Having run a Marathon
I haven't written much about my marathon experience, so I wanted to share a few moments with you.
I changed corals (start groups) twice trying to get in with a pace group, so I wouldn't run too quickly or too sowly, but when I got to the race there was no pace group in the coral I was in. So, I had to guess at my pace. It ended up being a little fast, which hurt me in the end.
The first half of the race felt really good. There were portions here in particular where crowds lined the streets with signs and anxious searching looks and they watched for their family member, friend or loved one to run by. It would have been easy to miss someone, but person after person was found along the way. At mile two I saw Olivia, standing in front of the Alamo. Periodically, there were tables lining both sides of the road filled with cups of water and cytomax (a frankly nasty sports drink) with volunteers handing out cups, talking to each other, and cheering us on like they actually knew who each of us were. It felt like everyone was one the same team. In the neighborhoods there were a few tables set up by residents offering beer (for the carbs) and for some reason one home had set out coffee. There were also cheerleaders (mostly jr. high and elementary school age) and bands which almost always seemed like they should have started setting up an hour or two earlier. This part of the race was mostly about fun and doing somethign together.
At about 11 miles there was a cutoff, the point in the road where you either committed to the full marathon or turned left for the half. There were men standing in the street yelling out the choice to come and which side of the road you need to be on: Right side for the crazy people (like me), left side for those whose sanity was begining to regain control of their minds. I stayed to the right, and all of a sudden it was a different world.
There were still bands (still setting up), tables (still cheering us on), and fans (though fewer and mostly sitting in lawn chairs rather than standing). However, the whole thing felt different. We were the elite, the brave, the strong (even though the halfers are just as heroic in my eyes). We were still in it together, but it wasn't a game anymore. This was a serious choice, and we'd made it. There was less talk now, and these second ten miles were about personal will power.
Shortly after the cut off, we saw the leaders coming back down the road. They had only started 20 minutes ahead of my group, but they were to beat me by almost two hours. They looked tired, but you knew they were going to finish strong. (When Olivia saw these guys finish she described them as a glistening little mass of mostly-Kenyan humanity that came down the street surrounded by a cloud of hushed awe among the spectators.) I believe that. When I saw them, I was inspired as well.
I don't know how to tell you about the rest of the race. It was long and grew more difficult with each mile. It was very hot and very humid. The third quarter of the race is in a park outside of town with no crowds and the silence itself became a participant. I began to hurt a little about mile 16 and pushed through it. I talked to a slightly older woman who was trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon. She asked if I was Irish because of my green shirt, and I told her how I was running for Olivia. I tried to encourage everyone I saw wearing a Christian t-shirt. I learned to drink both water and cytomax, but I eventually couldn't do the cytomax. I made it to mile 19 or 20 before I had to start walking. My legs were foaming (litterally) and on fire, my body temperature was extremely elevated, and my pulse was going crazy. (It usually levels out and stays level for the durration but it was hot and humid and I had started at too fast a pace, so I guess it couldn't stay level anymore at that point.)
I'd hit the wall about mile 17, but made myself push until I saw the marker for mile 20. I thought I'd keep running until I got to it. Maybe I did, but I'm not sure because the miles began to seem further and further apart. I began to really struggle. I'd been at a good pace until just before I bagan walking. If I'd been able to keep running I might have finished around 4:20, but I simply couldn't do it. I held onto the 4:30 dream for a breif moment when I was paced by the pace runner for that speed, but I lost him after a few yards. I just hurt too badly for the extra speed it needed to keep up with him.
Frankly, I'm surprised I finished as well as I did. I truly wondered if I was going to die, and everytime I began to run again it was with the prayer that God would help me finish and get me back to Olivia and Gracey at the finish line. I alternated back and forth several times, knowing that I was going to run down the last road, and willing myself to keep the idea of running instad of walking in my body. I probably walked more than a mile of the race all together. Each time I stopped running it was with the knowledge that when I started running again it would hurt worse than before.
Someone told me after I got back that they remember looking around at that point and wondering if amyone would notice if they simply fell over and died. I can appreciate that thought. I saw people with pulled muscles being stretched out or stretching themselves. The medical tents were more frequent. I saw a man laying on his back on the side of the road under a rare tree panting like a dog and pouring out sweat. As we came back into town the crowd returned in spurts with everyone assuring me I was "almost there".
