“The miracle isn’t that [we] finished. The miracle is that [we] had the courage to start.”
--My take on a quote from John “the Penguin” Bingham
I ran my first marathon on Sunday. And it was...awesome! So much fun!
I highly recommend it to anyone who doesn't think running a marathon is
a completely insane pursuit. And I know you're out there: dad,
Gretchen, anyone else?
The actual running of the marathon took place on Sunday, but of course it started long before then.
I
guess I first got the idea this summer after my husband and I did our
second relay this summer. (Talk about a completely insane pursuit.
For those of you who have never done one, it's basically 24 hours in a
van with five other sweaty people running approximately 200 miles - 10 to
18 miles each - with very little sleep. And it's a ton of fun. )
I
thought to myself, okay, I did that again, what's next? I had already
run a couple of half marathons (one brutal and one easy) and I'm not
much of a biker, which rules out a triathlon (although now...) so....the
marathon.
I have always been better at distance than
speed so this made a lot more sense than trying to run a five minute
mile (in addition to having the added advantage of being POSSIBLE), plus
all the books, running mags, and websites these days were saying that
anyone could run a marathon so, why not?
Starting out, I
didn't tell anyone, not even my husband, what I was thinking about. I
just set about training for a half marathon in September that a couple
of members of our relay team were running. I ran that race in 2 hours
and 17 minutes, my personal record for the half marathon (remember what I
said about running fast?).
So after that I really
felt like: what's next?
The only answer I could come up with was
the full marathon. So, I started to train, but I still didn't tell
anyone what I was planning (except for my husband) in case it all went
belly up.
I got up to 15 miles pretty easily, but going
from 15 to 18 was torture and I almost didn't. But then I did, and I
was so glad. I felt exhilarated and accomplished. And I started telling
people.
It didn't make any sense the order in which I
told people. I didn't tell my closest friends and family first, I told
relative strangers, people at the running store, a mom at my kids'
school I hardly ever see. Then, slowly, word started to get out and
people were asking me about it. It made me kind of uncomfortable at
first, but I just thought: I'll do it and it will all be okay.
We
lined up around 8:00AM. I had run into a dad from my kids' school in
the waiting area and saw him again at the start so I started the race
with him even though I knew that put me in a group much faster than I
would be running. We stretched and chatted for a few minutes (this was
his first marathon also, he was running it on his 35th birthday, he also
had a cold) then, finally....we were off.
My strategy
was to start slow and stay slow so I jogged across the start line barely
breathing, watching the faster runners stream past me in all manner of
running gear. I saw at least two people I had read about in Runner's World magazine: the barefoot runner guy and the guy in the pink tutu,
lots of people I thought I knew but didn't, men and women, old and
young, fitter than me and less fit than me (one thing I have learned
from all this running is that you just cannot tell how fast a person runs by what they look like, men younger and fitter than me run slower
and women older and heavier run faster).
Once everyone
had passed me and I had settled into my "race pace" (around 13 minute
miles I'm guessing) I started to worry that I was going to be the very
past person in the race. I tried to embrace this, to tell myself that it
would be a privilege to come in last, but I couldn't quite come to
terms with this and I had to look back. There were runners behind me for
miles. I took comfort in this and plodded on.
I had
gone about a mile or so at this point and came to the first porta potty.
I already had to go, but didn't want to stop so I ran - uncomfortably -
past it and immediately regretted it. My second miles was spent looking for
the next chance to pee, which fortunately came at mile marker #2 and the first
water stop.
The previous night I had decided, due to a
last minute cold that came on Thanksgiving Day and some last minute
reading in, "Marathon, You Can Do It
!" by John Galloway, to experiment
with the "Gallowalk" (walk one minute for every mile you run) on race
day. When someone had previously mentioned it to me (including the fact
that most people who use this technique actually finish faster than
those who run the whole thing) I had dismissed it as, "cheating." But,
when it came down to not doing the race at all or doing it with a bit of
walking, I chose the latter.
!" by John Galloway, to experiment
with the "Gallowalk" (walk one minute for every mile you run) on race
day. When someone had previously mentioned it to me (including the fact
that most people who use this technique actually finish faster than
those who run the whole thing) I had dismissed it as, "cheating." But,
when it came down to not doing the race at all or doing it with a bit of
walking, I chose the latter.
On race day our friend
Tom, who was doing the half with my husband, said he had started a
few years back walking through the water stops so he could actually
drink the water. This made a lot of sense to me so I decided to adopt
the "Tomowalk" for my marathon, which meant I would be walking
approximately 16 minutes of the race (one minute at each water stop).
So,
mile 2. The first water stop. First things first, I used the porta
potty, then grabbed a cup of water and a cup of Gatorade. Three sips of
Gatorade were enough so I dumped it, then pulled out my very squished pb
and j and took a couple of bites. Finished the water and took off
running.
Just after mile 2 the course went up a freeway
exit ramp and onto the I90 express lanes toward the I90 floating
bridge. This was a nice bit of the run with a view of Seattle not many
people get outside of a car. Plus, it's almost completely flat once you
get on the bridge. I ran steadily for awhile, listening to
conversations: the men making jokes or comparing training regimens, the
women complaining about husbands and boyfriends. I saw the dad I had started with coming back
across the bridge and we exchanged words of encouragement.
