So, I did it. A week ago Sunday, at 7 a.m. (Pacific Time, or Pacific Standard Time, or whatever they call it). I ran a marathon. Or I started out running a marathon, to be more specific.
We left Hawyard Field at 7:00 a.m. It was gorgeous weather. Mid-forties, partially cloudy, and none of the Austin humidity I am used to. I had met a nice 23-year old girl (Jackie) at the start line with the same goal pace, and we were plannign to run together. I felt fantastic. I was probably running a bit faster than I should have, but for the most part, I was right on pace. I had met a nice 23-year old girl (Jackie) at the start line with the same goal pace, and we were running together. I took my first Clif Shot about 5 miles into it. And shortly after that is when the trouble begin. Rather than speedily digesting it, the gooey bit of nutrition sat in my stomach like a rock. Still, at 10 miles, I dutifully took the next one.
I started feeling more and more nauseated. The Gleukos drink the race offered did not help matters (mental note–the next time I train for a marathon? I will find out what energy drink they will use before hand and use that. Oh, and train like a fiend!).
The scenery was gorgeous, however. Every time I felt overwhelmed, I tried to take a deep breath and take in beautiful Oregon–the Willamette, the enormous pine trees, the wonderful spectators.
I tried to take another Cliff Shot at 18 miles, and I stopped to use the Port-A-Potty. The line was too long, and I couldn’t stand the Cliff Shot, so I left without doing anything that I really needed to.
By 20 miles, I was really starting to drag. My pace went out the window, and my running became a slow jog, but every time I decided to stop and start walking, Jackie made me start up again. I told her to go on without me, and I kept jogging, albeit incredibly slowly. But by 23 miles? I had enough. I started walking. I was hot. I was nauseated. I didn’t know it yet, but my sunscreen was long gone and I was sunburned.
I begged some nice guys handing out shots of beer for some ice, which they gave to me. There is a special spot in heaven for those 3, in my opinion.
I relaxed (a little). I cooled down (a little). I knew I had missed my goal pace by a long shot, but I kept on.
I started jog/walking again, and by 25 miles, I was ready to go. A friendly-looking lady started to run by me, and I decided to run in with her. We talked a bit, and I found out that she has run 5 marathons, and done 3 half-Ironman triathlons. (She claims the triathlons are much easier). She told me I would see myself completely differently when I finished. At that point, all I could think about was how miserably I felt
When I saw Autzen Stadium (aka the finish line!) I started to sob a little. I made myself stop, but I was feeling incredibly emotional and teary. Finally, finally, I crossed the finish line. And then I saw my husband. And then I really started to sob.
It didn’t go the way I wanted it to, or the way I expected it to. But I finished, and I see myself differently now.
I am a marathoner. And I do believe, I can do anything.
