Holy Freaking Crap
The Race Report

I wrote this the day after the race, so the thoughts were very fresh at the time. Warning: It's reeeally long.

Well, I did it. The marathon definitely tried to break my spirit (not to mention my body), but, in the end, I beat it. It was supremely harder than I had imagined. I really thought I was as mentally and physically prepared as I possibly could be for something I had never actually done before. I had run tough races in the past where the mind and will had to transcend the body. Still – I had NO IDEA. Wow. To all the everyday runners out there who have jobs, lives, and families who go out and take on the marathon, I have a deep deep respect for you.

(In the hotel lobby before the race. From L to R: Jill, Elissa, myself, Scott, Shannan, Don, Louise, Mike)
The weather was nice, if not completely ideal marathon weather, for all those of you who prayed for that in particular. Low 50s at the start. I think high 60s at the end. Brightly sunny and I was glad for my hat. There were long stretches of no shade at all.

I finished in 4:31 and change. This is approximately 15 minutes off my goal of 4:15. There were definitely two acts to this play. Two distinctly different acts – the first was a light-hearted comedy, the second was a DRAMA. The first half was a lot of fun and felt easy. I was running with my good friend Shannan and one of our running buddies, Mike Lesshaft, who runs with our group on Saturday mornings. This was Shannan’s first full marathon like me, although she’s run about 3x as many half marathons as I have (I have run 4). Mike has run a ton of marathons. His best time is 4:20, so when he heard we wanted to do a 4:15, he decided to at least start the race with us.

During the first 13 miles we joked and entertained each other – and sometimes the people around us. We ran a very comfortable pace, but stayed right on target for our goal. As I had hoped, I felt like I could run this pace forever. The miles clipped by fast and furious and we looked forward to the miles we knew we could see our “fan club” (comprised of Andy and a few other friends). I grabbed water or Gatorade everytime I could, took a decent drink or two and threw the rest. I’m not especially good at drinking while running, so I figured a little each time starting early would be better than needing to chug a lot at mile 7 or similar. Sometimes I got more on my shirt, arms and legs than in my mouth, but luckily none up my nose.

We crossed the half-way point at exactly 2:07:30. Forgetting the fact that it’s hard to do even or negative splits in a marathon (negative splits is when your second half times are faster than your first), it was pretty exciting that we were exactly on pace – to the second – of running a 4:15.

(Seeing Ed near mile 17; From L to R: Shannan in orange, myself, Mike in grey tank top)
Mile 16 is where it started to get hard. Our pace had slowed off target – first by 10 seconds per mile, then by 20 - there was a lot less talking and very little joking around. I knew I was just doing what I could do and couldn’t beat myself up for falling off pace. We hadn't seen our friends since back near mile 13, and I wasn't expecting anyone again until mile 23. So we were encouraged and surprised to see Shannan’s husband Ed around mile 17 with their dog Brindy. Ed had only returned home to Lexington the night before from a scuba diving trip (he’s an instructor) to Belize. He had gotten up at 6 AM to drive up to see Shannan and the rest of us. It was great to see him.

After mile 17, the 4:15 pace group caught up with us. We were with them for about 5 minutes before they powered on. I knew they were running at a pace I could not keep. As they ran away, I watched my goal time run away with them. I saw Shannan stay with them, and while I was sad to lose her, I was happy for her. Shannan is one of the most determined people I know and she has a high tolerance for pain – I knew she'd make her goal if it killed her.

Mike and I trudged on for a few more minutes in silence. Then he broke the news, “I’m gonna have to leave you here soon. At mile 18 I have to stop and walk.” I half-considered stopping with him, but I knew that if was going to stop at any point, it would have to be on my own terms. Down the line, I didn’t want the opportunity to blame anyone else for my time except me. At the mile marker, we wished each other luck and for the first time in almost 3 hours, I was alone. A lot of people run entire marathons by themselves, so I knew this was a key part of the experience that I probably needed to have. It was late in the race, and it was just me, the strangers running around me and the strangers cheering me on (sometimes calling my name since I had it written down my leg in marker).

I made it thru most of the next mile, but my stomach started to turn. I hadn’t stopped to use a port-a-potty yet, a fact that surprised me. So when I came upon a fuel station with three port-a-pottys, with no one else with me to worry about, I figured I better stop. If I was trying to make a certain time, or if I only had like 2 more miles to go, I could have made it. I knew at this point, the way I felt, it would be survivial to the finish, however, so I stopped. There was a short line I had to wait in. Stopping was surreal, as it always has felt the few times I’ve stopped in races. After using the bathroom, I drank some Gatorade and willed myself to start again. I passed the 19 mile marker and knew it would be one mile at a time. I fixated on mile 20. Knowing it would be too long of a race, if I stopped at every mile marker, I told myself that if I ran all the way to 21, I could stop again for another quick rest. This was partly psychological. I’ve used this ploy in the past to get another mile or two out of myself, only to get there and be able to keep going. I was secretly hoping if I got to 21, once I was there, I could do the same thing to get me to mile 22. After what had seemed like forever from passing mile 19, I thought that mile 20 had to be so close. I allowed myself to look at my watch and only 5 minutes had passed. In what felt like an eternity, half a mile had passed. OH MY.

