Step 18: Oxygen... Please?!?!!!

Pacific Crest weekend in Sunriver was great.
Fan-C (my six year old daughter) ran in the Splash, Pedal, Dash and did fabulous. She has LONG legs and running is so simple for her. All the youngin' grandkiddos participated in the race 'cept my Tank and Tiny-T and our 20 month old niece. Yeah, Team Stanley was WELL represented to say the least.
My broski-in-law did the Half-Ironman... holy crud. Over seven straight hours of swimming (1.2 miles), biking (56 miles) and running a half marathon (13.2 miles) just to top off the day. He was awesome and we drove ahead of him and met him on the run encouraging him to keep going. A-maze-ing! My sister-in-law (Dev) ran a half marathon Saturday morning in an amazing time and then went out and ran with "Iron" broski-in-law his last seven miles. Oh, twenty miles in one day... all in a day's work. Sheesh... she is fabulous!
Sunday morning Team Stanley had a sea of green at the 'staging' area for the 5K/10K races. Broski-in-laws, sister-in-laws and nieces and nephews all assemble to begin. The rest of the Stanley crew is wearing their green Team Stanley shirts and waiting at the finish line to watch us cross the finish.
I have to go to the bathroom so bad. (I write it off as nerves) They begin to walk us up to the starting line for the 5K and I take a side trip to the lovely Bucks located at the top of our staging area. Ummm, it wasn't nerves I really had to go. I then hustle trying to find the starting line of this race. It is like a MILE away! I felt like I walked half the race before I even crossed the mat that activated my computer chip securely fastened to the toe of my shoe. I wasn't there for the countdown ... the herd had already taken off by the time I got near them. I am literally the LAST racer of the 5K. Oh wonderful. Off I march. My i-pod is playing my thumping-keep-up-a-great-pace music and I'm in the shade of tons of trees so the temps are great. But the reason I'm in the shade of trees is because I'm heading straight up a HILL. Oh, crap. 4700 ft elevation and I'm climbing higher.... wonderful. On I go. I pass the first volunteer who says, "Hey, you have made a good start!". "Thanks" is all I can say, my lungs are starting to tingle. Good, there is a slight downhill around the corner... on I march. Hey, I passed a walking group. An older couple with their daughter and pushing their grandson in a stroller. Yippee... I'm not last anymore. My niece Danika and nephew Colton are standing on the trail holding out their hands offering a high five. My broski-in-law, Joel is taking pictures for "posterity"... lovely. I need a hit off pure oxygen, Thanks! They wish me luck and off they stroll. I march on. I'm kinda freakin' out cuz I know that at any moment now a herd of 10k runners will be passing me as their race started fifteen minutes after mine and they are using the same beginning course as the 5k peeps. I get close to a turn and here they come. I can hear the thunder of the herd approaching. I keep marching on. A few lean and trim runners hit me on the back as they pass and say, "Good job" or "Keep going, you can do it." I whisper out my "Thanks". Where the heck is the mile marker... I'm sure I have shuffled at least five miles at this point. I start asking the support volunteers if I have gone at least a quarter of a mile. They aren't sure where I started but they are SURE I've done at least a quarter of a mile. Okay, on I march. My chest is exploding. How can people live in high elevations and do anything that requires breathing? I am so a valley girl. Up ahead I see some signs. Way up ahead ~ straight up the next hill ~ a hill that I see no END to... I can barely make it out... "1 Mile". WooHoo... I've walked one mile (straight up hill). I've forgotten that I even have music playing... all I can hear is the pounding in my chest and my wheezing trying to squeeze a wee bit of oxygen out of this thin air. My legs feel fine, feet feel fine, back feels fine, my arm isn't hurting, my burnt fingers (another post for that story) are doing okay. On I march. I'm climbing Mt. Huge Hill when a runner approaches yelling "Right!" I'm confused. I'm all the way over to the right. As right as I can be without actually having to climb through the lovely sagebrush. He hits my shoulder as he passes and stumbles a bit. He turns and literally growls at me. I'm so confused. It could be that my brain is no longer able to function due to the lack a real oxygen but another 10k runner stops and asks me if I'm okay. She says something... but again, I'm not able to even process what she is saying... must find oxygen. I begin to hear my name. I can hear someone saying my name... It is my 10k sister-in-laws passing me by and saying their encouragements for their fellow Team Stanley racer. On I march. I see a watering station up ahead and as I approach they are asking me if I want water or electrolytes. I whisper out "Air, I need air." Literally a whisper. They pick up their walky-talky thing and say that they are going to call for help. Ummmm, yeah I looked that 'great'. A fellow-racer stops and shoves his cell phone in my face and offers to have me call someone to come and help me. I dial Lance and say literally, "Beaver Street and [cross street name]" and hang up. The racer continues on and then I am freakin' out thinking that Lance isn't going to understand my code and I will be sitting in the middle of Mount Sunriver for forever. Again the volunteer asks if they can have the golf cart come and cart me off to the finish line... I manage a "Hell NO!" I sit on a rock and ask how far have I walked. "Half way"... 2 1/2k! It's all "downhill" from here. I can not breathe. I can not get air to enter my body at all, whether I am walking downhill, uphill, sidehill... it won't matter. Tears start to fall. I can't finish. I've failed. My Fan-C was so proud of me for doing the race and now I wasn't going to cross the finish line and hear, "Stephanie Stanley from Springfield Oregon finishing today! Great job!" Lance arrives and I am crying so hard that my chest feels like it's going to explode. I mean actual pain... my lungs are NOT working. He drives me to the racing officials and turns in my timing chip and lets the racing officials know that I'm not still wandering out on the course. I'm not lost on Mount Sunriver. They don't have to send a search party out when they realize that a 5k racer still hasn't crossed the line ten hours later. They give him the t-shirt and hand him a MEDAL. WTF (freak!)!!!!! I guess you can buy the medal that you get for completing the race. I see him coming back to our car and I see the yellow ribbon of the medal and I start crying. I can't keep that... I didn't finish. He tells me that I got it for participating and for going as far as I did. I've never put it on. I can't wear it knowing that I only went half way.
Home to shower. Here comes the fam. Filing in to give their condolences... um I mean encouragement that I did half and "next year ~ all the way". Ummmm, yeah. I'm a HUGE fan of air and breathing and I don't know that next year will include Mount Sunriver in my breathing schedule... but who knows.
So there ya go... I got my butt ~ lungs ~ kicked by the Pacific Crest (4700 ft elevation) 5k race. Yes, I am going to patent my official name change for this race. Here I thought my legs or feet would be 'screamin' during this process yet they felt great... blasted lungs.
I should have strapped on an oxygen tank for my journey... or passed the watering station and been offered, "Oxygen?"... to which I would have whispered... "Please?!?!!!"