I’ve run two marathons this year, and already have my next one picked out, so it must be official: I’m a marathoner. A junkie for speed and pushing myself to new limits, and the pain and triumph and exhilaration all of that entails, I’ve found a challenging test of will for my body and mind; a marathon combines all of these elements and more into a grueling 26.2 miles of stick-to-it toughness. It’s easy to get into a comfort zone of only running a set number of miles or limiting the boundaries of perceived ability, so taking on the challenge of a marathon pushes past all of that and propels commitment to a whole new level. While I seem to subject myself to pain more frequently than I’d care to admit, there are specified limitations within the course of running the marathon in which to endure it. It’s only 26.2 miles, and the torture will be limited to however long it takes to complete it (and for the body to recover in the subsequent day or so); with life there’s not always a defined finish line you can run towards to signal when the painful times will end.
As a member of Team in Training (TNT), I completed the Nike Women’s Marathon on October 16, 2011. The course started downtown in Union Square and went down along Fisherman’s Wharf. As promised, there were hills; legendary hills that one envisions to hear the name San Francisco. They went up and kept going, with plenty of supporters cheering on the sidelines and big drums thundering at the top of the steepest one at Presidio to keep spirits high and the momentum going. The downhill curves weren’t as noticeable, so they couldn’t provide a comparable decompression, but they brought awe-inspiring sights of the city, the bridge, and the coastline. It ended at Ocean Beach, mere steps from the sand. To call it beautiful seems inadequate.
In contrast to most of my training, I ran a lot of it alone. A teammate’s knee gave way around mile 6 and she implored me to go on without her. My coaches joined me for short stints at various points to check in and give support and advice; it was at one of these times that I first heard mention of a lake. I was advised to find somebody, anybody, to run with for that portion but I kept trying to recall the course map and whether I had even noticed a lake; bear in mind that mental functioning is greatly reduced after the first 12 or so miles. I suppose there was a patch of blue on the map that I hadn’t given much thought to, but to witness it in real life was a harsh realization. Lake Merced looked enormous; getting around it felt like it would take forever and in many ways it seemed like it did. Getting up the hills hadn’t been a problem; I had trained hard and was ready for them. Pushing so hard on the hills propelled a complete draining of energy that couldn’t readily sustain the long stretches that followed. This was especially compounded by my inability to take in anything other than Gatorade and water, despite my training with energy-replacing electrolyte chews. There was a long straight stretch of road before and after the lake, the second of which provided a beautiful view of the sandy coast that I couldn’t fully appreciate as my brain desperately tried to calculate how much time I had left to make my initial pace goal. When my energy continued to seep out with my shuffled steps I thought that I certainly could at least do as well as I had on my first marathon in flat Phoenix. No such luck. At a certain point you wonder how much longer the course will go on, and “helpful” fans try to say it’s just one more mile, or that stoplight ahead, and conceptually you know it’s not true and that it will continue on even further, but oh wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were telling the truth and it was really that close? Eventually you just give in to the idea of repetitiously putting one foot in front of the other with the faith that an end will come eventually. Finally I saw it; the arch with the glorious words “FINISH”. I dug out the last of my juice and raced as hard as I could to that line, sprinting to get there as fast as I could muster.
I wanted to fall over after crossing the line. I couldn’t even see straight enough to notice the man in the tuxedo other than he held a platter piled high with the prized boxes in their signature Tiffany color. The fact that he was one of the firefighters was lost on me; I think now that they should have been wearing sleeveless shirts or at least their helmets. All I wanted to do in that moment was sit down and pass out. I couldn’t even function enough to get a finisher’s photo, instead focusing solely on the purple sign that told TNT participants to check in at the designated area. The white ribbon around the box was tied so perfectly that I didn’t even want to open it to see the necklace, so I just held on to it while I stumbled around and futilely grasped for my bearings. Slowly the fog lifted and I could finally appreciate what I had just accomplished.
I left everything I had on that course; there was nothing more to give when I crossed that finish line. My Facebook status update began: Everything hurts except my heart.
Being with TNT made all the difference on this marathon, as my hard work could be supplemented by a cause for helping the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society fight blood cancers and care for patients. There were 3,700 of us out there that day, representing over $11 million raised; I helped bring in almost $4,000 of that amount with the support of my fundraising donors, most especially from a very generous anonymous donor and another generous supporter. In the many quiet moments I had along the way I thought of my friend Dawn and her children, and of all the people whose names were on my jersey and their families. I read the shirts of other runners, some adorned with pictures and ribbons of remembrance. No matter what happens to us in our lives, we have to continue on by putting one foot in front of the other again and again to go forward. Wanting to stop and stay put isn’t an option, as the world will continue on around us. Whatever pain and disappointment we encounter will surely fade in time, no matter how badly it hurts. TNT helped put a cause to my journey, a way to allow me to focus on and help others as I shuffle beyond my own pitfalls. Even more, it added a whole additional layer of fulfillment on top of an incredible accomplishment.
Despite what would sound like to most people to be a terrible ordeal to get through the months of training and numbing hours to complete just one event, there was never a doubt in my mind that I wanted to do it again, to jump right back in line for the next ride. Doing it without TNT isn’t even an option; even though I’m physically capable of training on my own, the camaraderie and purpose of TNT add their own level of energy to the equation. I had already come to this realization when I wrote my story of why I was running the Nike Women’s Marathon for Dawn, in which I stated that this is the group for me, and this is where I belong. Seeing it through to the end just clinched it further.
Although, it’s not yet the end of this story…
