good leg) on the finishing mat. And then I was forced to stop. There are two things that happen at the finish. There are photographers taking pictures. And there are firefighters giving out little blue Tiffany & Co. boxes. The gaggle in front of me stopped (and clogged) the finish line to make sure the photographers saw them. It makes perfect sense now, but at the time I was quite confused. Crossing the finish line brought me back fr0m my special mental place. I was suddenly back, surrounded by strangers, and aching. My muscles did not like the running (which had slowed to a jog) followed by the sudden stop. I re-joined humanity feeling (and sounding) like Frankenstein.


Look for me just before the "l" in "life," drinking water.
They had me sign a piece of paper and give my bib number. They had me sit and they tried to diagnose my injury. I told them it's happened before. They asked if it was an existing injury. I told them it only comes up when I run more than 11 miles. They suggested it was my IT band. I told them I had stretched and that the band didn't hurt. They were talking really slower and I did everything I could to convey I was in a hurry. Eventually I asked them if I could go. They said I could, but that they want runners to rest. I told them I was going to go sit on a bus, then sit at home. I assured them I would rest. And then I hobbled away.
I used the foil to bind the ice to my leg. And then I was distracted by a pretzel stand. I love hot pretzels. I especially loved that hot pretzel.
