shooting at the walls of heartache…bang! bang!

(running a marathon. in the mountains. part two)

So…where were we?

Oh. Right.

Holy. Crap.

I feel like I can’t even explain how terrified I was to start this race. And how ready I was for it to be over. I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t belong.

But I had put in the hours (and hours and hours) of training. And I was okay with having to walk some in these hills/mountains. And the crowd seemed nice and welcoming. So, I guess I was ready.

Then they delayed the start.

Then I had to go to the bathroom. Again. So I got in line.

Then they called for all marathon runners to come to the starting line.

And we got there.

Pretty nice view. And it seemed that the little bridge that we started on was on a DOWNWARD slope, so a pretty nice starting point.

This is when we realized/noticed a few things..

1. There were only about 100 people starting with us
2. There was a man running barefoot, REALLY barefoot
3. It seemed that we were the only folks running this marathon as their first
4. Our feet were numb- it was that cold

Other than that…it was go time.

I can’t think of any other way to break this thing down for you than by miles. Or groupings of miles. Sorry. I wanted to go with song titles, or something, but I can’t get that organized.

Miles 1-2: Other than my feet being numb, everything seems to be fine. My iPod is working (a major fear of mine is a non-working iPod on runs…similar to not getting an epidural before birth). I remembered to start my watch. I am running near Pam. It’s pretty.

We do, indeed, start on a downhill, so our pace is excellent. Usually I pace myself, but I know that on this race I will be making up time on the downhills, so I just do what feels right.

Miles 3-4:  We encounter our first hill. Slash mountain. I mean, I consider my neighborhood to have hills. So, this is a mountain to me.

And it went on around the corner and whatnot. I guess this is what was meant by “short, aggressive climbs” in the beginning of the race. This is where I kind of lost Pam. She is ahead of me, on the left. I walk mountains. It’s my rule. And then I catch up on the other side. My hips thank me, as much as they can after training for a marathon at least. I took my long sleeved shirt off. I hadn’t applied sunscreen pre-race, because it was super cold. This is going to end badly, you can see that, right?

Miles 4-5: Pam had to take a potty break. So, I caught up with her. Then there was another hill/mountain. Then I lost her. That was it for our running together.

Miles 6-12: These miles are a blur. For the most part, I feel like they were okay. I ran the downhills and the flats, and tried to run/walk the mountains (at this point nothing felt like hills). I do think I texted Pam around mile 10 to tell her I didn’t think I could do it- but I’m dramatic like that. I made a few friends with the folks who were running around me. I met “girl in the orange shirt” who had run 4 marathons before this one. We bonded over the fact that when we tell people we run so much, they look at us with disbelief. And, maybe, say things like “if you are still not skinny after running so much maybe you should get your thyroid checked”. But I digress. She was awesome and she ran at my pace.

Mile 13: The halfway point. I was overjoyed. It was so exciting to think “I’m halfway there!”. Then you rounded the corner. Then there was about 1/2 a mile of the steepest incline we had encountered so far. Just wrong. Pam knew that-as she was about 1 mile ahead of me- and when I texted her that I was halfway, she simply replied:

You got this, bitch!

I must admit, at this point I was still feeling okay. I truly believe that if we had been running on semi-flat land that I would have been totally ready to conquer the second half.

Note: I finished mile 13 at 2 hours and 19 minutes. So, I just KNEW that I could make it in 5 hours. Right?

Miles 14-15: This is when I started to panic. I couldn’t see ANYONE ELSE in front of me OR behind me. And you could see for a long stretch at a time in either direction when you got to certain bends/curves/hellish points in the mountain. I totally cried. I texted Pam to tell her I was last and this sucked. I texted Shaun (the hubs) to tell him that I might really come in last and please to not be humiliated. I cried some more. I ran some. I cried some. And so on and so on. Until, up ahead, I saw someone. Two someones!! Then three. And then I got going. I even ran on the uphill. I just HAD to catch up with one of them and stick with them. So that I knew that I was going the right way, at least.

And also, so I could pass them at the end and not be last. Of course.

Miles 15-17: aka the 2 miles that every single person who ran the race would be talking about for the rest of the day/week/their lives (if they were me). The mountain. So, I’m running. Then walking. I am basically doing exactly what the folks around me are doing so that I am not spending the rest of the race with no one else in sight. It was sad. And scary. Then I am REALLY glad that I can see the person in front of me (and that it’s the girl in the orange shirt, because she knows what she’s doing, right!!??), because we take a right. It seems wrong. Because this is what we see:

That’s a trail, right? Not a paved marathon course?!

Oh. My. Panic.

I don’t run on trails. I am totally accident prone. Plus, this was a marathon! I had already run 14+ miles! I had many more to go! And this wasn’t JUST a trail. Oh, no, my friends. This was the “2 mile steady increase” that would get us to our 1200ish feet of elevation in this race. Nope, I didn’t type that wrong. 1200 feet of elevation. Give or take.

So, no one is running. It’s actually a little hard to even walk fast. It’s steep and we are already exhausted. Plus, there really is loose gravel and it’s actually very muddy underneath that.

