I am convinced that humans were not designed to run. I don’t mean run errands or run amok but I mean run as in marathons. Recently my sister registered me to be her running partner in a 25K or 15.5 mile half marathon in beautiful Moab. I later learned that a true half marathon is only 13.1 miles but some crackpot felt the sadistic need to increase this particular run by nearly 2.5 miles. My feelings on running a marathon ranged from skepticism and dread to some sort of egotistical determination. While the latter prevailed, my body lost. Admittedly I should have trained for this event but I felt that since I used to exercise somewhat regularly I would do okay as long as I took it easy...I wasn't out to win any trophies or beat a prior time so what did I have to lose? I calculated a reasonable time to complete the course and was confident I could finish in that time without much trouble. I did finish the course but not without a price. Currently I have a gait that suggests I'm 9 months pregnant (I'm not). My right knee alternates between throbbing and sharp shooting pains and I'm losing both big toenails in a slow torturous fashion. I'll spare you the details of the fluids that continue to ooze from them. That being said...I don't regret it for a minute.
The morning of the run we arrived at the buses, bagels in hand ready to join forces with our energetic healthy mates. All the necessary requirements for a good race were in place: cooperative weather, good shoes, music, Advil, extra socks, gum, camera and my sister. The first few miles were great. We trotted along grinning and talking. I realized I was foolish for doubting my abilities. This was going to be easy! At approximately 3 miles we arrived at the first water stand (which I mistakenly planned to be my first rest stop) positively glowing, confident and thirsty. After overcoming some dismay at the absence of folding chairs, umbrellas and Diet Coke (okay, I knew they weren’t providing Diet Coke) we carried on cheerfully. Before I go any further I need to clarify that my sister Jennifer is a little more marathon savvy than I and evidently knew there were no rest stops. However betrayed I feel by this lack of disclosure I owe her a medal for being a good sport and sticking by me to the end. The next few miles we coined the phrase wog…which means a walk jog. Notice that it isn’t jalk…jog walk. I decided not to run too fast because I wanted to save my energy for a grand finish. Visions played in my head of me stealthily striding across the finish line 20 lbs lighter to crowds of cheering people! I could do this. I would do this. This leg of the journey proved to be a bit more tiring however, and we started doubting the wisdom of carrying music, cameras, sweatshirts and the like. There was a state trooper that taxied back and forth between the front and back of the line who was insightful enough to ask various runners if he could take any extra sweatshirts from them. I can only imagine his amusement as we unloaded our arsenal of belongings in his car while still trying to run. He was probably further amused when we stopped running and asked him to photograph us before we relinquished the camera. Remembering that makes me cringe but oh well. Now we were prepared to aggressively tackle this race. I for one felt buoyant and was amazed at how much easier it was to run without all our gear. It occurred to us how trivial material possessions are. While our “things” sometimes make the journey much more pleasant, in the end it is just you and the road ahead. At the next fueling station we were encouraged to try a carbohydrate gel booster. Yikes…it was a stretch for us to drink Gatorade but why not? When in Rome. It tasted like a mean joke. It reminded me of something you would find on top of school lunch Jell-O. However, we were determined to do whatever it took to finish so we choked it down. Spirits still high we forged ahead (still with no rest excepting the short photo shoot and a bathroom stop). The next several miles went pretty much the same…the beauty of our surroundings was inspirational and energizing. Never having been to Moab I was sometimes distracted by the surroundings and weaved a bit. Although not fatigued, I was starting to notice that my toes were sore and other body parts were feeling worn. By mile 10 alarm was setting in but I still believed. Jen stayed with me even though she could have been at least a mile or so ahead of me. By now I was almost pleading with her to go on because I knew I wasn’t going to have the grand finish I had fantasized about and feared I was keeping her from hers. She insisted she didn’t care about time and stayed loyally by my side. By the time we reached mile 11 I was all but shuffling. I felt like my 90 year old grandfather and finally understood bad hips and knees. At this point there was a LOT less running than walking. This is also about the time that it occurred to me how unnecessary it was to be suffering like this. I possessed all the tools to make this a much easier, safer trek. I had a gym membership, people available to train me and good health. I chose not to utilize those tools and consequently had to suffer. While still possible to attain my goal, I had to go through severe conditions in order to do so. Kind of like life, we decided…how often do we become complacent and make poor choices only to have to undo damage or suffer needlessly? However difficult though and at the risk of sounding arrogant I am proud to say that we kept our senses of humor throughout the run. I doubt there were many runners that laughed as much as we did. During one of my bathroom breaks on the side of the road, in my attempt to hurry, I realized I had positioned myself in some sort of cactus bush. Stickers were stuck in places they should never be and it made for some very awkward running. Not to worry though, as the pain from my blistering feet pretty much kept my mind off such minor discomforts as pokie things all over my bottom. By now it was evident that we were going to be among the last to finish but surprisingly we were still in line with beating our estimated finish time so we were not too discouraged. We were just enjoying the experience. One of the things that sustained me throughout the race was the thought of how proud my daughters and my mom would be when we called to tell them we made it. Another was dinner. Another was Jennifer. Finally, we arrived at the 13.1 mile mark. Fun as it was, I was done. Jennifer offered to drive back and get me if I wanted to wait. I envied her mobility. I envied her shoes. I took my shoes off thinking I would do better in socks. Bad move. Nothing helped. Thinking it cruel to make her finish alone I decided to keep going. I had made it this far and desperately wanted to finish. As we rounded the course that led us to the freeway a relief car came by to offer runners rides if they wanted. Oooh, my desire must have been palpable but the look on Jennifer’s face prevented me from accepting. As our rescuers drove off tears streamed down my face which I believe caused Jen to weep as well. She said “this is kind of what temptation is like. Sometimes temptation is just the easier way…not necessarily wrong but could still prevent you from completing the journey.” Something to that effect anyway. It was really profound when she said it! Now the end is in sight…I can’t quit crying I am so moved/delirious. We were further motivated when passers by honked, waived and shouted cheers of encouragement. Clearly we were not in the lead. These complete strangers could see that but they rooted for us anyway. Most people truly want to see others do well. I like to think that's what our heavenly angels are like. I don't picture stop watches and score cards, no one pounding fists and saying you're not going fast enough...you took the wrong road. Rather gentle, loving supporters waiting to be witness to our pure joy when we make it. The very last stretch required us to cross the freeway to reach the finish line. There was no easy way to do this in traffic so we had to sprint to avoid being hit by a semi truck. Being hit by a truck would have been less painful. As we feebly moved toward the finish it wasn’t the excitement we had anticipated…our victory was somewhat private. Most of the volunteers had left and ALL our co-runners had gone. Even our state trooper buddy was absent...our belongings in a neat pile by a picnic table. We came in dead last! I hurt from “stem to stern” as my grandma would say. I was too tired even to cry any more. I silently wondered if it was possible for Jen to “jeep” from the parking lot to me so I didn’t have to walk to the car but I didn’t dare ask. Fortunately Jen and I don't always have to use words to communicate. We were far too tired to exert unecessary energy but our pride and relief was exquisite. Was it worth it? Of course. I learned some valuable life lessons. Would I do this again? Not until my knees heal, but yes, I would.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)