Smashin' the Freakin' Wall: Cannolli's part 2

I have so much to say about this experience, it's been hard to get it all out of my head.

I'll pick up where I left off. I had some great long runs and made it through the relay, which, while everyone thought I was crazy to do it, I really do think it helped my confidence in terms of getting the job done. But, a week and a half after the relay, I was hurting again, even after a session with Peter, which really got me going on the worry train.

On Tuesday before the race, I headed to Peter and I was very glum about the whole thing. I was quiet, not my usual manner with Peter as we always talk about politics and such before we even get down to work. I got up on the table and Peter started to look glum too. "Look, Red, we always knew that you had a very narrow margin of error on this leg and I have to say, I think that doing the relay was probably too much for you."

My heart sank and I could feel the tears welling up. I have to say, I was really surprised that Peter said what he said that I got even more nervous about the race. I also couldn't believe that I was almost crying. I mean, it's just a marathon -- I am not an elite athlete, an Olympic hopeful -- just a person trying to do a marathon.

I felt stupid and I hit the phone. I called everyone hoping someone else would tell me something else. Lorenzo Blanco quickly shifted to the "you can always do the 1/2" mode -- I panicked even more. Crap, if LB was telling me to shift, I was now a spiral of nerves and pre-teen dorkiness all over again.

What else could I do? Call the running super hero! Gilbert, it's me. Yeah, Red, what's up? I need to talk to you in person, can I come see you? Sure, meet me at RunTex in 10 minutes. Instant relief, no questions. I dreaded that he might say the same thing Peter did...you shouldn't have done that relay. I think he knew what was up. I head down there, and the infamous red truck pulls up, anxious runners waiting for his commands, African music blaring from the car and a slight figure with a huge smile climbing out, dancing, of course. I tried to calm down. I was in a full on panic. Let's walk, he says after his runners get their instruction and head out for their workout.

I start talking and fast...he listens and just looks at me for a minute. I mean that look that only he has drilling into you. Red, you are scared. You go to see Peter too much. You need to learn to heal yourself. (Whew, no slap on the wrist for the relay.) I think you are just nervous that's always been your problem; you don't think you can do it. But, you can Red, I know you can. You can a run a 3:15 he says (no pressure there). You just have to believe Red; you know what to do. He gives me a big hug and then we are on to the next subject. Suddenly, I feel slightly more at ease, but not enough to stop me from talking to Bernard too.

I head in to RunTex to buy socks and there's Bernard, smiling.
Hey Red, how's it going? You ready.
No, B, I'm in a lot of pain, my hip and leg are acting up. Peter scared me just now. I think I might do the 1/2. I know I can do that.
No way, Red, you have to put it all out there; you have to try. You are ready. You can't do the 1/2.
I'm inspired again by my Burundian friends -- here's a guy boosting me up when he's just come back from Chicago and had to bail on his first marathon from cramping.

The rest of the week, I scrap the training plan. I take it easy and that's hard. I head out and do a few miles here and there, but I'm still hurting.

On Saturday, we head down to San Antonio with most of our crew from the relay. That's very comforting to me to be around them and listen to them about their experience. Everyone is drinking fluid and seemingly eating constantly. I do what they do and up the fluids and food intake.

We head to the expo and I start to get excited. Lorenzo Blanco and I change corrals to be up closer to the start. I feel better already. We all walk around and then head to the hotel to check in and get our feet up for a while.

At dinner, the panic comes back. At one point, one of my friends looks over and asks me if I'm ok. I feel pale (paler than normal) and want to bolt out of the restaurant. I'm fine, I lie. Just nervous, it's part of my thing. It's true, I get nervous at every event, but this is the big one. But, I want to go home. I miss my kids and my husband and I'd rather really just forget this whole thing.

Back to the hotel to hit the hay early. I don't sleep a wink all night. I mean not a minute. The room is near the elevator and people are talking in the hallway as if they are outside. My mind is churning and I wax and wane between panic and remorse. Why did I sign up for this?