I mean, it was pretty, I’ll give it that much. But to have two miles that you basically CAN NOT run really cuts into your time. And toys with your emotions and mental stability.

A “pastoral view”.

I didn’t care about that.

What I cared about is that for about 1/2 of a mile on the downhill side, there was still all that gravel. The moment I started to run a little, I turned my ankle. Not horribly, but still. It made me walk till we hit pavement.

I couldn’t tell you what my time was, but I KNEW that I’d be way over 5 hours. I am sure that it took me almost 40 minutes to get through those 2.5 miles. Maybe more.

I believe that I texted Pam at that point, saying something like:

I don’t think we can be friends anymore. WTF?!!??!!

She did pick this race, after all.

Just sayin’.

Miles 18-23: The miles are a blur. I could still see folks in either direction, which kept me slightly sane. I turned off my music and started counting. 100 steps of running, 50 steps of walking. 200 running, 100 walking. And the like. I just wanted to try to run more than I walked till the end.

And I had high hopes for the last 3 miles. I mean, it was only going to be a 5K.

And I can run those.

Mile 23: I went by the last water/gatorade station. Just as an FYI, they were awesome with this at this particular race. I actually never even needed my fuel belt for water (but for phone, gu, chapstick, etc. it was still great). I grabbed a cup of each at most of the stops and walked to drink them both. It gave me a walking break with permission. And I appreciated that.

So, anyway, the lady at the water table proclaimed that it was all flats from here, and I started to run.

Mile 24: I stopped running. At this point, even though the downhills are killing my shins, quads, hips, and feet, I need them. Flats are not really seeming flat. I debate not finishing. I check my watch. I realize that if I want to finish before the official time limit (6 hours) that I have to start running. But I can’t. So I run and walk and run and walk and walk.

Mile 25: Okay. I’ve been saving it all for this mile. I have to run the last mile. I cannot run the last mile. I am in so much pain that I can’t even pretend that walking doesn’t hurt. I am obsessing over whether or not I have lost my toenail (it was on it’s way out on my last training run) and I wonder how swollen my ankle will be when I untie my shoes. I walk a bit. I run a bit. I see the photographer in the distance.

I think to myself: Eff you photographer. Why would you want to do this to me? Take my picture while I am alternating crying and laughing and WALKING on this, the last mile of my marathon??!!

Then I take a closer look.

That’s no photographer.

That is MY HUSBAND.

Apparently, this gives me permission to cry. A lot.

Finally, I have someone to tell about how much I am hurting. And how hard this is. And I do a lot of apologizing for my complaining.

This actually reminds me of when I accidentally gave birth naturally to my second child (yes, accidentally- he was coming and they weren’t ready with my drugs!). I said a lot of bad words, then apologized profusely. Similar. Only that lasted about 3 minutes and this was pushing 6 hours.

And then I cried some more.

Then he did my crazy run for 100, walk for 50, run for 100, walk for 50, run to that house, walk a little, run to that tree, walk a little thing with me for about 1/2 a mile.

Then he pointed out where the finish line was.

Then I was ready to run.

And I ran.

That’s the finish line! And yes, you ran around a field to get there, EVEN THOUGH you could have cut through a million times and just been done. But whatever.

I was finished.

I FINISHED!

I RAN A MARATHON!

I ran a marathon in 5 hours and 51 minutes, but still…

I RAN A MARATHON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And then all of this happened…

Their shirts say: My mom runs 26.2 and RUN mommy RUN

Then, we drove home, showered (and noticed that when my tank top was removed, it still looked like it was on- sunburn, anyone?), pretended we weren’t tired, went to a party thrown for us by our awesome friend Lynette, drank 2 drinks, made the mistake of sitting down, and needed to go to bed.

It is hard to describe this event, this day, or even how I truly feel about it.

I am proud to say that I have run a marathon.

I am proud of myself for finding a goal that seemed almost unreachable, and sticking it out till the end.

I am proud of myself for being able to stay (somewhat) mentally stable through all my long runs and the actual race while I thought about all the things in my life that have been great, along with all the things in my life that have been so hard that I was only thinking about them to prove to myself that I COULD make it through this.

I am proud of myself, really, for being able to be proud of myself.

I am so glad that I am blessed with my little family that supported me through the entire crazy thing.

Hobbes and Finn for (one day) understanding why mommy was “always running”. And Shaun, for believing in me AND for getting me through that last mile.

And I am truly thankful for my wonderful running partner and even better friend, Pam, for doing this thing with me.

Now, if you will all bear with me, I will take a marathon-running break for a while. And my blog will, too. But there are other things you can look forward to me blabbering on about…

I might get a bike. I will take normal “sized” runs. I have planted a garden. I still have children to take care of. I’ve been thinking of some good new recipes (since not running 9 hours or more per week means I have to stop eating so much pizza, probably!) I have a new kindle and need to use it more. It’s summer, which means it’s time to drink cold beers on the beach, on the deck, in the driveway, etc.

BUT, if you’re into torture, crying, and complaining…don’t you worry! I will probably do this again soon.

I mean, 5 hours and 51 minutes?

I can do better than that!

love, KT

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