Trauma-induced funk

Chuck just called a little while ago to check in with me since I hadn't blogged after our return. I'm fine, I just haven't had the words or the heart to put anything down. I really don't know how I feel, but I can tell you I don't feel elated, proud, or accomplished. I feel like I've been through some natural disaster or something. I would never diminish what others have been through with disasters, wars, the Holocaust, or any other life altering event, but I can say that I must have felt a tiny bit of what some survivors felt, being told different things, not knowing where the next nourishment was coming from (if it was coming), being marched along a road, being sprayed with liquids I didn't want to be sprayed with. At the end, they just told us to go up, turn a corner and we'd be done. That was it, no finish line, no cheering crowds, just a guy handing out medals like a fake Rolex seller in NYC. I went and got my medal, and just stood there, looking around. I knew where I was, I knew where my meeting place was for my friends, I knew where my hotel was, but I was just devastated. I dont' know why. I did the best I could, I listened to my body and conserved as much as I could once we figured out fluids were few and far between. I protected my body and health like I knew I should. But all I could do was stand there in the middle of the road, just looking around, turning in circles. I eventually borrowed a phone, called my friends and met up with them, went back to the room, and recovered, but for a few minutes, it felt like how it might feel when Jesus returns and I didn't believe. Chaos, hopelessness, panic, desolation.

I have a medal hanging on my dresser mirror, but I don't know why. It has a place on the back for your name and time, whatever. That's a joke. I haven't really had time to figure this out, I got back and have an exam and a job to deal with, but I realize I need time to mourn something, but I don't know what. I know I should be proud that I did the best I could, that I would have finished if they had allowed it, I understand all that. I even agree that they did the right thing stopping the race. The asshole who said it was turned into a fun run should have been made to run the course, starting at noon, with no fluid stations. There was nothing fun about the peril the race organizers put us in. I believe Chuck is right: the guy who died saved many lives on Sunday.

I guess I feel angry (did you sense that?), but I'm also still bewildered. I'm furious, not that they shut it down, made us cut it short, but that they treated the end as they did. That they put us in that situation to begin with, and that they insist on lying about whether there were sufficient fluids on the course. I'll let it go eventually, I have to. But I haven't yet.

I've just been going through this week putting out one fire and then the next, dealing with what I have to deal with. I haven't completely processed this marathon experience, but I will. I've been on the verge of tears since Sunday night, but haven't broken down yet. I feel like I want to just sit and cry, but can't let myself yet. It will happen and I'll be fine, and I'll keep training, but right now I'm still angry. Sorry for the verbage above, but there's really no other word to describe anyone who thought "fun run" was an appropriate description.

I promise the next blog will be happy and cheery and encouraging. We have come a long way, we should be very proud, I wouldn't trade these friendships and this experience for anything, and I'll be back. I'll say something for this experience (on Sunday): I now know what survival mode means, and I'll never forget that.