I really don’t think I have ever quit anything. I mean, I quit a few jobs when I was younger but felt terrible about it. I have never given up on a project, a hobby, a round of golf, a run or a workout.
Sunday a lifetime of not quitting was broken. There is no celebration of a PB, no feeling of satisfaction for all the hours of training I put since November, no medal, no cheers, nothing.
The race started off fine. The day was beautiful and the course itself is fantastic. We had a group of full and half marathoners who did awesome.
I never really felt ‘great’ or in a groove but kept on with plan. The hubs was out on the course and kept checking in on me. Around the 19km mark, my breathing just felt off but I was still on plan. By the time I got to the 25km mark it was just all bad. I told the hubs to meet me at 30km and I would assess how I felt. At 30km, I could barely keep my breathing under control. The hubs had his asthma meds which I took a hit of and we planned to run 1km to see if it helped.
It didn’t. I then decided to stop. I truly thought about what that would mean and that I would have to live with it so it wasn’t easy. I am sure I could have lumbered in but 11km of walking is a long time…
So I quit, I DNF’ed, I stopped, I chucked ‘er in. I know this is just a race and I get to do this – no one is forcing me. But quitting is just something I never thought I’d do.
So there you go.
The other cruddy thing is I actually got a really good race shot by the hubs and now have a bad day to associate it with. Crud.
I’ve wallowed in some stupid self pity since Sunday. And then today signed up for 2 10km races, a 10 miler and the Detroit Half Marathon in the Fall.
A DNF is a good motivator apparently.