I did it. I ran a marathon. I ran 26.2 miles. 26.2 fucking miles. Four statements I keep repeating to myself while looking at the medal that I received upon crossing the finish line. The medal that honestly has not left my line of vision since Sunday. I know that running and achieving goals that seem impossible is about the intrinsic reward but sometimes the medals and shirt are just really nice reminders of the blood, sweat and near tears of the day.
I’ve been asked several times, what was it like? How was the course? Are you nuts?
My short answers: Indescribable. I have no idea. Probably. My pithy answers are usually not enough detail for the questioner so I try to dig down and come up with more expansive responses. But the truth is, 72 hours later, I still can’t properly formulate what it was like.
There is the glee and sheer joy of accomplishing the seemingly impossible; a feeling tempered by sheer exhaustion and the agony of the pain in my foot. To be honest, there Is much about the day I don’t remember as my focus turned from looking at the scenery to focusing on the ground in front of me and trying to gauge if the pain bad enough that I need to stop.
The not remembering really leads me into the next query about the course. Even after studying the map for days prior to the race in order to visualize and prepare myself for the day, in all honesty the preparation really went out the window once I got going. The pain was bearable until about mile 11 when I had to adjust my brace. By mile 17 the pain was shear agony and was of a level that I had never quite experienced before. What had already become a slow run at mile 11 became a walk at mile 17. My running companion in search of her own personal goals proceeded ahead. I attempted to run another mile, until the run was more than I could bear and my body screamed, probably many variations of four and five letter words until I gave up running and focused on walking.
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| The Monument that I somehow didn't see |
I look at the marathon photos of myself and for the life of my I can’t remember seeing any of the monuments or sights. I mean, how can one not “see” the Washington monument but for some reason I don’t remember actually seeing it….but there I am in pictures where my too big pants running right by the worlds second largest phallic. I remember snippets but I lack any true sense of time or location. Even with mile markers proudly proclaiming my accomplishment as I progressed through the course I have no true sense of where I was. Some miles seemed to go by so quickly I thought for sure I was doing a 4 minute mile while others seemed to drag on for hours.
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| Calling Regina while running |
I called my girlfriend Jesi and my friend and trainer Regina for much needed support at mile 20. Regina talked me through my fears with her usual no non-sense attitude and good cheer. Jesi just kept me company with news and details of her day (which I hate to admit I don’t remember, sorry babe). Their voices helped calm me fears and provided me with support and much needed reminders that I had come further than I had left to go.
During those last two hours of walking my mind warred with my body, specifically with my left foot. I fought to keep moving forward. Probably the biggest fight was my mind battling with itself. Dueling with whether I could complete what I had started. Questioning whether I was truly ready for the task when the longest distance I had run was 16 miles. The last time I had run any significant distance was nearly three weeks prior with my friend, Jason, during his Double Ironman.
I fought with myself to keep going. To push thru the pain, both physical and mental. I realized how strong the battle was, when I began debating with myself about shedding my pants. The temperatures were now warm enough that I didn’t need the outer layer I had put on to keep me warm, but at the same time they were a comfort, they held my candy corn and were soft and comfortable. I’m sure they lacked aerodynamics but by that point I could care less about that….besides I was worried if I stopped to take them off I would somehow be unable to move again. It was in these hours that I learned that a marathon is as much about ones mental fortitude as it is about the size of one’s quads. I remember Jason saying a similar statement as I ran beside him a few short weeks prior.
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| Pushing through to the finish line |
When I finally saw the red arch with the large FINISH I found myself moving faster that I had in hours and within a few seconds I was running….my sore ankle and foot along with my too big pants be damned…I ran like I had never run before, pushing myself across the finish line. As I pushed myself those last 100 feet I heard the vocals from the YouTube video “I’m going to show you how great I am” playing in my mind. The cheers of strangers propelling me forward.
And in a seeming instant, after the high-fives from the Marines and the medal placed around my neck, it was over. I had my medal, my finisher picture taken, the boxed food (that I didn’t eat) and then it was done. I had done it. I wasn’t as fast as I had hoped, it certainly wasn’t as pretty as I had hoped (flappy pants aside)…but I did it. I had done the seemingly impossible. I had done what so many thought I couldn’t, shouldn’t and wouldn’t do.
In regards to the final question regarding my mental stability….no I am not nuts. The truth is, those that continually ask me that question are the ones that can’t fathom: waking up early, going to bed late, pushing through indescribable pain, ignoring the nay-sayers and the inner voices. They can’t fathom achieving something so great and life altering because for them it’s easier to be safe in their existence. All of that is ok, for them. I’m not nuts…I’m hard working and driven and I’m a marathoner.
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| In front of the Iwo Jima Memorial post race |
