26.2

Last April at my dissertation defense, they asked me what I was going to do now that I was done…I said I was going to run a marathon…and so I did.

I finished. My knee was excruciating, my body was not cooperating, and it was the worst run I’ve ever had in my life. And I still finished. Some of you commented that it’s those more difficult runs that sometimes mean more to you than the ones that went as planned…that’s the column this run will go in. But regardless of what could have gone better or what could have gone worse, against all odds, I finished.

So the knee only continued to get worse prior to the race. It bugged me walking around the expo on Friday really badly, and after a fairly calm Saturday, I decided to do some stretching which made it even angrier. All of this led to it feeling the worst it has ever felt on the morning of the race.

As I walked into the convention center, I couldn’t even get excited. All I kept thinking was that I didn’t belong there, that I was kidding myself to think that I was ever going to get past the first 3 miles, that this was only going to make my inevitable DNF that much more embarrassing. I worried that no one truly understood how screwed my knee was, that they thought it would magically not hurt until mile 20 or so. I was pretty much freaking out in the hour before the race.

Elizabeth and Annie took off to the first wave starting line, and I walked with the boys to the second wave starting line. I lined up with the 4:45 pacers (mistake #1) and met a nice lady who gave me these Salonpas patches for my knee. I don’t know if they helped or not, but I wasn’t one to pass on any extra help for the knee! Before I knew it, we were off and running. The 4:45 pacers were moving pretty quick…I realized too late that we were looking at about a 10min/mile pace where they should have been closer to 11min/mile pace…and this included extra energy weaving around the crowd. Patrick would tell me later that he saw 4:45 pacers right behind the 4:30 pacers…not surprising.

I made a point to look at my watch when I first felt my knee hurt significantly…it said 0.22 miles.

At this point, I knew that finishing wasn’t really a possibility, but I kept pushing forward because I wasn’t about to drop out before I even got out of downtown! By 3 miles, I knew I had gone out too fast (Everyone tells you not to go out too fast, and I still screw it up!). Luckily, I started to listen to my body and not worry about pace groups anymore. Honestly, at the 5K marker, I was surprised I was still running, and was hopeful that everyone would get the text message that I had at least made it to the first marker.

Now I’ve only been running consistently for just over a year, but I know that there are days that feel good and days when you just don’t have it…this was by far the latter. Everything felt WRONG, even this early in the race, and it was so much more than just my knee. By the time I saw the boys at around mile 7, I was hot, flustered, my breathing was screwed, not at all how I’ve been after 18-22 miles, how could I feel that bad after just 7? My knee was killing me, and this was by far the worst I had ever felt during a run in my life. But I was still moving, meaning there was still hope, so I was smiling .
I told Patrick it was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, gave him a kiss, but pressed on. As I ran away from them just wondering at what point I’d have to call them to pick me up, the rain started to come down harder and then the Last of the Mohicans song came on (you know the one from the Nike commercial with LT and Shawn Merriman)…so I garnered up a little more strength, put my head down, and kept running.

