Last Sunday, March 6, I ran my first marathon. I’ve used the analogy of completing a marathon throughout my life with various challenges I’ve faced. I’ve told myself to move forward “one step at a time” and have known I could complete the task at hand. With the births of my three children I used it. As I began new jobs or taken new paths in my life I have used it then too.
My running partner and friend and I drove to Napa the day before my race. She will be running her first in a few more weeks but came to support me and jokingly referred to herself as my Sherpa. That evening another girlfriend joined us and we ate a very early pre-race dinner and then they mothered me the remainder of the evening making sure I went to bed early and drank plenty of water.
The alarm buzzed me awake at 4:45am and I ate ½ a banana and a day old piece of toast with peanut butter. I put on most of my racing clothes and climbed back in bed for a bit more rest. By 6:45am we walked the half-mile to the start of the race where there was a light drizzle of rain. I had all my gear, light racing jacket, shorts, tank top, and fuel belt filled with Gu, Shot Blocks, Electrolyte pills and two water bottles, as well as a baseball cap to keep the rain off of my face.
Another teammate and I lined up at the start as the announcer began to give us instructions and introduced the singer of the Star-Spangled Banner. And then, we were off!
My teammate and I began slowly, so that we would have energy near the end of our race. A common mistake is to start off too fast and fade toward the end. We chatted and she asked me if the jitters and excitement were similar to moms about to give birth. I assured her that they are indeed. I found it ironic that I used marathons as an analogy before giving birth, and now I was using the exact opposite explanation to describe the feelings before a marathon. I was excited about being able to finally complete the race after the past three months of training…but it was scary too as the previous week my left knee was hurting and my right foot. I really just wanted to get going and begin the journey.
I felt surprisingly good, despite my injuries. I really did feel the love and goodwill of so many people that morning…so many that had donated toward the Marathon for the Cure and written encouraging notes to Lynn or myself. I knew, even if I had to walk, I would complete the course.
My partner’s feet were soon soaked and around mile 12 she changed out of her wet socks and into dry ones. Slowly she started to fade and eventually I was running alone. Each mile seemed to come fairly quickly. My coach had put together a schedule of when to eat and drink throughout the race, which helped to distract me. As I was running there were some racers stopping to walk or get sick or happily chatting away with their friends or family as they continued to run. I had a silly grin on my face throughout most of the day.
Before I knew it, I saw a red barn I had scouted the previous weekend and knew I had about 4-5 more miles to go. Time was passing quickly now. With three miles left to go, there was a large crowd cheering us on with cowbells and clapping. I felt myself get a little emotional as I rounded that corner and felt a tight lump in my throat. I had to tell myself to just breathe so I would not begin to hyperventilate.
With over two miles left, I saw another teammate and he was walking. I told him to come join me and run to the finish. I said we’d take it nice and slow and sprint just as we got to the end. I rounded another corner and saw my youngest daughter and her dad, Lynn’s husband, cheering me on and yelling encouraging remarks. As I approached the last 100 yards or so, I could see my friend the “Sherpa” and my other girlfriend, I saw my aunt, my mom and her dear friend. My coach and his wife surprised me and showed up as well. I was just about twenty-five feet from the finish and sprinted across the finish line.
It was over. I was happy.
My family and friends crowded around and they kept me moving to cool down for a few minutes. I then ate a little bit and got bags of ice for my knees.
And though Lynn could not be physically present with me that day, it was too cold, too wet and too rainy, she was there with me in a spiritual sense.
And so the marathon analogy comes to mind once more. Lynn must take each day one step at a time. She is in a race of endurance. It is grueling. But soon, she will be finished. And crossing the finish line will be amazing.
I can’t wait. I know when she does, we’ll all be standing on the sidelines cheering her on, pulling for her and wishing her well.
We’ll be ready to celebrate the good news…