At
the second water stop (mile 4) I stuck to my routine and walked one
minute, took three sips of Gatorade, a few bites of sandwich and a whole
cup of water then took off running again.
Around mile 5 I decided it was time for some music.
I pulled out my iPod shuffle (thanks Cindy!) and put on some tunes. I ran to the music for the next 18 miles.
From
the floating bridge the course went down another off ramp and into the
arboretum along Lake WA Blvd a very winding road along Lake Washington.
This was a long stretch of the course and would have been very boring
were it not for the music, the scenery and the people watching.
It was around this point that I started texting. Yes, texting during a marathon!
My
husband had asked me to text him during the race so he knew where I
was at and he and the kids could come and cheer me on. At first I
thought this was an insane request and I told him I didn't think I was
going to be able to do that. He said, at least let me know when you are
halfway so I said I would try.
Mile 9 is right about in
the middle of the long stretch down to Seward Park so I pulled out my
cell phone and whipped off a quick "9" while running.
Immediately
I got back a "Go girl!" and I was hooked. I started texting at every
water stop. At first just to my husband, but then I went crazy. I texted my
running partner who wasn't able to run with me because she was about to
have a baby. I texted my sister and my mom and dad, all of whom were
coming out to see me run. I texted a couple of
friends who had sent me "good luck" emails the night before. And all of
their texts helped keep me going through that long, flat stretch of
road, "I'm so proud," "Sending lots of energy and love," "Love you," "Woo
Hoo!"
At this point
I had fallen into a group of runners towards first third of the back of
the pack which included a guy running in combat boots and camouflage
with what looked like a hundred pound pack on his back. Talk about
feeling inadequate. I could almost see the thought bubble over his head,
"I'm running this slow because I have a hundred pounds on my back,
what's YOUR excuse?" Despite the silent taunting of his backpack, I kept
going.
Finally we got to the Seward Park lap right
around the 11 mile mark. A lot of runners seemed to hit their wall
around this point because going around the path it felt like I was
nearly alone. A couple of times I looked around just to make sure I was
still on the right track. There were numbered bibs ahead of me and
behind me. All was well.
Water and a short walk again
at mile 14 and then back on the LONG stretch of road along the lake -
even longer this time because we would take this road all the way up to
our next turn just after mile 20.
I don't remember a
lot about this part of the race. I was listening to music and texting,
feeling pretty good over all and just kind of zoning out in that way you do
on a long run.
There was a water stop just after mile
19 which kind of screwed me up. The water stops had been every two miles
almost exactly, but this one was just a bit further than a mile past the previous one. I remember thinking mile 20 had come up pretty
quickly, but I didn't question it and even sent a "Mile 20. Still
running," text to one of my friends.
Then I actually
came to mile 20. And I hit the wall hard. I had to take my ear buds out
because the effort of listening to the music was just too much.
Luckily,
my family was waiting for me just over the hill around mile 21 and it
was great to see their happy, smiling faces and to hear their cheers. It
gave me the boost I needed for the next couple of miles.
At
mile 23 something shifted and I got into a zone I hadn't been in before
or since. It must be some kind of an "almost there" zone because I was
just happy. I knew I was going to make it and I didn't feel that bad and
I just felt happy.
I ran by two women, one younger and
obviously running her first marathon and struggling, on the verge of
tears, not sure she could do it. The other woman was older and wiser,
obviously a marathon veteran, and she was encouraging the younger
woman, giving her pointers and tips on how to finish, how to make it to
the end, and what was coming up.
As I listened to her
describe the upcoming terrain I realized that it meant nothing to me. At this point, there were no hills, there was no flat, there was
only running.
At the finish my family was waiting for
me again and I got big hugs from my kids and my parents, my husband and
my sister. Then there was food and water and goo and the space blanket
and it all went by in a blur. I couldn't stop walking, I just wanted to
walk up and down the field in the stadium to keep loose.
Finally we went home and I took a bath and then a long, long nap.
Now that it's over and people are asking me how it went my standard answer is, "It was so much fun!"
I
think many people think I am crazy - or worse - bragging, but what they
don't realize is that discipline (the stuff of which the marathon is
primarily made and run) is no big whoop for me.
I've
got discipline in spades. It's in my veins. Born of and raised by the
children of Iowa farmers, whose families lived through the Great
Depression and whose very lives and livelihoods depended on a bushel of
discipline, being disciplined isn't really much of a stretch for me. I
am grateful for it and it has served me well in my life so far, but what
I need now to grow as a person is something else.
I
need experiences that open me up, that push my boundaries and make me
uncomfortable. I need to run TOO fast, talk TOO loud, express TOO much. I
need wildness and craziness and wild abandon.
So what's next for me? I
don't know. But whatever it is I hope it has me hanging on by my
fingernails, crossing my toes, eyes wide open, jumping off a cliff
(metaphorically speaking) screaming, "F**K Yeah!" at the top of my
lungs.
