I fell on my face, and I'm 24 years old, Part II

(This is the second post in a 3 part series. Click Part I or Part III to read more...)

I started my training in China.

Yes, that’s right, China. If you didn’t already know, or are having trouble visualizing conditions in China in the summertime, here is a quick reminder.

Sometimes visibility was 400 feet.

Much to my chagrin, the first week I tried to run 30 minutes a time, the minimal number of minutes I had to run on my training schedule… I made it 10 minutes and started walking (something I never do—just a personal thing, I guess).

That’s it! This is ridiculous. I’ll never be able to do this by myself. I thought, very angry about my physical failure and inability to be mentally positive.

I suffered the first week, but the second week seemed better. I had moved out to the countryside to be a camp counselor for some American teenagers who were studying for a couple weeks in the summer. This is how much my scenery had changed.

I felt better, but it seemed I traded in the pollution for running up MOUNTAINS. I’m going to use all capital letters there… M.O.U.N.T.A.I.N.S. Running up a 1.5 miles of mountain-grade steepness? (by the way, that's 20 straight minutes of running uphill for me, fyi) Not the most encouraging thing I've ever done.

Woof. That was a hard two weeks, too.

After a debacle where I missed an international flight, had traveled 15,500miles in 10 days, I made it back to the US and went out for a run in New Orleans…in July. (Heat index 115 degrees F)

That…wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had, either.

What is the deal ?! I thought that if I kept running, things would be easier ?! I was not amused by this situation of training for a month and still feeling awful after a 3 mile run.

Then… it only got worse: I drove to Connecticut, where new job was, and on the first day there… the first morning, at 7am, I decided to go for a run to get to know my neighborhood. What better way to see the town, right? WRONG.

It was 7am, I was trucking along the side of a road. I was confused about which way to turn and through a glitch in the Matrix… I BIT IT.

Fell down. Stopped outright. Kaput, onto my knees. Ouch.

There was blood.

There was pain.

There was ONE, SOLE CAR at the stop sign that watched this whole occurrence…

Well, embarrassment is a sobering experience. Oh yeah, what is this car doing up at 7am on a Sunday morning? Why couldn’t you have been asleep? Go back to bed!

I didn’t even look at this car, the driver, or anything. I got back up, wincing a bit, didn’t even take a good look at the wounds, and kept right on running…

That was like the touché - icing on the cake of terrible runs. It took me 40 minutes to run 3 miles on the hilly country roads and I got back completely a wreck. I laughed. I was that delirious. I laughed, but found what I’d been looking for in all of my terrible runs, all by my lonesome:

That…was a bad run. Flat out, BAD. Yet, I still got out there. I finished it. I didn’t quit; I didn’t let it stop me. I didn’t cry. I still racked up 3 measly (but powerful) miles.

I shook off my disappointment that I ran with a bad time and started giving myself credit for continuing to run after I fell down. I felt much better. I gained the confidence to continue on.

So, the new job started, I got stressed and started working more and more. I hardly noticed weeks going by until one week before the official race when I got food poisoning (oh, lentil soup). With my insides turned to liquid and my energy seeping out of my fingertips… (dramatic, I know), I had my doubts, after I had gained all that confidence.

To make a long story short, I was determined to start this half marathon; unsure of whether or not I could physically handle it. I had been dehydrated for the better part of a week; I couldn’t eat well or at all.

Then, race day came…

(Proceed to Part III)