two roads diverged

the spirit of the marathon

Posted on October 10, 2010. Filed under: Uncategorized |

i set out today to qualify for the Boston marathon. my goal was to run a 3:45 marathon in chicago. there was no plan B.

my training has been flawless. i ran a 1:48 half. i ran 10 x 800 at 3:28 a piece. i ran 2 x 22.5 miles at a 9:20 average. i ran 3 x 20 miles. i ran 2 x 18 miles. i haven’t missed a workout in a year. in the heat, rain, sleet and snow – i have hit the pavement, or track, in my quest. i mention this to tell you that when i picked up my 3:45 race bib at the marathon expo – there was no doubt in my mind that i was going to kill this race.

we got to our seeded start corral. anxious but relaxed. feeling ready.

gun goes – and kevin (who we flew, with his wife, to chicago, to pace me) and i were off. right on pace. running strong. the splits are clicking by. i’m ok. i feel tired already but it’s a marathon – it’s supposed to be hard.

i’m losing focus at mile 6. i’m feeling anxious because we just ran 10 seconds off race pace. i want even splits. then i want negative splits. i want to qualify for boston.

i have no idea where we are. i’m running my ass off. there are a million spectators – i am paying no attention. i have, at this point, turned my ipod on because i feel like i need to run faster.

the 3:45 pace bunny passes me. it’s ok…i am planning to negative split. it’s ok. it’s ok. but i’m sick. something is wrong with my stomach. i feel like i’m going to vomit. i try some water. but i cough. this is bad news. i cough alot.

then i lose my bladder. you can laugh, you can start to cry like i did – you can nod and cover your mouth knowing that a worst nightmare is coming true. i am now peeing like a racehorse. there’s nothing i can do. i’m drenched. people can tell.  i stop because i’m crying. the fast bald guys start yelling at me. i feel like i’m naked in the middle of times square. i have peed so much that my tights are sagging. i’m bawling. i feel out of my league. i’m really scared. i feel my race falling apart.

it happened there. did you see it?

i let it in. the door to losing my 3:45 got opened just a creak, JUST a creak, and i surrendered to it.

was it 100* out there? yes.

were there 45,000 runners? yes.

were there people all around us getting carried away on stretchers? yes.

NONE of that matters. i lost my race today because i let the flood gates open, i lost my grip and i started to walk.

it’s mile 14 here and i have a good solid cry.

kevin puts his arm around me. god BLESS him for not cranking out any bullshit about ‘chin up’ ‘let’s go for this’ ‘hey it’s all good!’. i was walking.

we were, at this moment, in the charity mile.

for one straight mile – all the charities that runners support – AIDS, Pediatric Cancer, Team in Training, World Vision, One Step Foundation – they are all there. there are faces on posters of lost children. there are breast cancer ribbons.

i look around and people are cheering me on. more people than i have ever seen in my life. drenched in pee, covered in sweat, tears streaming down my face – i decide that i need to press on.

i’m running now and i’m looking around. ONE. MILLION. SPECTATORS. children are handing me water. people are reaching out to touch me. there is NO break in the people.

i see a priest. doors to the church flung open. in his full robe. standing in the street.

the fastest i ran today was for that priest.

he took my hands, i bowed my head

“God Bless You My Child”.

then, my hands in his, he says “you look GREAT! you’re ok!!!”

before i saw the priest – i had seen a medical tent. i saw some people in wheelchairs.

and i saw the guy with the ‘runner drop out’ vest.

let me tell you this: my pride and ego have never been more wounded than they were today. i seriously contemplated a DNF (that’s the marathon acronym for ‘did not finish’ – it’s the equivalent of ‘incomplete’ on your transcript).

