This is my story. It is kind of long, but it's how I want to remember it. Happy reading. Pictures to follow soon.
Let me tell you about our crew. There are 4 of us that signed up to do this marathon together. For every similarity you can find between us, you can find two differences, but I guess that is just how it goes with a group of women. We share the same race and religion. We are all wives and mothers. And we all love running-but for different reasons.
C is kind and caring. She sees the world in black and white, and cares about the feelings of others. She lives close to the spirit. She enjoys running because of the social implications, and her inner metronome beats strong. If you want a strong steady pace, she is your girl. Oh, but if it’s hot outside, she’ll suddenly go missing after about 2 miles and you’ll find her inside on the treadmill.
M is a chatter box, and we love her for it. She is a mother of 4, and they are the light of her life. She is strong and independent in so many ways. Running seems to be a means of self expression for M. Her endurance goes for days, but if she starts to feel it, she’s gone, and all you’ll see of her is the back of her head as you try to catch her. She pushes you, she makes you dig deep, and she helped me find that extra gear. Her love of running is deep and emotional and passionate, just like she is.
D-where do I begin? She is the one that got me back into this madness! D is strong, and reliable, and unpredictable. When I first met her and knew her before the training began, I thought she was quiet, and well, mousy. Guess what, she isn’t. She is opinionated and confident in who she is. Running is her therapy, and if she knew just how strong she is we would never catch up to her. Instead of using that strength, she spends her energy worrying about the feelings and emotional state of the rest of us. Dr. D might be a good title for her-even though she fights her desire to take care of the rest of us!!!
I began this journey as an emotional and physical wreck. I needed to fix myself, and I wasn’t strong enough to keep up with any of them. D especially was patient and kept me going through those rough first weeks when all you want to do is quit because every run hurts and doesn’t feel worth it. As I got to know her, we each opened up and gave more of ourselves to each other. By the end I would be calling her my therapist and she really helped me work through some stuff.
There were some just get through it runs, some pre-dawn runs, some speed work runs, some go on without me runs, some help me get through this runs, and before we would be done there would even be a tragic run. We fought through it all together. We relied on each other, and we helped each other through. There is nothing comparable to the bond that is built over miles. It is unique and special. Before the end of the journey we would lose one to a knee injury that just wouldn’t go away, and another to a head on collision with a Gabe on a bicycle (it resulted in a broken jaw and instructions for a Dr. not to run).
After tears, anger and frustration C and I realized that we would have to finish this journey of 4 with just the 2 of us. Luckily there was more to the support crew to get us through the last few weeks.
Race day started early. I woke at 3:45 a.m. ecstatic that I had slept for 4 or 5 hours. The first year I didn’t sleep at all. Inventory of stuff, warm clothes on, and we were out the door to meet the bus. We gathered with the throngs, took the 26.2 mile bus ride in the dark with a full moon looking on. We lost track of time as we talked about our lives, and our own journeys. When we arrived and stepped off the bus it was still dark, it was cold, but it was a bustle with excitement. Runners and volunteers were swarming everywhere. We spent time in line for the bathroom, and trying to feel some warmth from a fire that was already too crowded with runners. Finally start time was near. While other runners strip down and get in line to start I head for one last trip to the port-a-potties. By the time we’re ready to start thousands of runners have already begun, and we are in the back of the pack, right where I want to be. I cross that start line, start my Garmin and the last phase of the journey has begun. I have devised a plan to keep it at a reasonable pace-between 9 and 9:30 minutes per mile for the first 12 miles and see what I have left after that. But can I push aside the adrenaline and keep to that plan? I begin this race with a different mind set that the race before. I’m determined to have a good time. Last year it rained, making it wet, and cold, and frankly, miserable! This year I want to enjoy myself, and so I do. I start conversations with strangers, I cheer on the volunteers and spectators. I butt my way into conversations that have nothing to do with me, and overall, it is received well. C and I stay together for 11 miles before we finally lose each other at an aid station. It’s all good because she has been lost in her music for the past 5 miles or so anyway! Now I’m on my own with the hardest part of the course behind me. I felt D and M with me as I climbed my way through those 4 miles of up-hill. They didn’t hurt, and they weren’t hard. Maybe it was thinking of all they had been through, only to miss this opportunity. I hit the half-way mark and I feel great. I’m taking advantage of each aid station, I’m taking care of myself and I’m allowing the energy of the other runners and the spectators to help me through. I let my music get me through some boring stretches, but I’m happy because I’m not relying on it to pull me through like I did last year. It just feels good. I can feel my body, and my spirit. One is working hard allowing the other to soar! We come down the hill into the city limits and I can’t believe just how many people are lining the streets cheering runners on. I know that most of them are there to cheer for one or two runners that they know, but my mind tells me that they are all there cheering for me, and pulling for me, so whether they want to be or not, they are. My body is starting to tire, but now my will carries me on. I run past a band that has just finished a song and yell to them “You guys rock” and they respond by shouting and cheering and this time I know it is for me. It is enough to get me through to the end. I’m searching the faces to find D and M, but I never actually see them. As I approach the finish line I feel good, and I know I can still muster up some kind of a kick, so I do. That’s when I hear them. I heard them shout my name, and I pointed an I Love You sign their way and finish the race. 3 hours, 51 minutes, 28 seconds. My goal was to break 4 hours, and I did it, and way better! My heart soars. I feel it. After a 2 month fast, I feel it again, and bigger than ever. The runners high has returned and taken its place inside me. This is why I run. This feeling is what keeps me coming back. For me running is about self discovery. I find more of myself each time I lace them up anyway. It is the one thing in my life that is mine all mine. My daughter can’t take it and put it in her purse. My boys can’t yell over the top of it, or intrude on the quiet it brings. My husband can’t understand it, so he leaves it alone. They are my support system, and I couldn’t do it without them. They too were out there with me, every step of every mile. But this belongs to me. This victory is mine. Others helped me get here, and to them I owe my thanks. Thank you for helping me along the way, and thank you for never holding me back.
