Sure enough, my back started recruiting other body parts in its screams of protest. My shoulders, neck, calves (which just hurt, period), quads, hands – everything – joined in the cacophony of agony. I rode upright – knowing this would slow me down, but felt soooooo good on my back.
I stopped once on the way out and twice on the way back to stretch out my legs and especially my back. I could feel that my body was dehydrated – even my contacts were starting to get cloudy and dried out. I tried drinking, but it just wasn’t enough.
As I rode closer to the transition area, a few hardy souls were there, but most of the cheering crowds had left. What was a mile of people packing the streets like a parade was in town had become a ghost town. They had moved on to the run, and as I came into the transition area, I could hear them cheering for the people that were already running (or in the case of the professionals, coming into the finish area).
I coasted into the dismount zone and gave the volunteer my bike. I stiffly walked to get my bag of gear for the run, walked into the change tent, and found an unoccupied chair. I plopped down, and slowly began taking my bike stuff off.
Inside the gear bag I had a fuel belt to carry gel and water. But it seemed to weigh so much – I decided then and there that I wasn’t going to wear it. I didn’t want to drink the gel anyway, since I had had enough on the bike. I found the compression socks I had bought the day before that went up to my knee and knew I had to wear those for the run. After a 9 minute stop (which included going to the med tent to get saline solution to help my dried-out contacts), I started out on a fast walk to begin the 26.2 mile marathon final leg.
There was no way I could run.
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