Sometimes you just have a bad race

And I did on Saturday.  At mile 9 my myriad injuries made it very obvious that I was either going to take it easy, or I was likely going to spend the next six months trying to rehab a torn achilles and a ruptured calf.  Not surprising, considering that two weeks ago I didn't think I was going to even go to Utah for the race and five days ago I didn't even think I was going to line up.

I ended up finishing in 4:57, which is more than an hour slower than my last race.  I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed - I trained harder than ever and am - on paper - faster than I've ever been.  But I'm proud of finishing in spite of all the reasons I shouldn't have.  And I have a new appreciation for all of the 5 hour marathon people.

I am especially proud of my brother, however.  He ran his first marathon (we ran together for the first 9 miles until I told him to go without me) and he finished in an amazing 3:32.  Couldn't have been more proud.

As for me, I'm going to take a month off of running and then start trying to train up for a half ironman in October.