Scotiabank half marathon

The Road to Redemption

Another half marathon has come and gone; my feet and leg muscles no longer ache with every movement I make and my insides are once again hydrated… well, as hydrated as can be in this crazy assed heat. As is always the case for me post race, I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days about the journey to redemption: the triumphs, the challenges, the lessons, the moments, the people. The last 15 weeks was spent again with a select group of women, between the ages of 18 and 60, volunteering their legs for the UBC run study, which is investigating running injuries in women. The road to redemption was not only my journey but theirs also. Like the previous study, most of these women had never run a half before, many were novice, they were excited, they were nervous, some came to the first session with knocking knees. …

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Scotiabank: 36 hours later

It’s been more than a day since I called it quits on my first ever DNF half marathon. I am pleased to report my mood is no longer down in the dumps. I’ve had time to think, and reflect, and sleep … and to really, truly understand just how amazing my support group is. Seriously. A small grouping of my supporters. From family, to close friends, to running friends, to social media acquaintances, and the blogging community, I have felt so incredibly loved over the last day and a half with phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages and emails. From my big, big brother getting me into a fit of giggles moments after the tears started  with his chastising comment about how he finished his marathon the night before – 26.2 beers! – to a friend offering to punch my pancreas in the face (as long as it wouldn’t hurt me), …

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Scotiabank sorrows

When I first started writing this post, I was sitting on a curb with the morning beauty of Jericho Beach before me and the determination of thousands of runners behind me. My face awash with tears, I was embarrassed, ashamed, effing pissed off. I never thought I’d see this day, I never thought I’d quit a race, especially a race I was on par to kick some serious ass at, and yet, there I sat, a quitter. This morning I woke up and ate breakfast at 4 a.m., three and a half hours prior to the start of the Scotiabank half marathon, with the hope of having all the breakfast insulin out of my system before crossing the start line so as to avoid any unnecessary lows on the race. Over the last few days, my blood sugars had been going consistently low two to three hours after breakfast, which …

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