I thought about a lot of things in those last 6 miles. I wept for our dead children. I prayed for Olivia's health and the healing I know God is able to do. I begged God to give us a family. I asked Him to help me provide financially. I confessed my unworthiness that He would call me to meet with Him in something like this marathon. I confessed my vanity, my pride, and my impatience. And, I fought back sobs as the pain in my body kept getting worse and worse. The funny thing is, I don't think these things were out of place at all. I was in the crucible. Purging is what happens there.
I passed two men walking about mile 24. They were tall and thin and were talking freely to each other about regular stuff. As I began to pull past them I heard one say to the other, "So, do you want to run a litle more?" To which the other replied, "Sure, I guess so." And in a few seconds they were a memory down the road in front of me. They'd been walking because they felt like it! they didn't have to, they just wanted to. This thing that was arguably the most difficult activity I'd ever attempted was litterally a 'walk in the park' to them. It was pretty discouraging at the time, but that's how trials work.
The last two miles took forever. I knew I was almost finished, but my body had long ago stopped carring very much about what I was telling it to do. I walked and ran alternately, sometimes for just a few dozen yards, but my pace wasn't must different between the two. I saw a man on a stretcher at the second to last turn, with whole team of medical personel attending to him. I ran up one last hill and turned to the right. There were 3 or 4 men from Mexico in front of me and I remember thinking, "I've got to pass these guys or Olivia is not going to get a good picture and I'm not going to run this race again!" So, I passed them and headed up the last hill to the finish line (whose idea was that?).
Olivia was yelling as I approached but I didn't hear her. I just knew where she was and saw her. She was so proud of me that even though I was smiling I could have cried. What a blessing to make her that proud! I didn't feel a thing after that until I'd crossed the finish line and stopped running. If I hadn't stopped I might never have felt pain again. BUT, I did stop and I certainly felt the pain of it. It took me about five minutes to begin to breathe properly, though it took longer to really catch my breath. My lungs felt like they'd been completely emptied out and were slowly being refilled.
I looked for Olivia as I walked through the maze of photos (I wonder if I'll get mine), people, tables of food and drinks, and first aid stations. Everybody stank (I'm sure) but nobody smelled it. I walked about a half mile down some stairs and up a ramp before colapsing to the ground below a sign with the letter "B" on it. I kept waiting for Olivia to find me, and I started getting cold. I borrowed a phone from a nice old lady whose husband was running (I believe at 72!), and called Olivia. She found me a few minutes later and that look of pride was still there. I love that look.
I changed corals (start groups) twice trying to get in with a pace group, so I wouldn't run too quickly or too sowly, but when I got to the race there was no pace group in the coral I was in. So, I had to guess at my pace. It ended up being a little fast, which hurt me in the end.
The first half of the race felt really good. There were portions here in particular where crowds lined the streets with signs and anxious searching looks and they watched for their family member, friend or loved one to run by. It would have been easy to miss someone, but person after person was found along the way. At mile two I saw Olivia, standing in front of the Alamo. Periodically, there were tables lining both sides of the road filled with cups of water and cytomax (a frankly nasty sports drink) with volunteers handing out cups, talking to each other, and cheering us on like they actually knew who each of us were. It felt like everyone was one the same team. In the neighborhoods there were a few tables set up by residents offering beer (for the carbs) and for some reason one home had set out coffee. There were also cheerleaders (mostly jr. high and elementary school age) and bands which almost always seemed like they should have started setting up an hour or two earlier. This part of the race was mostly about fun and doing somethign together.
At about 11 miles there was a cutoff, the point in the road where you either committed to the full marathon or turned left for the half. There were men standing in the street yelling out the choice to come and which side of the road you need to be on: Right side for the crazy people (like me), left side for those whose sanity was begining to regain control of their minds. I stayed to the right, and all of a sudden it was a different world.
There were still bands (still setting up), tables (still cheering us on), and fans (though fewer and mostly sitting in lawn chairs rather than standing). However, the whole thing felt different. We were the elite, the brave, the strong (even though the halfers are just as heroic in my eyes). We were still in it together, but it wasn't a game anymore. This was a serious choice, and we'd made it. There was less talk now, and these second ten miles were about personal will power.
Shortly after the cut off, we saw the leaders coming back down the road. They had only started 20 minutes ahead of my group, but they were to beat me by almost two hours. They looked tired, but you knew they were going to finish strong. (When Olivia saw these guys finish she described them as a glistening little mass of mostly-Kenyan humanity that came down the street surrounded by a cloud of hushed awe among the spectators.) I believe that. When I saw them, I was inspired as well.
