Post Marathon Pain
Now, we all know finishing a marathon is an accomplishment in itself. I’m still contemplating how long I am allowed to wear my finishers medal before it’s deemed socially unacceptable.
It’s great! You get high fives, congratulations, water, bananas, fruit cups, bagels and cigars.
(I have the most thoughtful dad in the world, guys. Apparently the cigar is high quality.)
But, after the adrenaline wore off and the congratulations ended, the pain set in.
Matt had it worse than me. I was just sore. Tired and sore. Matt on the other hand had, what I believe, moderate heat stroke. He insisted I drive home since he thought he’d either pass out or puke at any given moment, yet refused the medical tent. We got home where he promptly showered and passed out for three hours. He said his body basically shut down. I already had decided that if he had woke up still feeling awful, I was going to have a friend of mine come start an IV for him.
He woke up and felt much better.
When my sister had to leave, she left me in this state:
Pathetic, laying on the couch holding my congratulations balloon, ready to Facebook for the first time since I had started the race.
So, she, feeling bad, texted my mom:
So my mom, declining the 20 dollars, cooked us dinner. She’s some kind of woman.
I finally have a full appreciation for my geriatric patients who have fallen and can’t get up. Things people don’t talk about post marathon is the fact that, YOU CAN’T SIT ON THE TOILET. I mean, I had to hang on to the wall and the toilet seat just to lower myself to pee. My quads are all WTF woman, no pee for you.
Let’s see, what else can’t I do?
Sleep comfortably. That’s for sure. Last night was pretty miserable.
I can’t really bend to pick up things, either, as the guys at Trader Joe’s found out. Thank God they know me well there, because they were very quick to help me when they saw me trying to use The Force to pick up the things I’d drop on the ground.
I can’t go down stairs normally. I find that going backwards is way easier. And I’m not below crawling up them.
I can’t put on my pants without holding my leg up. That’s fun.
We won’t even talk about my balance.
When the phone rang earlier and I swore the whole way to get to it and no one was on the other end, I wanted to *69 their ass so bad and then kill them.
Despite the amount of SPF 55 I put on, I still got a tan. I suppose when every few miles I was dumping water on my head, it was bound to wear down the effectiveness of the sunscreen. Still, I got a fantastically awful tan.
I hadn’t realized it until my mom walked behind me and started to laugh. And since I couldn’t really see it in the mirror, Matt took a photo.
Winner, right there.
Someone saw me walking today and said, “That’s a runner’s walk right there.”
Yes, m’am it is.
I was already asked if I’ll ever do another full marathon again. Yesterday my answer was no way. Today? Sure. I’ll probably do it again next year. You only live once, and that experience is totally worth this feeling like crap, every time.