The Big Race

"How are you feeling?" my friend Crystal asked me on Friday night. "Mostly just stupid" was my reply. She asked because I was preparing for a Saturday that would be different from any other. I was getting ready to run my first marathon.

A marathon is one of those things I've never felt the need to do, but between Doug (my brother) and Hayley (my friend) I allowed myself to get talked into it. On Friday night when my friend Crystal and I were talking, I was feeling stupid for a couple main reasons. First, for my weakness in going along with the whole idea, and second for not training as well as I knew I could have.

I started my half-hearted training in June, running 2-3 times a week and then working my way not up, but down, to a solid two times a week. I did virtually no cross training and each time I ran I felt like I was starting from scratch instead of building on previous runs and training. About a month ago, I worked my way back to training 2-3 times a week, sticking with mostly three because I knew it was crunch time. In all, I ran a total of 40 times covering a cumulative distance of 319 miles. Not necessarily the training regimen of someone serious about getting a good finish time, but good enough to get me across the finish line...probably, most likely, I hoped.

Towards the end of July, I started having major calf and shin issues each time I ran and they never went away. On top of that, I had occasional IT band soreness, back pain and dreaded groin issues. Not to mention lack-of-motivation issues and the fact I fought with myself pretty much every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday to get my butt out of bed.

As race day drew closer and closer and e-mails from the marathon started to regularly grace my in-box, I was frustrated with myself. Not only did I not train as well as I could have, but my eating habits weren't the kind that could necessarily support a good training program anyway. In all of my running, I didn't lose a single pound and I've got at least twenty that I wouldn't be sad to let go. I knew the extra pounds were going to be hard on my knees and hips and they would impact my finish time in the end. So many things I could have done differently, but chose not to.

Friday afternoon, Doug and I drove a bit of the course and the butterflies took over from that point. The fact that Doug was sharing his experiences from his 2004 run of the same marathon didn't help either of us. Doug trained for this year's race even less than I did, and he was freaking us both out by remembering how hard he trained (in heat and humidity) the first time and still felt like the race was hard. I didn't need to hear that at all.

I modified my first strategy on Friday night, which turned out to be one of many modifications. I had planned to eat lentils as my pre-race meal, but I forgot my recipe and I was too lazy to drive to the restaurant to pick some up so I ate some of mom's chicken noodle soup. Turns out that was a good strategy, and delicious too. In addition to my great meal, I hydrated all night long.

Friday night was a restless sleep for me. I dragged myself into the bathroom at 4:15am and as I started covering my entire body in Body Glide and checked my running belt to make sure it was filled with my trail mix and chews, I tried hard to make sense of what I was about to do. Jared and I went to my mom's to pick up Doug. Of course mom and Isabel were up to give us a cheer, some words of encouragement, and send us off with their support. Mom had prepared a peanut butter sandwich for me, which reminded me that on that day I didn't have to be a responsible mom and I even had a mom who was taking care of ME. On our way out, Isabel snapped a quick photo, Doug knocked the sprinkler head off one of mom's sprinklers sending a geyser up his shorts, and we were off.

We arrived a few minutes before the last bus was supposed to leave. My initial strategy was to take the 4am bus because they were offering prizes to those getting there early. Instead Doug convinced me to arrive as late as possible by promising to buy me a prize, which I still haven't seen yet. It's probably going to be something really cool since he's taking so long to think about what to get me. Anyway, Doug took the window seat and almost immediately made me switch with him because his legs were not anywhere near compact enough. I made the switch with him as quickly as I could because I couldn't bear to show the people behind me the jiggles and cellulite that was so beautifully highlighted in my compression shorts for any longer than I absolutely had to.

We got off the bus and immediately were immersed in a mob of people. I tried hard to be invisible as we negotiated our way through the emaciated bodies in the crowd. I wasn't happy when I ran into a couple people I knew because all I could see was visions of them looking up my time the next day.

At this point I was re-thinking my strategy to use the restroom only if completely, absolutely necessary. So I gave in and we stood in line for a port-a-potty. When I saw the package someone left for me on the toilet seat I remembered why I never, ever, EVER use those things. I couldn't decide if I should mention it or not to the person in line after me so he knew I wasn't the one who left it there. I decided to just leave it alone and hope he didn't take any notice of me. I stood by my brother next to a fire and Hayley, who was home healing from a stress fracture, was in my thoughts.

As we were lining up, I let my brother  know that I couldn't start next to him. He had to be out of my sight. I've got this weird thing that happens to me when I run next to people...I think I'll never be able to keep up and mentally it's suicide. So we found our own spots in the anxious crowd, completely out of sight of each other. At the last minute, unbeknownst to each other, we both changed our strategies and decided to start with a pace group. I started with the 5 hr 30 min pace group. Five hours and thirty minutes may seem like a slow pace, but for me and my beloved extra 20 it was just about right. Our pacer gave some good tips and it was good to have someone help me conserve my energy at the beginning. But at mile four, I decided I was going to finish ahead of that group if it killed me and I was going to do it on my own.

Throughout the race I used the pace group as my motivation. Each time they got close to me or I could hear the pacer calling to the group, I kicked it up a notch. I was glad I had them because without my pride to keep me ahead of them, I may still be working my way to the finish.

There were some beautiful sights along the way, and I'm not talking about the red rock mountains in all their majesty or the amazing sunrise early that morning. I'm talking about mile 7, at the bottom of the Veyo Hill when my eye caught a poster from my mom and dad, and later when I saw posters from my girls and nieces to both my brother and me. And again at mile 17 when my nieces & nephews were up ahead slapping hands with runners in front of me and how they lit up when they saw me coming. Then my brother-in-law, my sister, my sister-in-law snapping away with the camera, my mom not able to contain her pride, and my dad whispering in my ear that I was winning. Even my brother's dog lifted my spirits and I received a boost I didn't expect.

