Well, the title says it all.
I DNF-ed the Brooklyn Half today, my first race I’ve ever DNF-ed.
From the start, I wasn’t feeling it. I met up with Jordan at Grand Army Plaza, and we walked over, planning to start together and run together as long as we could. We got into our corrals (Corral D, I was going to make a joke in my recap about being assigned by bra size), and I feel like I saw everyone I knew who was running this race!
We got on a long, terrible snaking bathroom line, and I started feeling a little anxious: anxious about the crowd, anxious that we wouldn’t get to the end of the line before the race started, and a little anxious about that 13.1. But finally we made it and the race began.
I felt like shit from the beginning — exhausted, drained, a little short of breath, a little nauseous. I hoped after a few miles that would all dissipate and I’d be able to settle into a rhythm with Jordan. I think she knew right away something was up because I was being quiet. “You feeling ok?” she asked in the first mile. “Yup!” (Totally lying, but not ready to admit anything yet.)
We’d talked about our hydration plan, and it was to grab water every other stop. From the first one we stopped at, in mile 1 or 2, I wanted to walk. Before we even got into the park, Jordan asked me again how I felt and if there was anything she/we could do to help. “I don’t know, curl up on the side of the street?” Short of that, no, I’m good!
I stopped for water? to walk? can’t remember…just short of the entrance to Prospect Park and then fought to catch up to Jordan. Once again, she asked if I was ok, and I couldn’t lie any more. “No.”
“What do you want to do? Do you want to go on?” I couldn’t really answer her, but knew deep down the answer was “no.” I felt like shit. To be really honest, the only reason I thought twice about *not* dropping out was because then I’d have to explain this. To write this post. To tell coworkers Monday no, I didn’t finish. I weighed that with how crappy I was feeling and decided that while, sure, I probably could have gotten through those next 9-10 miles, it would be torture/agony. And if I were going to drop out at some point, at least near Prospect Park, it’d be easier to get back home for me.
So, off the course I went. At the spot where I stopped, I had the runners in the park to my right and the runners on the street to my left. I peeled off my bib and leaned against a tree for a few minutes to cry before hightailing it the hell out of there and stopping at Ashley’s for a while on my way home.
There’s no neat way to end this post and tie it up with a bow: today was not my day, and I did do what was right for me today, but I’m still frustrated and disappointed, although I know there will be other races.