I was behind where I wanted to be in my training schedule for the Seattle marathon but I wasn't worried. I'd been running for years and could hold my own without much effort. Still, I wanted it to be my best time since it was a qualifying race for the Boston marathon.
It didn't matter. The time had come. I packed my stuff and started the drive to Seattle. I ended up making great time. Record breaking, even. But it came at a price.
A rift between Lee and I.
An hour before we were supposed to hit the road, Lee told me he couldn't go.
"Please say something, Nash," Lee pleaded while I sat at the counter, trying to reign in my emotions.
There were a lot of things I wanted to say, but since they were all out of anger and hurt, I stared at the window instead. This wasn't just a random race; this was my qualifying race. I needed him there.
"You know I would go if I could. Supporting you is the most important thing in the world," he said, touching my shoulder affectionately.
I shrugged him off and walked toward our room. "The second most important thing." There was no point in waiting another hour to leave. I could start the drive early and beat the traffic. All my things were packed. I grabbed my suitcase and walked through the house with Lee hot on my tail—begging me to stop. I turned and faced him with a cold, emotionless expression.
"You've known about this race for months. You know what it means to me. You could come if you wanted. You're choosing work. I have every right to be upset about this."
I leaned in to give him a kiss goodbye. No matter how angry I was, I'd never leave without a proper goodbye. That wasn't enough for Lee, he tried for more. More than I could give, so I pulled away.
"Nash—" he sighed from the front door. I got in my truck and pulled away. If I had left him high and dry, I would've gotten the silent treatment for a week.
****
I barely remember the five-hour drive to Seattle. I was torn between being upset that Lee bailed on me and being understanding because that's who I was.
I was so worked up I had to force myself to eat a solid meal. I needed it if I was going to give my best performance. I finally managed something. It wasn't as balanced or high in calories and carbs as I wanted, but it was better than nothing, which is what I usually eat when I'm upset.
I waited until I'd settled in for the night before sending Lee a text, letting him know I made it to the hotel. He tried calling but I wasn't emotionally there yet.
Sleep left something to be desired. I kept looking at the clock thinking, if I fall asleep now, I'll sleep this long—
I finally slept. It wasn't great. Not the quality or quantity I needed before a race. I still felt funky, held back by the fight with Lee. I tried to fake it but, after getting ready for the race, alone, and arriving at and registering, alone, I was still overwhelmed by hurt and disappointment. It was hard watching the crowd of people holding signs and cheering for their loved ones while I had no one.
When the shot went off, I channeled my anger into fuel and I ran. Much like I did after Paul upset me and I ran to the ball field. I ran harder than ever. Harder than I probably should have. The first seven miles passed with ease, after that, I started feeling the burn. I could feel it in my legs, and my breathing was getting harder, but I was making great time. I was keeping pace toward the front of the group.
The further I ran, the more I thought about Lee bailing on me. The way that minds do, I started thinking about non-existent, hypothetical situations.
What if Lee bailed on Boston?
That hypothetical question was enough to keep my anger tank fully fueled. I knew he wasn't bailing on Boston, but he could...and in my head, he was. What would stop him? Clearly not work. I ran harder as I conjured up scenarios where Lee told me he could go along with a list of outlandish reasons why. I knew I should have stopped myself from going down that dangerous rabbit hole, but I didn't. I let my mind run undisciplined as the miles blurred.
There were a few rough miles where I debated about slowing down. But I kept on. I felt nothing except the chill in the air biting my skin as I pushed myself, mile after mile, toward the finish line. There were stretches of time that I thought about nothing and other stretches where the unhealthy lies I let live in my head looped on a constant replay.
In the end, I got third place in my division.
The finish line was crowded with people, signs, and cheering. Little kids sitting on shoulders as they waited for their moms or dads to come to view. So many people were there, all of them cheering for someone.
I had run lots of races alone, this was nothing new. But I always went into it knowing I wouldn't have someone at the finish line. I was okay with that, truly. But this was different, I thought I'd have Lee.
The second I crossed the finish line I felt like my body was going to collapse. Every step felt like it would be my last; like I was walking on sinking sand. I barely remember the officials talking to me, the need to pass out was overwhelming. The second they left me alone I wobbled to a trash can and threw up. I was in trouble. Marathons are hard on the body and I hadn't eaten properly since leaving the house. On top of that, I pushed myself past the point of health. I knew better but I let it happen anyway.
Somehow, I got back to the room. A gift from God. I managed to draw a cold bath. It wasn't the ice bath I needed but it was all my shaky body could manage.
Naked, I laid in bed and tried to eat more food. I really disliked the catch twenty-two of running. You push yourself so hard you completely deplete your system until you're in desperate need of nutrition, but you're so fatigued you can't eat. You literally have no appetite. Every bite I took made me want to throw up. I decided to take a nap. I always felt better after giving my body a chance to recharge. Except, I didn't feel better when I woke up.
I was becoming increasingly worried that I had pushed myself too hard. I settled on a Seinfeld marathon and I nibbled on more food. Maybe I just needed more time. My stomach churned in protest. I tried to tune it out but eventually, it became too much and I expelled everything into the bedside trash can. I laid with my head dangling off the side of the mattress in case I wasn't done. I didn't even have energy to make it to the bathroom.
I'd run a dozen or more marathons and never felt this terrible. I contemplated going to the hospital. At the very least, I figured IV fluids and anti-nausea medication would turn me around.
The pride in me decided to wait it out.
I needed Lee. I wasn't even mad at him anymore. I was mad at myself for getting so worked up about it. It was my fault that I was lying in bed, naked and afraid. I grabbed the phone that was lying next to me and, ignoring the many notifications, called Lee.
"Nash," Lee's voice was quiet and full of regret and concern. He knew he was standing at the edge of a frozen lake and one step in the wrong direction would break the ice. He wasn't the only one standing on that lake. I was there too, on the opposite side, and hearing his voice was enough to shatter my already fragile; broken and exhausted state.
"Lee," I whispered with my cheek pressed to the white hotel bed and tears welling up in my eyes. "I think I need to go to the hospital." Even I could hear the panic in my voice.
"Nash, take a breath," he said as he tried to calm himself down. "What's going on?"
