I mean, me. Me. "8 half-marathons, why do I need to run a full marathon" me.
And yet on October 19, 2008, at approximately 11:53AM (6 hours, 23 minutes, and 48 seconds after I started), I crossed the finish line at the Nike Women's Marathon, and let out the loudest half-scream/half-screech I was capable of. And I walked over to receive my finisher's necklace (I regret that I was in such delirium that I barely remember the tuxedo-clad firefighter who handed it to me--bad, I know), my finisher's shirt (FINALLY one that said "marathon" instead of "half-marathon"!), and my now treasured 26.2 pin from Team In Training, and there was no denying it at that point:
I RAN A MARATHON.
To let you fully appreciate this, I must take you a little bit back on my journey.
I began running in the summer of 2005, fresh from having completed a half-marathon with the TnT Walk Team. Just a little over a year before that, I had battled back from a very tough bout of viral meningitis, which left me debilitated for weeks, with barely enough strength to sit up or brush my hair. But there I was, a year and a month later, having finished an endurance event, and in a delusion of grandeur, perhaps, signed on to run one of these things.
I soon realized that despite years of being relatively fit (I had years of step, kickboxing, elliptical machines, and weights to rely on), running was a completely different beast altogether, and IT KICKED MY BUTT. On my first buddy run with the South Bay Run Team, I struggled to do my 2-1 interval (2 minutes running; 1 minute walking) for 2 miles. It was, needless to say, incredibly humbling.
But it did get better, and by the end of that season, I completed my second half-marathon--this time running it. It was the Nike Women's Half-Marathon, my first taste of the course that would present the ultimate challenge for me just three years later.
Fast forward to summer 2008: I was about to start my fourth season with the South Bay Run Team, again as a mentor. And I thought to myself, "How can I have been on this team for so long without ever having run a full marathon?" I had somehow managed to dodge this in three years. Just the year before, I had read about Katie Holmes running the NYC Marathon and I thought, geez, if she can do it, shouldn't I be able to as well?
Well, that was what planted the seed in my head. And in June of this year, I made the decision: I was going sign up for a full this season. And not just any full--one that is dreaded by many for its numerous hills. Yes, I chose to run the Nike Women's Marathon as my first marathon.
Now I had gotten similar delusions of grandeur before. Every season, as a matter of fact. But every season, I had managed to talk myself out of it. I was in danger of doing so again this season (especially since I was separated from my running buddy, Julie, who was now in a higher "wave"--a faster pace group--than I).
And then I met the run girls.
Janine, Robin, Beth, and I first came together at the Waddell Creek run. At the time, Robin was signed up to do a half-marathon for her event, and I was seriously contemplating backing out of my pledge to run the full, but was going to see how I felt after this run before I made my final call. What resulted was one of the best, funnest runs of the season, and from that moment on, Robin and I decided we were going to do a full and there was no turning back :).
Which all leads me to October 19, 2008, a day that will now have special significance to me always.
My alarm went off at 2:45AM (well, technically, it was Janine's alarm, but I couldn't sleep anyway, so I decided to just get up anyway). We had the early start to the run, you see, 5:30AM, since we weren't 100% sure we could meet the required time cut-off (and after all of our hard work, there was no way we were all going to risk being pulled off the course without completing our full!), and that meant getting up before the crack of dawn to down my breakfast of cereal and strawberries, and a hard-boiled egg for good measure. It also meant getting in our running gear--our battle armor of sorts. First there was the race jersey, with our race bib pinned on it (#28 for me, forever a "lucky" number from here on out), the running skort (that's a combo skirt/short, for the unfamiliar), moisture wicking socks, a "fuel belt" (filled with water, electrolyte drinks, energy gels, and munchies to keep us going throughout the run) and of course, our tried and true Asics running shoes, with our special TnT emergency shoe tag on one, and the race timing chip on the other. Oh, and there were also the special additions to this attire: garbage bags, to keep out the cold, and our makeshift opera gloves, made of--believe it or not--tube socks.
We were met in the lobby by two of our coaches, Doug and Tim. Doug would be accompanying us early starters to the start line in Union Square. We all head out as a group and board the bus, and despite the momentary panic (our bus driver had no idea where the start line was, and had to ask Doug for directions to Union Square), we were arriving at the start line before we knew it.
San Francisco in the dark is quite a surreal, but pretty sight. All of us were buzzing with excitement, ready to get started, but also (or at least, I was) terrified of what was to come. Our longest run of the season, 20 miles, was a fantastic run, and despite memories of how great it was, I think for many of us, the thought of having to run 6 more miles on top of that was quite daunting.
Time flew and eventually the gun went off and off we went, ready for our big adventure.
I did fine up until about mile 16, when the half-marathoners start to separate from the full marathoners. As a group, we all come out of Golden Gate Park, with the half folks running towards their finish line, and the full folks making a left to head down the (seemingly) endless Great Highway towards Lake Merced (or as Janine calls it, Lake Mer-Sucks).
There at mile 16, I was starting to feel a little beat up. I "hit the wall" as the term goes, something that usually doesn't happen until mile 18 or 20, but lucky me, I hit mine early. But I was lucky, because at that point, I spotted Doug, one of our team honorees, a cancer survivor who's just about one of the bravest people I know. At this point, I was pretty emotional and ran over to hug him. I didn't know then that this would be the first of many times during the course that I would cry.
I cried a lot in the last portion of the race. In fact, I think I was crying for pretty much all of the last three miles out there. Partly from pain (and dehydration--I ran out of water at mile 24, and thankfully, a fellow mentor, the wonderful Debra, had water with her and filled my water bottle for me!!), but mostly from the knowledge that the folks who had come out to the race to support me--and run some of the course with me--had seen me from the very beginning, repeatedly and vehemently refusing to ever run a full marathon.
And yet, there I was. Running one. About to finish one. The emotion was incredibly overwhelming.
I also thought of the honorees on our team, and the people in my own life who were my personal honorees. One of them is my dad, who, while not a cancer patient, thankfully, does have a blood disease that requires him to be on a form of chemo for the rest of his life. And just last year battled he a brain tumor that, although benign, was pretty insidious nonetheless.
So when Janine (who was an incredible running partner the entire way!!) and I crossed the marker for mile 26 and the finish line finally came in sight, both of us went for it. We ran towards it as though we weren't in pain (which we were), weren't tired (which we were), and were as light as air (which we most certainly were not). Crossing that finish line was a moment I can't ever forget--even if the events soon afterward are still a little blurry to me :).
I will end this incredibly long note with a thank you to my coaches, my teammates, and all of you who gave me your support (and helped me raise more than $1700 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society!!). And to the honorees, I reserve a special thanks: you are who we continue to do this for, and you continually inspire us with your strength and kick-ass determination. Thank you for giving us a reason to get out there and run :).
