It had been a year and a half since my last half marathon when I took the Charity Challenge starting line in Hollywood on Sunday, March 8th, 2020. For personal health and financial reasons, I had elected to take 2019 off from running races (yet still managed to complete a couple 5Ks and 10Ks as well as 20 miles in 6 Hours at the Silver Moon Race in Fresno), but this felt like my first half marathon all over again. I had pulled my second Westside German Shepherd Rescue team running shirt over an old Avengers Half Marathon race shirt and grabbed the running skirt with the glitter embellished white German Shepherd on it to carry Rider with me. I had worn the first one the day before to the LA Big 5K with my “Doggonit” SparkleSkirt (now Bolder Athletic skirts but my brain can’t change its internal monologue) The combination of shirts reminded me that it was about the dogs. I was a dog themed super hero raising money to get them food, shelter and medical care by walking many many miles. So very many miles, but they were with purpose.
In September of 2019, I had started having problems with the right, front, interior part of my ankle. When that healed in November, I started training again for the Charity Challenge (aka the back half of the LA Marathon course). Sadly, in January 2020 I sprained the outside rear portion of my ankle and all running ceased for 2 months. I cancelled a 5 mile obstacle course run, I worked on weight training and PiYo, and I resisted the urge to go for a run. Despite how much I hate running, it had been working with my medication to manage my depression, without it I was struggling.
Standing at the start line, I was prepared to walk. My ankle felt strong, but I hadn’t trained. The corral started out on an uphill and I’d just done the LA Big 5K the day before. When I reached the actual start mat, it was bedlam. The corral entered the course from the left at the time when 4 hour marathoners were passing. I tried to hustle to the right, but the fast marathoners were moving to the right. It was chaos and in trying to get out of the way, I got in the way of other runners. We made a left and looking at a long downhill, I decided to run.
Running felt good, I felt strong and competent and I didn’t have any stabs in my ankle. I somehow convinced myself that this would be my PR and all that alternative training had prepared me to conquer the hills and road detours and all of it was easily and readily overcome.
This mindset lasted 4 miles. After 4 miles, the pain in my ankle started. More a dull ache than a sharp stabbing but I knew I was done running and needed to walk. My sciatic nerve across my hip was screaming and approaching Rodeo Dr., I felt defeated. Preparing to sit down and call Michael and Perry to take me home, I saw a Beverly Hills PD K9 car. In 2015, when I had done the first half of the LA Marathon, I ran off course to take a picture with an LASD K9 car and the handler brought out her dog (I don’t think she believed I would try and selfie with the K9 but I appreciated her patience).
Excitedly I squatted in front of the K9 car and took a selfie. There was no officer nearby and no obvious K9 inside, but just taking the picture gave me a renewed sense of fun and purpose. Maybe I wouldn’t PR or be able to run, but that didn’t mean I was done having a memorable run. Halfway down Rodeo Dr., I saw a German shepherd. The couple standing with him looked young and were holding to go coffee cups and possibly wearing flannel.
“Can I take a selfie with your Sheppie?” I asked, pointing to my charity team running shirt with a German shepherd on it.
“Yes!” the female owner said, excited to have been asked. Before she could offer to take the picture, I had crouched down and snapped the selfie.
“Thank you so much!” I said, and continued along the course. I then started saying hi to every dog I saw on the sidelines. They were little doggies, cuties and fluffy monsters. Their owners smiled and cheered for me while I tried not to look at the pace on my Garmin. At mile 11, I saw Michael and Perry and excitedly took a family selfie. Michael reminded me there were only 2 miles left and there was no way he would let me quit and get in the car.
Shuffling away from my hug, I checked my email and saw I had gotten a huge donation and I was barely under my goal. Elated, I took a selfie and noticed ahead there was another German shepherd. Better, the woman holding his leash was sporting a tank top that read, “Crazy Dog Lady”. I asked for a selfie and she bounced up and took my phone and handed me the leash. I was thrilled.
Next I came on a couple handing out water from a wagon and a mid-sized dog came out from behind, looking like he was smiling. “Can I take a selfie with your dog?” became my new favorite sentence. This pup offered kisses and fluffy encouragement.
A couple streets later, there was a Labrador with 3 humans on the grassy median cheering. More kisses, laughter, muddy paw prints on my shirt and I was off with another unexpected happy jolt. Just when I saw the ocean in Santa Monica, I asked one last man for a picture. He seemed unsure, so I re-phrased to distance selfie and he agreed.
It was the most fun I had at a race while walking and in pain.