DNF…would DNF be better than missing my goal time…by…alot?

the 3:45 pace group was long long gone. the 3:50 pace group was passing me. but i saw that Priest and i took the time i needed.

and in that moment i decided not to quit.

kevin put his arm around me again. because i was crying. i asked him if he was mad. he said “dre: you’re fuckin awesome. this is a marathon. let’s get this shit done.”

so, shoulder to shoulder, we did what i could. i was dry heaving so badly that my stomach was doubling me over. it felt and sounded like the phantom pukes you get after 12 tequila poppers. those days are over but i remember the feeling.

it was now in the high 80′s and the alert level on the course was raised to “high”. this means they want people to slow down and consider stopping if they need to. i see the high alert and i think about DNF’ing again.

at this point, i start thinking about who my parents raised me to be. i start thinking about what i’m getting out of this. i start to get excited to talk to my executive coach: jesse – about what’s happening to me. i see the face of my family – i think of my beautiful son and my amazing husband. i think of my trainers at studeo55. i think about my running friends. i think of my sister in law and nieces and nephew - cassandra and isabelle and victoria and jeremy – and how happy i always am to see their faces. i feel like i just know that cassandra is praying for me.

i remember at this moment the best 20 miler of my life: mike riding his bike alongside me, on a 1-way desolate road to Pitt Lake – and nathan and isabelle and victoria pulling up beside me in their car.

6 a.m. – isabelle and victoria were out of their carseats with their hair waving in the wind and they’re yelling “goooo auntie!!!”

the tears stop. i want to finish. i want to love this day.

i’m now in chicago. i mean – i am IN chicago. i’m here. i’m looking at the shining faces of the people who are now shooting hoses on us, handing us water from their kitchens. i’m touching the hands of the children. some guy hands me a jolly rancher. what a beautiful city. what a place. what an incredible thing – to be there for the runners.

we’re getting close. but my quads are now cramping. i smile, knowing that i have a physio appointment in a few days and that dave will be there for me, like he has every week for the past year.

i think about my brother. and the story he told me about having to hit the field in the last football game of his professional career. that he had to go, leading his defensive team, play the clock out, knowing that they were losing the game.

that’s where i was. i wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. i was just finding out what i was made of. because let me tell you: that shit was hard.

the last few miles, like any marathon, happened in my head and heart. i imagined my running routes. i imagined that i was 2 miles from home. i pictured myself 2 miles from studeo55. i was on the wings of angels, praying to God for the courage to face everyone and tell them that i lost it today. i was also praying for the wisdom and strength to do this again. then i turned on the dimmer switch on the planning (an expression that jesse gave me) –  and i said – one mile to go. let’s focus on one thing at a time.

we crossed. not the teary emotional, kenyan fantasy of my dreams – but we finished. you might have the balls to go look up my time – it doesn’t matter.

i couldn’t walk when i finished. i collapsed on the ground but they made us move. we grabbed bags of ice and i sat down.

my foot had bled right through my shoe. i couldn’t move really. nothing worked right. we walk right past the professional photo lineups. i want no photo of a. my face right now and b. my pee pants.

i iced my ankles long enough to be able to move to the grassy area. kevin and i sat down, and i laid down – reminding myself that jeremy had said “remember you can lie down at the end”. kevin and i called our spouses, and i told kev to go on home without me.

so he left.

and then i cried.

alot.

collapsed over myself – not sure if i was proud or scared or disappointed or full of love. truth be told: i’ll bet it’s equal parts of all those things.

the guy behind me struck up a conversation. shitty race he says. ya. snif.  me too he says. i’ve never seen so many people walking in my life he says. ya. me too.

then we start talking about other marathons. and i’m loosening up. and now we’re having a bit of fun. and before i know it, i’m composed, and i realize:

i’m a real fuckin runner.

i belong here. i deserve to be here. i earned this bad race. i really did go to hell and back.

i’m not blaming the weather. i’m not blaming my stomach. i’m not blaming my training. i’m not blaming the course.

what happened?

you just read it.

i had the experience of a lifetime.

i got swallowed up by that race and spit out a different person.

i transformed today.

again.

i find my friend Lisa. she just throws her arms around me and i am in the arms of a good friend.

she PR’d. and come to think of it. so did i. i ran that race, despite the hardships, faster than my last one.

let me tell you one more thing: my goal – the goal to qualify for boston – that’s my character litmus test. if you don’t think i can do it – get off the bus – because i WILL do it. i CAN do it. and i’m not stopping to explain it to you.

….oh – and you know what else i did? after i cried on the grass: i went to the change rooms. i put on my ‘Abandon Mediocrity’ tshirt from Studeo55 and i went back for my finisher’s photo.

now if you’ll excuse me…i’ve never needed a shower so badly in my life.

God bless you. you’re reading this because you’re awesome. i’ll see y’all when i get home.

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