The next few miles were pretty brutal mentally. Nothing was getting any better, and I was getting tired. The idea that I wasn’t even halfway done was more than I could handle emotionally, but I knew that I wasn’t done trying…so I kept moving forward. I really didn’t have any reaction when the half-marathoners split off at mile 9, I knew that I still had a hell of a fight left. At mile 10, there was a priest on the side of the road blessing runners with holy water…I veered over that direction to be blessed because I needed something to make me believe I had a chance. When I reached the half-marathon point, I could not comprehend how I could keep going for any longer…but I did. My legs were already heavy, muscles were cramping, my stomach was a tight ball, and my form was a disaster. In all of my training runs, I had never even glimpsed “the wall”, but I’d honestly say I hit it around mile 13. I’d never had that feeling of “how do I keep my legs moving”. As I moved along the course, I found that I had to bargain with myself to get moving again after the water stops. Every time I started again, the first 10 steps or so would hurt my knee so badly that I thought this was it, this was the end, this is when I can’t compel my body to move anymore…but I kept moving. During these miles, I saw the 5 hr pace group…stayed with them for a little while, and then let them go. I saw the 5:15 pace group and stayed with them for awhile, but then I knew my miles had to be numbered, so I tried to conserve as much as I could, just on the slim chance I could tough it out a few more miles, get just a little closer.
I was walking when I saw the boys again just before mile 20. I had nothing left. My body had nothing left to give. Every muscle was seizing, every joint was locking and searing in pain, my head was throbbing, my hands were numb, I didn’t even understand how my feet were lifting off the ground anymore, my knee was starting to give way every few minutes, my stomach was in such a tight painful knot that I was just waiting (desperately wanting!) to throw up. By seeing Patrick’s face, I knew I didn’t look good. But then he told me that I could walk the rest of the way and still beat the 6 hr time limit. This was a relief, but what he didn’t realize was that I was feeling so bad that I was worried that I wouldn’t even last that long. He offered to walk the rest of the way with me, but I said no, that I wanted to run…so I did. Slowly, I set off again, determined to keep moving no matter what. I was so close that I didn’t want to think about giving up at that point.
You learn a lot about yourself those last 6 miles. I kept thinking “This is the worst I’ve ever felt in my life”…and then I’d quickly catch myself and realize that no, I’d endured far worse…this was just physical pain…as one sign said “pain goes away”. So I thought about the kids…I thought about what we went through to have them…I thought about Patrick and all we’ve done over the past 14.5 years…I thought about how proud my parents would be if I finished…I thought about the charm Patrick had already bought me that had the marathon date on it (LOL!)…and I thought about telling my kids someday about the first time I ran a marathon…and I kept moving.

What I saw those last few miles was startling…people sitting on the curb crying, puking, passing out. Ambulances coming. The medical tents overflowing with people being held upright, people with their shoes off trying to deal with blisters, people taping one injury or another. I saw bloody people, sideways walking people, people dragging a leg, and no one at the back of the pack looked how I expected (honestly, you expect the overweight and the old). They mostly looked like me…middle-aged fit men and women who were fighting to keep moving.

Now let me take a moment to say that crowd support (especially given the crappy weather conditions) was amazing throughout, but those people that line the last 4 miles were outstanding. I never felt alone. When I finally hit downtown and saw the marathon banners, that honestly was the first moment where I KNEW I was going to make it. When I saw the barricades in the last half mile, I started to pick up the pace. I heard my name so many times as I came through that final stretch, I passed so many people because the adrenaline had me cruising at near normal finishing speed. But in all that, it was only Patrick’s voice that made me turn for just a second.

5:24:11

I find myself thinking “I should have pushed with the 5 hr group…or at least the 5:15 group”, but in the end, pushing a little more, may have led me to be one of the people passed out on the curb. I probably shouldn’t have been able to finish, but I did.

Come to find out later, everyone was pretty skeptical about me actually being able to finish, but they knew I was too stubborn not to try. 26.2 miles is a long way to go in pain…but I’ve been through worse, and I like surprising people...especially myself.

I’m already planning to do this again. At least with this slower time, it will be pretty easy to beat it…but I won’t take anything over 5 hours next time!

A few other random thoughts…
Favorite sign: “BTHO the Marathon” (only Aggies will appreciate this one)
Runner-up sign: “Just don’t poop yourself”
Best Ipod moment: A song by 12 Stones that includes the line “Can’t break the broken”
Most random sighting: My boss spectating on the course!
Best mantra: When all else failed, I kept saying “Just don’t fall” (Thanks Kerri!)
Best moment: Coming down the final stretch, hearing Patrick, and turning just in time to see pure joy and pride on his face…I’ll never forget that moment…there’s was no pain for those few seconds.
Runner up moment: Getting a text from my dad afterwards that was like a paragraph…meaning it probably took him 30 minutes to text it!
Best ugly cry moment: When I finally got to hug Patrick, then Annie walked up and she got the encore ugly cry.

Thanks for coming along for the ride…but beware…this is just the beginning!