The True Meaning of Motivation and Inspiration

The Harwich Half Marathon this past October became my third ‘defining’ moment of my running life.  The first was my first real mile in March 2011, the second was my first actual race, the CapeAbilities 5K in May 2011.  The half marathon was the natural next step for me.  I had strictly followed a ‘beginner’ training plan from CoolRunning.com.  This made it a pretty simple process, all I had to do was run the proper distances on the proper days and I’d be prepared for success.

Now in life there are always sidetracks.  Mine was the local running club which both my Uncle Steve and best friend Emily belonged to.  They had been imploring me to give it a try for a while and I finally relented a few weeks prior to the half marathon.  Before attempting the running club, which consisted of a lot of speed work on a high school track, I needed a new pair of shoes.

Rather than sticking with the Brooks Adrenaline that I was accustomed to I decided to switch it up to Mizuno’s Wave Rider.  Those of you who have read my other postings know how my change in shoes went.  For those who have not the gist of the story is that I switched to Mizuno’s for 6 months and endured 6 months of running in pain.  The pain began that night at the running club.

I admit I was jazzed to try something new and I think that my excitement cost me that night.  We did sets of Yasso 800 sprints.  I had never heard of them before but it was twice around the track which was easy enough for me.  Despite trying the distance running sprinting is what is in my blood as my grandfather was a World Class sprinter but WWII kept him from the Olympics.

I ran the Yasso’s as hard as I could, trying to push myself at something new.  I didn’t notice the aches in my right hip until the next day when it was obvious I overdid it.  With the race so close I dialed back my running to save my hip from further injury.  Even if I had been hurt I was still going to run the race as I had more motivation than just it being my first half.

The Harwich Half fell in the first week of October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  I had decided I would wear the pink ribbon on my black shirt and run the race in honor of my Aunt Christine who had passed away from breast cancer in 2004.  It was that higher purpose that kept my mind focused on the race.

Race day was a warm autumn day, I got a great parking spot directly across the street from Harwich High School where the race began and ended.  I was able to begin my stretching there as my hip was still tight but I was undeterred.  I pinned the pink Breast Cancer Awareness ribbon to my shirt and walked slowly and deliberately across a field into the school to get my bib number and pack of goodies.

As you runners know at the starting line they have minute markers posted so that you can run with the group according to your speed.  With my hip hurting I was going to jump back to the 9 min. crowd, but I spotted my Uncle Steve and he was at the 8’s.  I wanted to at least experience some of my first Half with him so I stepped in and said I’d try to keep up as long as I could.

The gun sounded and we were off.  Things began alright, I was side by side with my uncle, of course I believe he was holding back.  About 2 miles in I felt it, a sharp pain and burn in my right groin.  I knew from the burning that it was either a tear or a severe sprain.  Early in the race still I was not trying to diagnose myself, I was just trying to keep going.

Not long after I told my uncle of my pain and said there was no way I could keep up his pace.  I told him that I would not quit though.  I patted my pink ribbon to remind myself why I was not going to quit.  He told me to shout down the pain and tell it that it was not in control.  I said I would try and he slowly pulled away and out of sight.  I was left with nearly 11 miles left to run and a hip/groin that was badly injured.

As the miles dragged on I began to find ways to use ‘mind over matter’ to manage my pain.  It started with my breathing, concentrating on it, as a sort of meditation while my feet kept moving.  My steps were very deliberate as I noticed that if my legs moved perfectly straight ahead the pain was less than if my right leg shifted a little to the left.  Does that make sense? 

Each mile marker became a beacon of hope.  Once I passed 10 I knew there was no way I could stop.  Every step hurt but that little pink ribbon was like an angel on my shoulder.  I had not told anyone but my mother that I was planning on running for Auntie Chris.  I did not want it to be a ‘look at me’ type of thing.  I still don't want it to be like that, but it would be so much more disrespectful to leave this important fact out of my story.  

That ribbon was like a pacifier during those last few miles.  I had placed it over my heart and routinely patted it when the pain in my hip and groin became unbearable.  Sure, many people would have simply stopped, walked back or quit all together, and live to run another day.  That is not me.  If I had quit the race I would have felt like I was quitting on Auntie Chris.  She fought so hard for so long against her cancer that this was my way of honoring her memory, the fact that I was doing it with injuries seemed sort of appropriate. 

12 miles in I stopped and walked while trying to somehow massage the pain away for one more mile.  Several other runners shouted encouragement as they passed.  The remainder of the race was a slow, hobbling trot, but I kept going.  I got close to the finish line and Emily was there, having finished well before me, as did my Uncle Steve.  She pointed to her hip to ask how I was feeling.  I just shook my head no and kept going. 

I crossed the finish line at 1:55, I did not get much further before I found a spot along a fence and collapsed in pain.  For a few minutes I sat perfectly still afraid to move afraid to feel the pain.  It was a while before I was able to stand, I found my uncle and he congratulated me on my finish.  Everyone who ran got a medal, so I had a memento to look at and remember. 

The pain in my hip and groin was a bigger problem.  I had to stop running for weeks to try to let it heal.  As I said before, true relief only began to come when I switched shoes back to Brooks.  As I look back now though I would not change a thing.  I ran my first Half Marathon, dedicated it to a loved one, and conquered some adversity as well.  It may not have been a perfect story book ending, being injured and hobbling to the finish line, but for me it was pretty close.