Somewhere between mile 19 and 21, I looked over and sitting back off the road was a very elderly woman in a wheelchair, covered in a blanket, with an IV bag standing next to her, and various tubes and wires coming out of her. A man who had obviously brought her out there, was standing next to her. I waved and found enough energy to shout over to her, “thanks for coming out!” She smiled and waved back. I knew that someday in my life, that could be me, and I would think back to the day that I was healthy and strong enough to run a marathon. What great inspiration. During these miles I spent alone, the fans along the were very encouraging. I tried to thank them as much as I could, so that they knew how thankful we all were, even if we couldn’t all say it. Especially if someone called me by name, I tried to at least wave, although sometimes the most I could muster was just giving them a thumbs up. Sometimes when I was just smiling and waving, I felt like I was in a parade. A very weird, sadistic parade. :)

At the 21 mile marker there was a very large and supportive crowd. I tried to smile at them as I ran thru… I saw a woman cheering and holding up a sign which I fixed my eyes on. “You won when you stepped up to the starting line.” Cheesy, but at that moment, as defeated as I felt, it meant the world to me. There was a fuel station right after that crowd. My reverse psychology did not work – I slowed to a walk and grabbed some Gatorade. My eyes welled up with tears at this point, I couldn’t believe I was stopped again. But I willed the tears not to spill over. People said to me, keep going, you’re doing great and I’d say thanks, my voice cracking. The marathon definitely had its grip on me. I felt a cramp starting in my upper right calf so I stepped to the side of the road and stretched a bit. It felt soooo good to stretch. To be honest, the pain had settled into my legs back by mile 9. But at mile 9, you don’t really care. By 21, I was reaching my breaking point. I couldn’t believe there was 5.2 miles to go. I couldn’t believe I was this exhausted and had to somehow get my body to a point in space 5.2 miles away. Knowing that running would get me there faster than walking, and walking really didn’t feel that great either, I started up again.

About a half a mile later, a nice, well-meaning woman on the side of the road said as I passed, “You guys are looking great!” For about the tenth time, I thought sarcastically, “ha, yeah right.” The man next to me said to me and others, “I don’t know who she’s looking at.” I laughed and agreed. After a moment of silence, I was still relishing a laugh, and he said, you know, I’ve been behind you for about 10 miles, you have a great stride going. I was in complete shock, I just said, “Really?!” I quickly thought about the last 10 miles… standing in front of the port-a-potty in line before mile 19 and stretching on the side of the road at 21. As I don’t think he was stopping every time I did, I could only imagine he had his own stops as well, and we kept ending up around the same place. This encouraged me to no end. This man, who looked fit and experienced, thought my stride was great. This helped me lift my head and get me thru a little farther.

This is when I started really fixating on Angie. I knew my friend and co-worker Angie would be between miles 23-24. I told myself I was NOT allowed to walk until I saw her. I would allow myself to take a short walk break when I saw her. Not only did I really want it, I was so touched that she had driven up here just to see me run by once for about 10 seconds. The least I could do was talk to her for a minute. :) Not long after mile 23 I saw her standing there with two people I assumed were her parents. She was wearing a bright orange Bengals sweatshirt (to spite me) and a leopard-print cowboy hat (so I could spot her). Her face went from excitement to horror as she realized I was stopping. “No, no, don’t stop!” I told her not to worry, I was gonna keep running, but I needed this. She walked along the course with me for about a minute, maybe two. I don’t really remember what we talked about. I remember her asking how I was and I barely knew how to put it into words. I think I just looked at her and said, “Wow. Angie, this is really really hard.” We said our goodbyes and she gave me a few tips about what was ahead. She told me there was a rise coming up, but after that there was a water station. I waved to her parents and thanked them for coming out to cheer and set off again. There were 3 miles (or less) to go. I could DO this.

About half a mile later, I saw something I didn’t expect – up ahead of me I saw the bright orange top that I knew belonged to Shannan. I thought I was hallucinating. It was on an uphill, but I tried to pick up my pace. But after a few seconds of this, she looked just as far away. “SHANNAN!” She didn’t turn around, so I dug in and bore down on her. I got a little closer and tried again. She turned around startled and said, “What are YOU doing behind me?!” For some strange reason, she thought I was ahead of her the whole time. Ha! I caught up to her and realized she was not doing well. I was sorry she wasn’t making her goal, but boy was I glad to see her again. I found out that she hadn’t stopped at all. She felt like her left hip was popping out of place when she moved it a certain way, so her run had turned into a shuffle at times. We trudged on and passed the 24 mile marker. At some point in here, my perpetually upbeat friend told me she didn’t know why ANYONE ever did this, and said she’d rather be having surgery right now. Life was looking pretty bleak. (Several hours later in the car on the way back, this was a really funny story to tell the others. At the time, not so funny.)

