26 Or Bust!

Sorry that this is a few days late, but I survived to tell the tale of my first marathon. I warn you now that it’s VERY long and a fair bit sappy. You’ve been warned.

Despite two foot injuries that prevented me from finishing training, I finished the entire marathon. In 5:16:46 I covered all 26.2 miles of the Nashville Country Music Marathon with a smile on my face.

Here it is, a link to see my official race time. My bib number was 15097.

The morning was off to a rough and early start at 3:15 a.m. when I awoke to lightning storms. The rain slowly faded to a drizzle and was pretty much done by 6:30 a.m. By then I was walking to my corral, number 15, to get in some last stretches before the wave start at 7:00 a.m. At 7:29, my race began and I was nearly giddy with excitement. It blew my mind to see the crowd before me, running down West End Avenue toward the heart of the city and to know I was part of the pack.

As the coaches drilled into us for the days preceding the race, I held back. I aimed for an 11 minute mile and for the first half of the race, I was almost exactly on target and felt great. It left me plenty of energy to simply enjoy the experience. I ran until mile 14, officially making it the longest single run of my life. From there I walked every other mile. During those walks, I chatted with others who were taking a break and we laughed and helped each other along.

Friday night, I had given into my mentor’s suggestion to decorate my singlet with my name in iron on letters. It was the best advice yet. To run down those streets and hear people calling out my name…MY name…was incredible. When my feet were sore and my knees ached and my hips were stiff, to hear parents, children, and cheering squads shout out “Sarah, you can do it, you’re almost there!” was all I needed to keep on going and keep on smiling.

We ran through the city, through residential areas where people stood on their front lawns with their coffee in one hand and waving us along with the other. We ran through an industrial park beside a river where the breeze kept us cool as the sun came out. We ran through quiet parks where the view of trees and lakes were soothing as the race wore on. We ran, ran, and ran some more.

At mile 6 my left foot was sore, by mile 8 the ache subsided. At mile 9 I could, unfortunately, begin to smell myself. By mile 14 the soles of my feet burned. After that, most everything hurt at some point, but the pain came and went and I kept on going.

Nearly every step of the way there were people lining the course wishing us well, encouraging us, and supporting us. I saw one woman whose aunt ran out on to the course half-way through and was still running with her at mile 23, helping her make it to the end. I saw tiny children holding giant signs for their dads and moms. One man held up a Team in Training sign that simply said, “My wife is running for me.” Cheering squads of teenage girls went wild for a high five from the runners as they screamed and shouted us on. Even the cops that guarded intersections offered words of encouragement as we went by.

I was taken aback by the presence Team in Training (TNT) had along the course. There were 830 runners representing TNT and what felt like tens of thousands of spectators supporting the cause. From friends and families of runners to coaches from every team, TNT’s official color purple took over the course. People waved signs and cheered on everyone who wore purple and moved. Spectators shouted louder for us and thanked us. The coaches went wild when we passed them and many jumped into the crowd and ran along with us. At mile 19, our Brooklyn coach Jasmine did just that as I jogged past. She couldn’t believe I was there, going the whole distance and was possibly more giddy than I was. We laughed and chatted as I approached mile 20 and she sent me along with shouts and cheers that kept my adrenaline pumping even as the hours stretched on.

Around 25.5 miles the Manhattan coach, Ramon, joined me and ran with me to mile 26, pointing out the sign I’d been searching for since 7:30 a.m. … “Finish”.

As Ramon came out to run with me, from the sidelines David came running. Yelling and pumping his arms he cheered me on and it was by far the best moment of the race.

I can’t begin to put into words what I felt. From the moment I woke up I was determined to have a fantastic time no matter what happened. Not once did I waiver, but kept on smiling, nearly laughing at times with delight. Even when I slowed at mile 14 and had to walk, my spirits stayed high. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my entire life. When I let myself really think about what I was doing, I nearly cried. I took on a challenge that seemed impossible to me only a few months ago and despite setbacks, I stuck with it and saw it through to the end. There I was with over 4,300 people (over 21,000 ran the half) running a marathon. It boggled my mind. In a few hours, I would cross the finish line and officially be a marathoner!

I couldn’t have done it though without your support and I really mean that. Everyone has been so great these last few months from friends and family with encouraging words to an understanding boss as I left early every Tuesday. It seemed crazy in December when I uttered the words “I’m training for a marathon” and the looks of surprise that greeted me told me you thought I was a bit crazy, too. Yet, everyone offered nothing but support. Thank you to everyone that sent me emails, commented on my blog and listened to my endless (and usually unnecessarily detailed) stories about training. I’m sure you’re ready to hear me talk about something else! Thank you for everything.

