November 1st, 2015, was one of the best days of my life.
It hasn’t take me four months to figure this out, it’s just how long it’s taken me to tell you about it. I knew it was a highlight of my life around noon on that day, while running through the streets of Brooklyn. The most amazing crowds I had ever seen cheered me and the other thousands of runners participating in the NYC marathon.
It was my 10th marathon and it came after almost two years of injury and slow recovery. It was far from my fastest marathon (3:29:51), but it felt like a true victory.
I arrived at the marathon a little undertrained and still feeling my hamstring injury. But I knew I could do it if I took it easy. I paced myself and stuck to my plan. Everything seemed to go smoothly until the 20th mile when my right leg cramped. I stopped for a minute, stretched out my leg, and continued running.
I kept my pace down and seemed to be fine. Somewhere on 5th Avenue before turning into Central Park, I started feeling very sluggish. I tried to increase my pace, but couldn’t. As we turned into the park I felt my body slowing down, but since it was the last few miles of the marathon I didn’t think too much of it. (The truth is that at that point I couldn’t think about much more than my next step.)
When we came out of the park on 59th St., a young Italian runner dropped to the ground, exhausted. I felt so sorry for him. There was less than a mile to go.
I was exhausted. And happy.
I got my medal and bag of goodies, and started walking towards the exit. A few minutes later I decided to check my blood sugar (something I hadn’t done since the start of the marathon). It was 60.
I opened the bag of goodies, took out the apple, and slowly ate it. It was around 2:30 p.m. and the apple was my first food of the day (aside from the three gels I’d consumed during my run).
As I walked toward the exit, thinking about the last miles of the race, I made a decision. I’m going to get a CGM, even if I have to pay for it myself. In life with Type 1 diabetes, the stakes are always high. The 60 at the finish line scared me. Had I gotten to the finish line five minutes later, who knows what could have happened.