The day of my first marathon, it was 40 degrees and pouring rain. I injured my iliotibial band (connective tissue that runs from the hip to the lower leg), forcing me to walk the last two miles under excruciating pain that rivaled childbirth. But I wouldn’t trade that day in for the world, because when I hobbled across the finish line, although I added at least an extra 30 minutes to my time, I had achieved the goal I had worked toward for four months–to finish, under 5 hours. And that was an awesome feeling. Although I love racing, I will not be running another 26.2 miles again, ever. Partly because …
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