I don't know how to tell you about the rest of the race. It was long and grew more difficult with each mile. It was very hot and very humid. The third quarter of the race is in a park outside of town with no crowds and the silence itself became a participant. I began to hurt a little about mile 16 and pushed through it. I talked to a slightly older woman who was trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon. She asked if I was Irish because of my green shirt, and I told her how I was running for Olivia. I tried to encourage everyone I saw wearing a Christian t-shirt. I learned to drink both water and cytomax, but I eventually couldn't do the cytomax. I made it to mile 19 or 20 before I had to start walking. My legs were foaming (litterally) and on fire, my body temperature was extremely elevated, and my pulse was going crazy. (It usually levels out and stays level for the durration but it was hot and humid and I had started at too fast a pace, so I guess it couldn't stay level anymore at that point.)
I'd hit the wall about mile 17, but made myself push until I saw the marker for mile 20. I thought I'd keep running until I got to it. Maybe I did, but I'm not sure because the miles began to seem further and further apart. I began to really struggle. I'd been at a good pace until just before I bagan walking. If I'd been able to keep running I might have finished around 4:20, but I simply couldn't do it. I held onto the 4:30 dream for a breif moment when I was paced by the pace runner for that speed, but I lost him after a few yards. I just hurt too badly for the extra speed it needed to keep up with him.
Frankly, I'm surprised I finished as well as I did. I truly wondered if I was going to die, and everytime I began to run again it was with the prayer that God would help me finish and get me back to Olivia and Gracey at the finish line. I alternated back and forth several times, knowing that I was going to run down the last road, and willing myself to keep the idea of running instad of walking in my body. I probably walked more than a mile of the race all together. Each time I stopped running it was with the knowledge that when I started running again it would hurt worse than before.
Someone told me after I got back that they remember looking around at that point and wondering if amyone would notice if they simply fell over and died. I can appreciate that thought. I saw people with pulled muscles being stretched out or stretching themselves. The medical tents were more frequent. I saw a man laying on his back on the side of the road under a rare tree panting like a dog and pouring out sweat. As we came back into town the crowd returned in spurts with everyone assuring me I was "almost there".
I thought about a lot of things in those last 6 miles. I wept for our dead children. I prayed for Olivia's health and the healing I know God is able to do. I begged God to give us a family. I asked Him to help me provide financially. I confessed my unworthiness that He would call me to meet with Him in something like this marathon. I confessed my vanity, my pride, and my impatience. And, I fought back sobs as the pain in my body kept getting worse and worse. The funny thing is, I don't think these things were out of place at all. I was in the crucible. Purging is what happens there.
I passed two men walking about mile 24. They were tall and thin and were talking freely to each other about regular stuff. As I began to pull past them I heard one say to the other, "So, do you want to run a litle more?" To which the other replied, "Sure, I guess so." And in a few seconds they were a memory down the road in front of me. They'd been walking because they felt like it! they didn't have to, they just wanted to. This thing that was arguably the most difficult activity I'd ever attempted was litterally a 'walk in the park' to them. It was pretty discouraging at the time, but that's how trials work.
The last two miles took forever. I knew I was almost finished, but my body had long ago stopped carring very much about what I was telling it to do. I walked and ran alternately, sometimes for just a few dozen yards, but my pace wasn't must different between the two. I saw a man on a stretcher at the second to last turn, with whole team of medical personel attending to him. I ran up one last hill and turned to the right. There were 3 or 4 men from Mexico in front of me and I remember thinking, "I've got to pass these guys or Olivia is not going to get a good picture and I'm not going to run this race again!" So, I passed them and headed up the last hill to the finish line (whose idea was that?).
Olivia was yelling as I approached but I didn't hear her. I just knew where she was and saw her. She was so proud of me that even though I was smiling I could have cried. What a blessing to make her that proud! I didn't feel a thing after that until I'd crossed the finish line and stopped running. If I hadn't stopped I might never have felt pain again. BUT, I did stop and I certainly felt the pain of it. It took me about five minutes to begin to breathe properly, though it took longer to really catch my breath. My lungs felt like they'd been completely emptied out and were slowly being refilled.
I looked for Olivia as I walked through the maze of photos (I wonder if I'll get mine), people, tables of food and drinks, and first aid stations. Everybody stank (I'm sure) but nobody smelled it. I walked about a half mile down some stairs and up a ramp before colapsing to the ground below a sign with the letter "B" on it. I kept waiting for Olivia to find me, and I started getting cold. I borrowed a phone from a nice old lady whose husband was running (I believe at 72!), and called Olivia. She found me a few minutes later and that look of pride was still there. I love that look.
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