Then I crashed as I passed the last of the crowd and accepted the harsh reality that my own little family had not been there to support and cheer me on. For the next six miles I thought of the things I might say to my girls' dad about messages that are communicated through actions and I nursed my broken heart.

But at mile 23 the most beautiful and unexpected sight of all was three bright-eyed, amazing girls who started running when they saw me coming and a tall guy who waved me on ahead because he didn't want them to slow me down. I couldn't resist stopping, however, to take possession of a "sparkly rock" (a broken piece of glass) that my three-year-old handed off to me as a good luck charm for the rest of my run. That thing was so small it had to be held between my thumb and one finger, requiring more effort than you might think, but I held onto it through the finish because it was the symbol of my family's support. On my way down the hill, I couldn't resist the urge to holler back and let Jared know that Meg's shirt was on backwards. So much for letting go of my motherly responsibilities for the day. Even toward the end of a 26 mile run, I couldn't forget that I was a mother first, before everything else.

Even though the bright afternoon sun was beating down hard at this point, the next mile was nothing but dark for me. No clouds or breezes came to ease the sizzling penetration of the sun. No thoughts of the people who had come for me, who would be waiting at the finish, were enough to rally my spirits. Spectators lined the streets cheering me on, sitting behind tables they had piled high with food for the runner's and standing with licorice & popsicles in their outstretched arms, but still it wasn't enough to keep me going. I gave in and started to walk. I knew walking at that point in the race had the potential to kill my time, destroy my confidence, and make it just that much harder to start running again.

But at mile 24, right on my heels I heard a familiar voice call out "We're running in 3-2-1...GO!" and I knew the pace group was on target to pass me. Without another thought, my pride had me instantly running just under an 11-minute per mile pace and I was determined not to hear that guy's voice again. Each time my body screamed at me and my mind threatened to fail me, my pride stepped in and won.

Just as I turned the corner to the finish line, my family was there again and Isabel ran with me until she wasn't allowed to run any further.

Once inside the fence that lead to the finish line I was irritated when I heard the announcer call out to the crowd to keep up the cheers because "these are the people who need it the most!" As I was gearing up to cuss him out, I realized he was right. Without the cheers I would have been content to walk and stagger my way through the finish, and that would have felt demoralizing later.

Just as I had recovered from my irritation at the announcer, the girl in pink shuffled in front of me. I couldn't believe that with only yards to go, someone who looked like they had no business even running at my same pace passed me and I couldn't keep up. I became livid. Out of sorts. Mad. And I dashed past her through the finish. Pride again. (Later I watched the video that our friend Jeff recorded and I couldn't believe how slowly I was running. I told Jared I felt like I was sure I had to have been running A LOT faster than that.)

I passed through the finish line and my brother was right there. I knew he'd do awesome and I loved that he was there waiting for me. We shared a couple minutes of post-race euphoria and some relief-filled laughs, then I thought about stretching. But when I kicked my foot up behind me and my hammies seized up, I decided to just eat some ice cream instead. Oooh, that was some good stuff.

So after a couple ice cream bars, we gathered our bags, found our families and it was over. Just like that. After five and a half hours that were grueling in every way, I walked to the car as if I'd just been spectator at a ball game and immediately separated the girls so they couldn't touch each other.

Life carried on as normal, but even a couple days later, the race was still with me...in my sore knees, in my screaming quads, and in a blood blister that was underneath a toenail I'm going to lose (and is still there over a week later I might add). I felt stupid before the race, but now that it's over I feel that sense of accomplishment that comes from working toward a goal, finally reaching it, and feeling satisfied that my preparation was equal to the end result.

One of the best parts was the Sunday night after the race, when I went to bed without setting my alarm for 4:30am, without Jared asking me if I was running the next day, and without worrying about having to fight with myself the next morning.

The best part of the whole experience is how blessed I feel. Blessed to have a body, that regardless of its issues, carried me over a distance of 26.2 miles in just under five and a half hours. Blessed to have a mind that was strong enough to go the distance. Blessed to have friends to encourage and cheer me on. Blessed to have an extended family who feels pride in my accomplishment and who made the effort to support me in my race.

But most of all blessed because I have a little family who sacrificed Saturdays with their mom for months while I ran and recovered pretty much all day long, and who followed me to St. George to stand for two hours in the desert sun so I could see them for two seconds on the side of a crowded street, and who went along with it all just because it was important to me. I don't often feel like my girls see me as a real person, but on race day I felt like they caught a glimpse of "mommy the person" and I liked how it felt.

And I liked how it felt to know that Jared (aka, "their dad" as I referred to him in a previous paragraph) was the backbone behind a lot of it. Many mornings, the only reason I could drag myself out to the pavement was because I knew I'd come home and he'd want to know all the details of my run. I knew on those endless Saturday runs I'd come home to an already prepared ice bath with a smoothie to sip while my joints relaxed. And I knew that Jared rearranged some of his own personal training goals (rim-to-rim-to-rim in a couple weeks) to accommodate my training preferences. Through the process of achieving my personal goal, I realized the blessings of people in my life and I feel so grateful.

The race is still fresh enough that I am not thinking about what's going to come next, but I know that feeling will creep up on me in time...once the muscles quiet down and the feet are comfortable enough in closed-toe shoes. For now I just get to bask in the content feeling of a goal accomplished.