A Marathon of a Post

The weeks and days leading up to my scheduled marathon were disheartening, to say the least.   My peroneal tendon (that runs behind your ankle and up your calf) had been giving me trouble.  At times it hurt too bad to walk without a limp.  It kept me up many nights with stabbing pains each time I shifted positions.  I was starting to feel like my dream of running another marathon (my last one was in 2002) were a bust.   The last couple of weeks before the marathon, I did not run at all.  Not one step.  I swam as often as I could get to the pool.  I wore KTtape  every day just to walk with minimal pain.  I did not want to see a doctor because I knew that going into a physician and saying "It hurts to walk or to even sleep. Please fix is so I can run a marathon in a couple weeks."  probably was not going to get a sympathetic response.
So, I Google-doctored myself.  Rest. Ibuprofen. Cold. Elevation.  3 nights before the marathon was the first night in weeks that I had not woken up with pain.  I did not wear tape the next day.  2 nights before the marathon I did not have pain at night.  I did not wear tape the next day. I got a call from the friend who was going to pace me to keep my spirits up for the last 7 or 8 miles.  She couldn't make it. Another blow.   I stayed up till 10 preparing everything before the marathon.  Clothes and gear for me.   Eva's clothes and gear for soccer.   Naiya's clothes for the next day.  Schedules typed. Alarms set.  Lists with instructions for Jared, Naiya and Eva.   Picture packet prepared (Of course Saturday was also picture day for Eva's team).
I went to bed the night before the marathon and woke up a couple hours later with pain.  I told my legs to shut up and did my best to go back to sleep.  I woke up the morning of the Marathon at 3am.  Got dressed. Went through the checklist.  Made pancakes for the girls (Eva needed to wake up to her "power pancakes" for the game.)  I taped my left ankle, shin and knee (just in case). I ate my own "power breakfast"  and  popped 800 mgs of ibuprofen.   My mom (who was running the 1/2 marathon) picked me up and we drove to the buses that would be taking us up the canyon to the start.  I had the normal nervous jitters that I get pre-race, but I was also stressed.  I had not been able to train as I'd wanted.  I was going in with an injury.  I did not have a pacer to push me through the last bit.
The  bus ride up made me feel better.  The conversations with other runner are always motivational... and sometimes terrifying.  About 3 1/2 miles from the starting line, the bus stopped.  There was a whole line of buses stopped.  One bus had attempted to make a hairpin turn up to Gardsman's Pass and had become high-centered.  We all sat for a while and waited.  Then word came.  They wanted us to try to walk to the start because it would be a while to get a tow-truck up to get the bus unstuck.  So we did.  We got out and started walking up toward the top of the pass.  We made it about a mile and a half when a bus started coming toward us.  It seems some magical hero had appeared and helped clear the path.   (Thank goodness cause the 1.5 miles was enough of a warm-up!)
After about 30 minutes everything was set for the start.  The murmur of excitement became almost complete silence when the one minute warning was announce.... and we were off.
At mile 3 I looked at my watch.  24 minutes.  Not bad.
At mile 6 I saw George (helping at an aid station).  I told him that he should come run the finish with me if he could get away.  He didn't look hopeful but said he would if he could.
At the half way mark 13.1  I looked at my watch and was surprised to see that I was at 1 hour and 47 minutes.  That was my fastest half marathon time yet... but I still had another half to go.
There were a few minor ups and downs along the way down the canyon, but in general I felt good.  I could feel my ankle, but was able to block it out (mostly).
About 17.5 miles into the race, we had exited the canyon, and the grade of the race dropped from an average 5% to an average of 1%.  After going down hill for over 17 miles any flat parts felt like up-hills.... and up-hills felt like torture.
I felt okay until mile 22.  That is when the bargaining started.   "When the aid station is in sight, I will walk  until I pass the last garbage can."  Soon became: "If I pass 4 people who are walking then I can walk."  or "If I run for 3 minutes then I can walk for 30 seconds."   I turned on my music.  I tried to stay motivated.  I was slowing down.  Waaay down.  But I kept moving.  I was looking at my watch.  I knew I would have to push to make it in under 4 hours.  I knew I would be mad if I came in just over 4.  I had a cushion of time, but it was quickly narrowing.  At this point I was tired.  I was having a hard time calculating what pace I needed to be at to reach my goal.
With 3.5 miles to go,  I sent a text to my mom (waiting at the finish line). "3.5 to go.  Dying."  She sent a text back.  "George is trying to make it to run the end with you."  HALLELUJAH!
That kept me going a little bit longer. But the 1.5 miles until I saw George were long, slow and painful.    Finally just after passing the 2 miles to go mark, I saw George running toward me.  At this point I knew I would have to keep moving to meet my goal.
We ran slowly together.  I tried to bargain with George to let me walk.  He tried to keep me going.  I walked anyway.  15 seconds.  Then I ran.  George said I could make it under 4 if I kept that pace. Just 1 mile...  I was fighting.  I wanted to walk.  George offered to sing.  I wanted to walk.  He tried to keep me going.  I started walking... just 15 seconds.  Please?!  He gently urged me on.  Then he pointed ahead.  The 26 mile mark.  Just .2 miles beyond that was the finish.  I knew I could not stop. I knew  I was cutting it close.  I saw Naiya and my mom.   I tried to smile.  I saw Jared.  I wanted to cry.   I closed my eyes and pushed one foot in front of the other.  Then I turned the corner and saw it.  The finish.  100 yards ahead.  I put every ounce of effort that I had left in my body into "sprinting" across the finish.  (I realize that the image in my head of me sprinting is far different from the sad shuffle that was reality.)  I looked up at the clock as I neared the line  3:57:52.  I closed my eyes and ran.  I felt the finish mat.  I felt a hand on my shoulder as a volunteer handed me a finishing medal and said "congratulations."   I stopped my watch and looked down.  3:58:05.  I finished in just over 9 minute miles. A personal record!
I stood for a minute and breathed it all in.  Then I tears (of joy and pain) streamed down my face as I shuffled quickly over to the port-a-potties.

It is hard to explain the feeling of crossing that finish line. I felt so lucky.  Lucky to be there.  Lucky to have that medal around my neck.  Lucky to have the timer on my watch stopped at 3:58:05. Lucky to have had George push me through the last 2 miles.  I kept thinking about how I had almost backed out.  I thought about how hard I had worked to come that far. I thought about why I started running again a year and a half ago.  I started running because I was going through some hard things.  Running was one hard thing that I had some control of.  Running does not come easily to me.  I am not fast.  I am not lean.  I am not graceful.  I have to work for every mile I run.  
Sometimes you don't realize how far you can go until you push yourself to those limits. Most things that are rewarding are difficult. Running is hard.  Teaching is hard. Marriage is hard.  Parenting is hard. Life is hard.... but, I can do hard things.