Fast forward to September during the sixteen-mile run about twelve or thirteen miles into it … I started feeling pain in my right knee. I learned my lesson from before and just stopped. Feeling frustrated and defeated I went home. I talked to my physical therapist and she administered ultrasound to my knee and assured me that I’ll be fine and will be able to complete the marathon in November. I diligently went to all of my physical therapy apts., took it easy, took glucosamine chondroitin and learned to listen to my body and take care of myself. I iced after long runs, wore a knee brace, and got new shoes … I was determined to not only get to Italy, but to finish this damn marathon. By this time I decided I didn’t care about how long it took me to finish, I just simply wanted to finish.
A week before I left for Italy I got a cold. I took Zicam, Chinese herbs, Theraflu, Vicks, Tylenol Cold, you name it. I was determined to kick that thing before I got on the plane. No such luck. As I boarded the plane with my carry-on luggage armed with tissues and Vicks I was ready for my eleven hour flight to Paris. By the time I got to Paris I felt like crap! Runny nose, stuffed-up, and sleep deprived. By the time I arrived in Italy, I was too excited to think about my cold, so I tried to ignore it and mentally prepare myself for the marathon. I went to a “pharmacia” and the pharmacist assured me that the syrup would knock out the cold and help me sleep. (Good deal because I the jet lag was kicking my ass!)
The night before the marathon, I gulped down the syrup, and went to bed. Like clock-work my eyes popped open at 1:30 a.m. I laid there staring at the hotel ceiling, praying that I could fall back asleep. I finally fell asleep around 3:30 a.m. and the alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. I was exhausted and still stuffed up but I figured what the hell … let’s do this. Adrenaline will surely carry me to the finish-line.
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