My Half-Marathon Experience
(The following is my attempt (Jayd) to document the events of 11/13/2011. This is how I remember it, so I hope everything is accurate. I will say that some of the events may not read perfectly chronological as sometimes I needed to complete certain thoughts. Seeing as it’s Thanksgiving Eve, I can definitely say that I am just happy to be alive and in good health.)
On Sunday, November 13, 2011, I attempted to run my first half marathon at the “Rock & Roll Marathon” in San Antonio, Texas. Unfortunately, the results were not want I had hoped for.
Back in early September, my good friend Ty threw a solid guy-to-guy challenge on the table for me to run a half marathon with him (he was already fully committed and training). I half excitedly and half reluctantly accepted the offer and got to training. Though the initial runs were tough, eventually I felt relatively good (all things considered, it still be running and all). Eight days before the race I ran 11.4 miles with only one 10-second water break and clocked my best time for a long run (I know you runners out there are wondering, so 9:49/mile; yeah, nothing great, but it was considerable progress for me). As race day approached, I felt confident. I assumed the distance wouldn’t be a problem and was hoping that I would finish, enjoy the experience, and hopefully have a respectable time.
On the morning of the race, my buddy Steve and I got to the race site about an hour before things were set to kick off. We found Ty and enjoyed some pre-race banter. As was expected/hoped, my body clock kicked in and I had to take care of a typical pre-morning run activity. Sadly, I wasn’t alone in this and in spite of the many porta-potties that they provided, the line-ups were miserable. Long story short, it took over 45 minutes to get through the line, and then it was off to find my racing mates, Steve and Ty, again. That was honestly a really unfortunate start to the day.
The weather was definitely not great. I’d been training in the early mornings and later at night to avoid the post-summer Austin warmth and hadn’t experienced much humidity in my training. This morning in San Antonio was beyond muggy (I heard it was 97%, though that sounds a bit high). The weather forecast had a heat advisory but the morning cool and overcast. But, as the race kicked off, it was easy to feel the effects of the humidity.
Though the race officially started at 7:30 AM, we didn’t get going until around 8:00 AM, being back in corral 24 (or so). As we started, it was obvious that we were in a slower corral then we should have been. There were over 30,000 people in the race, so the crowded roads were tough. Obviously, training is a very solitary ‘run straight ahead’ experience. During the race though, it felt like I spent a lot of energy moving laterally, up and down curbs, weaving through bodies, etc, to pass slower runners and walkers (why do people walk in the middle of the road?). It was tough to establish a steady pace for a large part of the race. That was very unexpected and unfortunate.
As the race progressed, I felt really good – strong legs, solid pace, actually running close to someone (Ty) which made for really nice occasional check-points with someone. I must say though, during my training I never took any aspirin or ibuprofen. On the morning of the race, I took one Aleve as my lower left leg muscles had still been hurting me the week before (training for a race, I’ve learned, has a lot less to do with cardio strength and a lot more to do with leg strength). I don’t know if it was that Aleve or the race experience or just my body working it out, but my legs felt great that day; easiest run I’d had from a ‘leg pain’ perspective (which probably didn’t help).
So, things felt good. I passed miles 8, 9, 10, and 11 and felt the end near. And then I passed mile 12. I was feeling the normal effects of having run a solid distance but still felt strong. That said, it was getting warmer and I could feel it. I was drinking a lot more water than I typically did, but, in hindsight, definitely not enough to compensate for the circumstances (that ugly humidity). Eventually I passed what I projected to be about the 12.5 mile mark. “That’s it, 95% there, I’ve got this”, I thought. I was running the math to completion the entire way (it’s what I do). Only 6/10 of a mile to go. And then I woke up in a hospital about four hours later. I still don’t remember anything from in between those two moments.
The first thing that I remember about ‘coming to’ is seeing my wife’s face and having her ask me “do you know who I am?”. It seemed like an odd question and I remember wanting to give a smart alec response, but I resisted. I was disoriented but felt like myself. It felt completely bizarre and I had no idea why I was lying in an overly lit, curtained-off hospital area in the ER. Tauni didn’t give me much information initially, wanting to know what I remembered to test my mental state. I vaguely remember the nurse telling me that I was at “… Santa Rosa hospital”. Santa Rosa? California? I was so confused. Still no clue about why I was there. Tauni asked if I knew where I was and I unconfidently responded “Los Angeles?”. “Do you remember running a race?”, she asked. I can’t say that I really did. Now I was getting nervous.
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, I had nurse after nurse tell me they thought for sure that I was going to be severely brain-damaged (and my wife didn’t yet seem confident that I wasn’t). I mentally reviewed my wife and kids’ full names and birthdates and nailed them all without hesitation. Then I remembered starting the race that morning in San Antonio, though I remembered nothing about the end of it. I then rehearsed the work conversation that I was supposed to have the following day in Vegas with a prospect. I went through what I would say, how I would handle concerns, etc. I realize that sounds really odd but I needed to know that my brain was better than just remembering birthdates. Basically, I needed to know that I could still support my family; I was scared. Fortunately, everything clicked in perfectly.
We don’t know exact details of when I collapsed, but I’ve been told that it was within 100 feet of the finish line (just my luck). I don’t remember anything past what I would guess was about 12.5 miles, so that means that I was in some kind of ‘auto pilot’ mode for the last half mile (about five minutes at my pace).