Most importantly, thank you for your donations. You money has gone to support the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and will help find a cure for cancer. The research they do for blood cancer, will help patients of every type of cancer. You’re helping us cross the ultimate finish line of finding a cure.

Thank you to my parents and sister who supported me through this. I know you probably thought I lost my mind after being a certified couch potato my whole life. Still, you asked how things were going, offered advice and helped me make it through this.

I’d be fired if I didn’t thank David. He suffered through this more than anyone (possibly even more than me!). The early Saturday mornings when my alarm woke him, too. The Friday nights I had to go to bed early. The days I got home from training in tears because my other foot hurt. Everything I went through, he went through, too, but magnified by my rants, tears and long, long, long stories. Somehow he managed to keep on offering hugs, understanding and an endless stream of encouraging words. What more could I have asked for? The one thing he delivered, a hug at the end of the race when I was sweaty, salty and totally gross. I wouldn’t have hugged me, but he did. Thank you.

Thanks to the coaches. I don’t know if any of you will find this blog and read this, but you made this possible. You taught each of us how to run—uphill, downhill, fast, slow, and any other way it’s possible to run. I hope to keep in touch with you and maybe see you on another TNT team!

This pretty much wraps it up. When the official race photos are in, I’ll post those on Flckr. Until then, thank you for everything.

Sarah

The runner’s high, the fabled feeling of euphoria reported by endurance athletes. Many who run claim to have experienced it, while others just want to puke after a tough workout. Now science has stepped in to find out if this natural high really exists. Check out this article from The New York Times and read all about it.

It’s been longer than usual between posts this time. I’ve been using the time to find a bit of perspective after a new problem arose on Saturday.

Around mile 10 or 11 as we crossed over the Williamsburg bridge into Manhattan I felt a twinge in my left foot. The discomfort quickly worsened and I slowed to a walk. My hopes that walking a few minutes was all I needed were quickly gone as even a slow jog brought sharp pain.

There I was, walking through the Lower East Side in full running gear, complete with spandex pants and an oh-so-fashionable fuel belt, a bit fragrant from the 10 miles I’d already run and on the verge of tears. All I could think was how unfair it was that my other foot was now holding me back. I’d rested and iced as directed, cross-trained like mad, tried to stick to a slow pace and build the mileage back up slowly. Despite all that, I was back where I started in February—injured. Only this time, I was out of time. Just over four weeks from race day, I didn’t have time to go through all that again. I knew I wouldn’t have time to rest, to build up the mileage slowly, peak and taper before the marathon. I’d never be prepared to run 26.2 miles.

I had been so proud of myself for taking on, what was for me, a huge challenge. I committed myself to the program and tackled the training with vigor. I wasn’t deterred by the large fund-raising goal. I started this blog, writing posts regularly. I was getting stronger, faster and starting to calculate my marathon time goal. Now that was gone and I knew race day would find me walking a portion of the marathon.

I was furious, sad, disappointed, completely and utterly broken. 26 or bust I thought? Busted, it seemed.

I got to my apartment and before I even could unlock the door, the dam broke and I was sobbing. Hysterically sobbing.

After a good cry, lots of hugs and kisses and encouraging words from my patient and understanding boyfriend, I realized the biggest mistake I made. The whole way back everything in my mind started with me. I realized what a selfish jerk I was.

This isn’t about me, it has nothing to do with me. I felt like Scrooge at the moment he realizes the true meaning of the day before him. This race is about raising money for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. An organization which helps people battle cancer—from the researchers in labs to the patients undergoing treatments. The purpose of this entire undertaking was to do something for others, to be a part of something larger than myself and hopefully make a difference.

Somehow, somewhere along the way I’d lost sight of everything and thought only of myself. Now, I’m glad, in a way, that I’ve had the extra challenge of these injuries. They’ve forced me out of myself, to remember why I’m doing all of this. The pain I feel is nothing in comparison to what the people I’m trying to help must undergo. This extra difficulty has helped me regain the perspective I lost. The training is harder now, but it means so much more than ever. When I cross the finish line, it will be so much more important. I won’t care what time the clock says, simply that I made it and that with luck, the money I’ve raised will help someone else make it through, too.