Half-Marathon Happenings (Part 2)

Two miles into the race and I realised that I had forgotten one crucial tool; my asthma inhaler! (I have sports-induced asthma on top of my many other medical conditions – just call me a walking-talking hospital!) I began to panic, not because I was short of breath or anything, but because I knew there was every chance that I could have an asthma attack and wouldn’t have anyway of stopping it. Sure, there were ambulances’ along the route but they were every few miles. What if I had an asthma attack and wouldn’t be able to see the next ambulance for a couple of miles? I realised there and then that I would have to run at my usual slow pace and if I felt tightness, start walking instead to an ambulance. Great. Barely a quarter of the way in and I was already worried about a possible complication, though that being said, I had A LOT of possible complications to worry about! (Diabetes is a bitch for that!)

Me after the Half-Marathon

I devised a plan to stop every three miles and test my sugar levels and take an isotonic gel to keep my sugar levels stable. (It was the first time I had ever used the gels and they were a God-send to me – Diabetic’s take  note!). After the first stop, I was desperate to carry on running (partly cause I wanted to get the marathon over and done with) and so, we got back to it and made our way slowly but surely. By the time we got to the sixth mile, and stop number 2, I was starting to lose my motivation. By that point, I had run the furthest I had ever run in my entire life! (Unfit, I know!) I was getting tired and feeling my feet start to get sore from blisters. I tested and was, to my delight, a perfect sugar level again, so I took another gel and carried on. Now, when you are in ‘The Zone’, it is great but when you are out of it, its hard to get back in the game. I just couldn’t think straight as fatigue was starting to kick in. Ellie was doing her absolute best to motivate me but her words were not registering with me. I had to walk. I walked and walked and walked (thankfully a lot of people were because of the huge hill we were going up), taking in the oranges and cups of juice that people were handing out to us. The support the people of Cork were giving us was tremendous and heart-warming. I felt humbled to be even having strangers telling me “well done” and “you can do it” (I think they were looking at the wrong person). And with their kind words ringing in my ear, I began to run again.

My brother Anthony rang me just before my eighth mile to tell me he had finished and was waiting at the finish line (talk about pressure). I didn’t want to keep him waiting but knew he would be waiting a while before I reached him. At the ninth mile, I stopped again for my test and isotonic gel. As I was talking to Ellie, she happened to glance up behind me and start smiling. I didn’t know what she was looking at so I turned around and was greeted with a very unusual sight. A fella in his mid-twenties was in a glass house in the garden above us and was pumping iron in very little clothing. He had big arms and was easy on the eye. Ellie and I giggled like silly school-girls. I then got back to talking before Ellie again looked up and smiled. I turned around again (knowing full well I was in for a treat) but didn’t expect to see what I saw the second time round. Hot guy had been joined by an equally hot and TOPLESS male friend, who happened to own a very defined six-pack and was working with weights too. I didn’t know where to look and opted instead to blush and look away (I’m not good in those situations). Nonetheless, we had four miles left and so, as we began to set sail again, Ellie gave the fella’s a cheeky wave and off we went.

The last stretch was the hardest because it felt like the longest. My legs and hips were hurting and the road felt like it would never end. But some way or another,  (I don’t know how) we eventually made it to the finish line at around 3 hours 55 minutes. And the first thing I did was cry! (I never cry so you know it meant something!) But as I was so tired, I couldn’t bring myself to allow the tears to fall. I just limped to my brother with the medal around my neck (like a wounded soldier) and high-fived him. As the city was closed, yet again we had to contact our mother to collect us. I could barely stand or walk and was in constant agony. Standing-still made it hurt more so I had to switch from left to right leg, in somewhat of a dance move. When mum couldn’t find us, (she went around the city THREE times and couldn’t see us) we had no choice but to walk to meet her. Ellie and I hobbled for what felt like hours (but was more like fifteen minutes) whilst Anthony just walked ahead, until we arrived at the bus station. I was doing my dancing shuffle on the edge of the pavement for ten minutes until mum eventually arrived and we painfully clambered in to the car.

Moral to the story is that you can do anything you want when you put your mind to it. And Diabetes will not hold me back from anything that I do want to do, and shouldn’t hold anyone else back either. As for the half-marathon, will I say ‘never again’? Hell no! I never say never. (I’m in training for another!) Watch this space….

 

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