Ty’s wife Sherri is the first person that knew me to notice me post-collapse. She saw them carrying me on a stretcher over the finish line and into the medical area. She was then able to contact Tauni (imagine, there were 30,000 runners, so do the math on the number of people that were around the finish line). There is a huge story behind this which I can’t accurately tell, but without exaggeration brings Sherri to tears. There were many small and very untypical events that led her to be in the position she was in and eventually see me, which I feel were not arbitrary at all. I’ll always be grateful to her for being where she was.
The fact that I collapsed only 100 feet from the finish line meant that the medical staff on-site was able to spot me and treat me as soon as possible. It was determined that I had suffered from severe heatstroke (far more serious than heat exhaustion). My body temperature was 106 degrees and my heart was beating at 170 beats per minute (and stayed at that elevated rate for hours). I was immediately iced down and sent to the ER. Had I not been so close to medical attention, I’m scared that my recovery could have been very different. Tragically, a 32-year old marine (far more fit than I) lost his life and a young woman was still on a ventilator when I left the hospital, with grave concerns of severe brain damage. All told, there were 20+ runners in Christus Santa Rosa Hospital in San Antonio with me. I feel very grateful that I’ve recovered as quickly as I have.
Within the first five minutes of ‘coming to’, I told Tauni that I had an anxiety attack the “night before” (what I thought). The “attack” was completely paralyzing and I had no control of my body. I was terrified. I was completely “conscious” during this time and as vulnerable and desperate as I’ve ever felt in my life. It seemed to go on forever and though I continually tried to calm myself down, I couldn’t. It was honestly the most intense and frightening experience of my life. Though, to me, it felt like a dream, the pain I felt was completely real even if I was not “conscious” in any true sense of the word. I felt completely helpless. (Just to be clear: I was unconscious during this time, but having a dream-like experience in which I felt the things mentioned above including actual physical pain).
After telling this to Tauni, she told me of the convulsions that I had been having in the hospital. Essentially, in the four hours between my collapse and my ‘coming to’, I had numerous convulsions to the point of requiring restraints to the hospital bed, alternating with coma-like states (“those aren’t my husband’s eyes” per Tauni). Terrifying. Ty saw me when he came in to the ER to give me a blessing and he commented to Tauni that I essentially looked a “dead man”.
When I was admitted to the ER, my body temperature was still around 106 degrees and my heart was still at 170 bpm. We later found out that my body was essentially “shutting down”. They stripped me down and iced my entire body. Of course, I don’t remember any of this. I’m not medically knowledgeable enough to understand most of the details, but my body was aggressively breaking down muscle and dumping enzymes into the bloodstream. Another major concern was that my kidneys would be overloaded by the toxins and fail (the color Tauni uses to describe my urine during the first 48 hours is ‘tea brown’; there was also what looked like muscle particles/sediment in the urine). In the coming days, my kidneys were aggressively flushed (translation: a serious amount of IV fluids going through me). My kidneys seem to be working perfectly fine now.
I spent the next four days (including that initial day) in the ER, ICU, and Telemetry areas of the hospital meeting an unlimited number of doctors and nurses and being run through a vast array of cardiac tests (very grateful for good health insurance). Without fail, doctors and nurses looked at me with a complete sense of amazement, shocked that I was completely lucid and physically strong. It was eerie and I felt frustrated that I had no recollection of what had happened to me. Essentially I had ‘come to’ and been fine at that point. It wasn’t a prolonged recovery. So, for me, it was so sobering to hear how severe it had been and yet not have an experiential connection to that. I wish it would have sunk deeper into me, but I couldn’t remember any of it.
The initial heart tests (Echo & EKG) came back strong so they sent me for a stress test. I walked/jogged on a treadmill with an aggressive incline for 12 minutes and felt fine besides having tired legs from the race. The cardiologist expected a clean outcome but unfortunately the results showed a slight abnormality in one artery of my heart so they scheduled me for a cardiac catheterization that next morning. I was terrified. There was potential blockage in one artery and they were considering putting in a stent. Was I truly at that point in life? Per the cardiologist, “you experienced the equivalent of a massive heart attack”.
Fortunately, what they found was “less than 30% blockage” and so no treatment was performed during the catheterization procedure. Later that day, I was discharged with a short-term prescription of aspirin and a beta-blocker. Relieved.
So, will I run again? Definitely. But, it’s time to go see a cardiologist in Austin first. My body feels more in shape than it has in five plus years so I definitely want to get to running in the next few weeks. I miss it. I’m craving a run.
I’m grateful that I trained for and ran this half marathon. It’s been a great experience for me. I’m more grateful that I was definitely spared from any severe harm as a result of my collapse and that I have experienced a quick recovery. I’ve had a lot of feelings through this and I definitely feel like I was watched over, which is no trivial thing. That knowledge has been impressed upon me and I’m grateful for that confirmation. That will stick with me. I’m grateful that I’m still here to raise my family and grow old with Tauni.
I’m still in a sense of shock that something this serious happened. I wish I could remember anything from those four lost hours. The course of my life could have been severely altered and yet here I sit feeling perfectly normal again. I’m so completely grateful for that.
