Running on Empty

I found my wall. It is 16 miles.

As of this writing, the Marine Corps Marathon is a little more than two weeks away.

It will be my second running; the first was in 2001, when I -- and my knees -- were eight years younger.

As you know by now, this year I signed up for the race without being encumbered by thought. I just thumbed "I'm in" into my PinkBerry and off I went.

I never considered what I was getting myself and my family into. The time commitment is more than I remember. The training, more intense. The expense (for new shoes, physical therapy, running shorts) even higher.

My hamstrings have never been tighter. My toes are bruised. My knees are creaky and my back keeps popping.

Yoga, open-toed stilettos, strength training and sleeping in are all on hold until after the marathon.

The training continues.

On Sunday, I needed to reach 20 miles.

I ran the Mount Vernon Trail along GW Parkway, and was making reasonable time, at first. The first five miles were a piece of cake. The second five were a bit harder, but manageable. When I hit 11 miles, I laughed out loud. I even said, "Wow! I can really do this!"

Then 14 miles came, and I felt fatigue.

By 16 I was done.

I had nothing left.

I couldn't even open my water bottle.

I had nothing.

What makes things worse is when I hit the wall Sunday, I took my trainer (my husband) down with me.

Coach/Hubby has been running alongside me as much as his knees will allow.

Before the long runs, he'll pack a cooler with water, Gatorade, grapes and bananas. He's helped me with my knee wraps, ice packs, and massage therapy appointments. He gets up with me at 5:30 a.m., even on Sunday mornings, just to support me.

He's just as invested in this race as I am, and he's not even going to run. He's just there to cheer me on.

So you can understand my frustration -- my embarrassment, really -- when I hit that wall at 16 miles on a day I was supposed to run 20 miles. I was so wiped out, so marginally delirious, so floppy that Coach/Hubby was worried I would hurt myself if I pushed on.

Then, Coach/Hubby scolded me.

"You're not eating enough carbs," he said. "You can't run 20 miles on a salad from the night before. You need the carbs for your body to last out here for four hours!"

All totally true. So I'll add more carbs to my diet - something anathema to the way I'm wired - but I'll do it. I hope it isn't too late.

Through all the training, all the conditioning, all the ground-pounding, one tiny voice keeps resonating in the back of my mind. Its small, but very clear:

"What if you can't do this?"

My husband believes I'm psyching myself out. "You've done this before, of course you can do it again!" he says.

When I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in 2001, I finished. It took me five and a half hours, but I finished.

I'm so worried that I won't be able to finish this time. I have to finish.

It is how I'm wired; I must finish what I start. No projects -- no matter how big or small -- are to be left undone. I can't just quit, not now.

There isn't another human being alive who would work as hard as my husband has worked to get me to this point. There is no other man in my life who would be as devoted to getting me across the finish line. I cannot let him down. He's sacrificed more than I have just to get this far; how can I stop?

The training will continue. But what if, on The Big Day, I can't make it across the finish line? That's what really scares me.

Perhaps I'm frightening myself into failure, but I don't know what to do about it.

This Sunday I'm scheduled to run 17 miles. I'll try for 20, just to get past that mental block and back to the positive attitude I've had until now.

I'll let you know what happens. I don't mind saying, this is harder than I ever expected, and I'm really frightened that I won't finish.

Stay tuned.

Amy Morris is an Executive Editor and Anchor of the Daily Debrief. You can reach her at amorris@federalnewsradio.com