Impossible Is Nothing - Zero to Half Marathon

Impossible Is Nothing Part 4 - Zero to Half Marathon in 6 Months

Christopher Setterlund

October 3, 2011      

   

     I would like to say that my journey from zero to half marathon in six months was easy but that would be a lie.  It has been one of the most difficult challenges I have ever undertaken but it has also been one of the most rewarding.  The fact that I have lost thirty-two pounds is more of a side note rather than the main headline.  My run in the Harwich Cranberry Harvest Half Marathon October 2^nd was a testament to my own drive and determination.  Hopefully I have inspired others to run since I was positive back in March that not only would I not run, but that I was not physically able to.  If I can do it anybody can.

            My training for this half marathon began shortly after my last race in mid-August, Old Home Week in Centerville.  I upped my mileage from 78 miles in August to a shade over 150 in September.  The most surprising thing to me was that it was not the actual running part of the training that ended up being a problem, but as with nearly all of my races there ended up being drama to go along with everything.

            My drama came in the form of a drunk man on a bicycle only 6 days before the race.  Attempting my final long run before the half marathon, a 15 mile trek from my home in South Yarmouth along Rt. 28 to Wychmere Harbor in Harwich, I ran into trouble.  Well, actually, I hurdled into trouble.  When coming up on a bar less than three miles into my run around 4:30pm a man came out from behind a pair of pickup trucks wobbling and pushing his bicycle.  I yelled but had little other alternative but to attempt to leap over the back of the bicycle as the man swayed forward and back and I had no idea where to go.

            My leap got me over the bike but I landed awkwardly on my left leg, oh it hurt.  Angry I quickly turned and shouted at the drunk.  My adrenaline rush got me moving again along Rt. 28 and carried me a ways until I began to think about my upcoming race and the potential for injury in my left knee.  I began to overcompensate for my left leg by running a big lopsided, focusing on my ‘good’ right leg.  This helped my left leg but ended up straining my hip flexor which any runner knows is quite painful.  I completed my 15 miles, struggling mightily toward the end covered in swarms of black gnats which made it look like I had been doused with pepper. 

            I was in pain and a lot of it, I worried about the race on that Sunday and took two days off from running to let my hip recover.  I ran that Thursday with minimal pain and thought I was fine; then I went to the well once too often.  Running the next day my hip gave out and left me with a searing pain after only four miles.  I had to walk back to the gym nearly three miles, pretty embarrassing when you look like a runner but have to hobble like an old man.  Stretching, ice and heat, and ibuprofen were all I had at my disposal with only 36 hours until the race.  I did it all, over and over, Friday night and Saturday and hoped for the best.  I kept quiet just how badly I was hurt because obviously people would tell me I should just not run.  That was not an option in my mind.  In my mind this was a culmination of a journey, it was a hugely important day in my life.  I was going to run the half marathon for me, to show my family and friends that anybody could become a runner, and I was going to honor my grandmother and my late aunt by wearing the pink breast cancer awareness ribbon on my shirt. 

      “Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” – Lance Armstrong

 

            That quote was what I kept in my mind when I arrived at Harwich High School on race day.  I knew my hip was bad, I knew it was going to end up hurting me, I just didn’t know how long it would take.  Sadly for me it would not be too long.

            The sun came out just in time for the race to begin and I was looking forward to running alongside my Uncle Steve in my first half marathon much like I had done in my first 5K race in May.  This dream would last for just under two miles when the inevitable pain in my right hip returned with a vengeance.  I turned to my uncle and told him my hip was on fire, he told me to shout down the pain.  I knew I would have to deal with this increasing pain for the next 11 miles but also looked at the pink ribbon on my shirt and remembered why I was not going to quit.

            Slowly my uncle faded from sight and it became me against the pain.  My goal had been 1hr. 50mins. finish time but that goal was replaced by simply crossing the finish line.  I thought that this was doable for the next few miles as I began to get my second wind around 7 miles deep.  This second wind usually amounts to getting into a smooth groove in my running motion naturally increasing my pace, but this time there was no increase in pace.  There was only a slowly increasing burn in my hip that started getting into my head.  That coupled with the sun beating down on my shaved head made me doubt whether I would ever see the finish line.

            It came to a head as I passed the 8-mile marker.  I began to feel like I was simply going to fall over from the pain in my hip coupled with terrible stomach pains.  I needed a distraction if that was possible when running 13.1 miles.  It came down to concentrating on my breathing and waving to as many small children as I could to keep me from passing out from pain.  The final five miles were a mix of horror and inspiration, the pain would get to me but I would think of my grandmother and my aunt and remember that they were the ones I was dedicating my run to.

            I crossed the finish line in 1hr. 55 minutes, heard my name announced over the speakers, and quickly found a spot to collapse.  My hip hurt so badly that it brought tears to my eyes, I sat against the fence looking down at my right leg and then at the medal that I was given by a young girl as I crossed the finish line.  My walk back to my car which should have taken no more than three minutes took twenty, I gritted my teeth and carried on.  I remembered the quote from Lance Armstrong and knew the pain would only be temporary but the fact that I completed my first half marathon would last forever. 

            So here I am the day after, my hip in pain but a smile on my face knowing that I accomplished my goal.  I went from not running at all to running and finishing a half marathon in 6 months.  It makes me believe that my goal of running the Boston Marathon is not impossible.  It makes me believe that my next half marathon in February will produce a better time.  It makes me believe that anybody who has a dream or a desire can accomplish what they set out to with hard work.  I am proof that impossible is nothing. 

 

 

6 months, 5 races so far