About halfway between mile 24 and 25 we heard someone shouting our names. We had no idea who it would be as we weren’t expecting our fan club (as we really loved calling them) until much closer to the finish. I looked ahead and saw our friend Steph Church on her bike. Stephanie is a triathlete who has competed in several at Olympic distance and raised money for Team in Training for two of these events. For the next mile-plus, Steph would ride her bike alongside me and talk me thru. For the most part I could not respond more than a head nod or a grunt. At one point she offered to go away, but I told her she was helping me a lot. She told me I looked great, how much she liked my running skirt, and how awesome I was. I was humbled – I did not feel awesome or like I deserved such encouragement. She told me she had already rode to the finish and that my hubby was there waiting for me. She helped me out by telling me what to expect – a slight hill up ahead or after that corner, you’re home free. Not long after we met Steph, I had started to pull away from Shannan. I knew I was putting more distance between us as we went on, but we each had to run our own race at this point. We had gotten each other thru some tough miles, but I knew she would not have wanted me to wait for her. I can think of many races where we ran the whole thing together, but I sent her on during the end, and she always went. It’s part of our deal. This time the tables were turned. Steph let me know that they would kick her off the course at a certain point, but by then I’d be almost done.

(Near mile 26; the man in the yellow shorts is the one who encouraged me at mile 21.)
The last time I remember seeing her was when I saw our friend Chris’ bright green jacket ahead and I knew he was surrounded by the rest of our fan club. All I could see was them pointing cameras at me and waving their arms and yelling. Suddenly, our friend Mary was running alongside me yelling enthusiastically – I have NO IDEA what she said. :) (Mary had been training for this race as well, but was sidelined by a stress fracture. She ran two half marathons on this injury before it was diagnosed.) I tried to smile for everyone’s cameras so that I wouldn’t look as terrible as I felt. I ran past them thinking, okay, now it’s just me and the finish. But before I knew it, Andy was running alongside me, saying encouraging things and asking me how I was. I don’t remember what I said, but he replied – but you’re smiling! My husband was running alongside me after this great test of will and spirit – he loved me and supported me. How could I not smile?!

He told me he loved me and fell back. Now it really was just me and the finish. I rounded the last turn and saw the coveted finish at the bottom of the hill (that’s right, a downhill finish) on a brick-lined street. My legs felt like someone else’s. The hill and euphoria carried me right down it to the finish and I looked from side to side at the large, loud crowd and smiled. I crossed the finish line and immediately macked for the camera.

I grabbed my mylar blanket, got my chip clipped off my shoe waited in the immediate finishers’ area for Shannan to finish. I knew I wouldn’t have much time before they made me move on to the area with drinks and food, but Shannan had to be close. A few minutes later, I saw that bright orange shirt coming down the hill. I cheered her in, even though I knew she’d never hear me. She ran across the finish and instead of a smile, I saw a dazed look of pain on her face. I saw her stumble to the side right before her knees buckled under her. I was still standing about 10 feet away, but two volunteers were immediately by her side, caught her and lowered her to the ground. Shannan had really left everything out on the course and I was so proud of her. Within seconds, they had a wheelchair by her side and offered to take her to the medical tent. After a minute or two on the ground, she insisted she could walk and I told the volunteers I would take her. (Shannan would have to be unconscious to ever be taken away in a wheelchair.) She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and I stood there beaming as they put the medals around our necks. We hobbled into the food and drink area. After 4.5 hours of lukewarm Gatorade and water, NOTHING was as good as the super cold orange slices they were handing out. Mmmmm.

THE WORST pain I had felt the whole time settled into my legs about five minutes after finishing and lasted for about 30-45 minutes after that. A strong aching pain covered every inch of my body from the hips down. I wanted to cry, if only I wasn’t so happy to be done running. But I couldn’t stop saying, my legs hurt SO BADLY! By this time, we had met up with my fast friend Elissa who had qualified to run the Boston marathon with a time of 3:38 – she needed a 3:40. This was her second marathon and qualifying for Boston was her goal – YAY Elissa! I had to laugh that she finished almost a whole hour in front of me. I have long since given up trying to compare myself to her. Her nickname is Gazelle for a reason. :)

Elissa, Shannan and I made our way to a grassy area in the shade. I stood there, looking at the ground, wanting to be on it, but not knowing how I was going to get there. I slowly and awkwardly lowered myself down to the ground and laid in the fetal position – it really was the most comfortable position I could think of – as our “fans” slowly started to join us; the first being Andy who came and sat next to me. As they came up, I raised my arm for high fives, but stayed in my position on the ground, hoping the guy who was standing right behind me with his back to me realized I was laying there and wouldn’t step on me.

We had a late check-out, but still had to be out by 2 PM. As it was now about 1, we knew we had to start making our way back. I knew this would be the moment I was immensely thankful that our hotel was two blocks from the finish – and as slow as all the runners in our group were moving in that direction, it was a very good thing! We saw Mike on the way back to the hotel and found out he had finished in 4:47 and was happy with his time. Yay Mike!

Several people have already asked me if I will do it again. It’s hard to think about right now. But as I’m not swearing up and down that I will never do it again, I think there’s a decent chance I will forget all the pain and the trials and want to take on the beast again. BUT, it’s very good to know that even if I never toe the start line of a marathon again, I have done it and I can always say that I have. Check.

Thanks for all the love, support and prayers.