My marathon tale has two parts. This is the second part (for the first part, click here.)
When I set my goal to run the first leg of the five person relay at The Detroit Marathon, I was very nervous. Seven miles was far more than I had ever run by the time I registered and I didn’t have a group of people interested in joining me.
Technically, if I couldn’t find five people to share the 26.2 miles, I’d have to run the entire thing myself or forfeit the $200 I plunked down to register. (My son Kit still can’t believe that anyone would actually PAY MONEY to run in a race, but that’s a different post.)
So I held my breath and registered my team. And then I went out and ran my usual three breathless miles.
Over the summer months, I gradually increased my running distance. I was careful not to increase by more than ten percent in a week. At that rate, I knew I had plenty of time to reach my goal.
And I worked on recruiting team members. I asked many people, and many people turned me down. “Good luck with that,” they told me. Finally, I recruited my 15-year old son, Cameron. He hates running, but promised to do his best. He even did some training runs with me in the rising heat of the early morning summer weekends.
My running partner Amy also joined the team. She was so enthusiastic, I got excited each time I talked with her about the marathon. We planned running playlists and talked about what we’d wear and how fast we thought we might tackle our respective race legs.
Amy talked her friend Jen into taking a leg, and I found Sue, a pal from my school community who had already run the relay in previous years. Yay! The voice of experience joined us. Now our team was complete.
Eventually I reached my goal of seven miles. Occasionally I’d run an extra mile, just to know I could do it. It felt good to have eight miles within my ken. I was confident I’d finish my leg with no problems.
It was time to assign legs. I was already set. Jen wanted the three mile leg, Amy was happy with the four-and-a-half. Sue would take the five-point-nine, and Cameron reluctantly agreed to the five-and-a half. In my head, I hatched another scheme to get maximum running time with my husband David, who was covering the full 26.2 on his own.
Our plan was beautiful in its simplicity. I’d start out with David, run my seven miles, and then hand off to Cameron, who would run the next five-and-a-half. Between us, we would run half of the marathon alongside David, then send him off with best wishes and whatever carbohydrate-rich foods we could stuff in the pockets of his shorts. We knew we’d see him at the finish line a few hours later. I was thrilled that I would be able to run next to the person I’d trained with all summer. I knew we would support each other when it got challenging.
The day before the race, we learned that the start times were staggered, with David setting off a full five minutes before me. We planned to meet under a statue at the turn in the road. We separated to our respective corrals and waited for the gun, the throng of anxious bodies keeping us warm in the sub-40 degree pre-dawn temps.
I heard the marathon starting gun and sent a silent wish of luck to my husband. Five minutes later, the half-marathon and relay gun sounded, and I was off.
With over 18,000 people registered in the race, I don’t know what craziness made me believe I’d ever find my husband. I scanned the crowd behind me and raced past those ahead of me frantically searching for a royal blue shirt and black hat, but no luck.
When the realization hit me that I’d have to run the full seven miles alone, I felt so sad. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! But I plodded on, running the first four miles (to the ascent of the Ambassador Bridge) without stopping.
In the midst of it all, I have to admit to feeling like this running stuff wasn’t so much fun. I didn’t acknowledge that it would be every bit as hard (at times) as my training runs. But it was!
And then I hit my point of equilibrium. This is the point where my breathing becomes consistent, my heart stops its heavy thumping, and I (almost) forget that I’m running. This is the part that I love. And it came not a moment too soon.
I scaled the four percent grade of the Ambassador Bridge, came flying down the other side, persevered across the Canadian river walk and found my relay point – and Cameron. I was so glad to see him! He wondered where Dave was and I told him it was a long story and that he should just get moving.
I stood there with a lemon-lime Gatorade in my hand wondering if that was all. My part was over. And then I saw Dave. He was five minutes behind me, at the very back of the pack. But he looked good and strong and I sent him on his way to find Cameron.
Which, of course, he never did.
Our relay team finished in under five hours, just like we predicted. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. That’s what I like about running: I feel so good after I finish that I (almost) forget how awful it feels in the midst of it all.
When I set my goal to run the first leg of the five person relay at The Detroit Marathon, I was very nervous. Seven miles was far more than I had ever run by the time I registered and I didn’t have a group of people interested in joining me.
Technically, if I couldn’t find five people to share the 26.2 miles, I’d have to run the entire thing myself or forfeit the $200 I plunked down to register. (My son Kit still can’t believe that anyone would actually PAY MONEY to run in a race, but that’s a different post.)
So I held my breath and registered my team. And then I went out and ran my usual three breathless miles.
Over the summer months, I gradually increased my running distance. I was careful not to increase by more than ten percent in a week. At that rate, I knew I had plenty of time to reach my goal.
And I worked on recruiting team members. I asked many people, and many people turned me down. “Good luck with that,” they told me. Finally, I recruited my 15-year old son, Cameron. He hates running, but promised to do his best. He even did some training runs with me in the rising heat of the early morning summer weekends.
My running partner Amy also joined the team. She was so enthusiastic, I got excited each time I talked with her about the marathon. We planned running playlists and talked about what we’d wear and how fast we thought we might tackle our respective race legs.
Amy talked her friend Jen into taking a leg, and I found Sue, a pal from my school community who had already run the relay in previous years. Yay! The voice of experience joined us. Now our team was complete.
Eventually I reached my goal of seven miles. Occasionally I’d run an extra mile, just to know I could do it. It felt good to have eight miles within my ken. I was confident I’d finish my leg with no problems.
It was time to assign legs. I was already set. Jen wanted the three mile leg, Amy was happy with the four-and-a-half. Sue would take the five-point-nine, and Cameron reluctantly agreed to the five-and-a half. In my head, I hatched another scheme to get maximum running time with my husband David, who was covering the full 26.2 on his own.
Our plan was beautiful in its simplicity. I’d start out with David, run my seven miles, and then hand off to Cameron, who would run the next five-and-a-half. Between us, we would run half of the marathon alongside David, then send him off with best wishes and whatever carbohydrate-rich foods we could stuff in the pockets of his shorts. We knew we’d see him at the finish line a few hours later. I was thrilled that I would be able to run next to the person I’d trained with all summer. I knew we would support each other when it got challenging.
The day before the race, we learned that the start times were staggered, with David setting off a full five minutes before me. We planned to meet under a statue at the turn in the road. We separated to our respective corrals and waited for the gun, the throng of anxious bodies keeping us warm in the sub-40 degree pre-dawn temps.
I heard the marathon starting gun and sent a silent wish of luck to my husband. Five minutes later, the half-marathon and relay gun sounded, and I was off.
With over 18,000 people registered in the race, I don’t know what craziness made me believe I’d ever find my husband. I scanned the crowd behind me and raced past those ahead of me frantically searching for a royal blue shirt and black hat, but no luck.
When the realization hit me that I’d have to run the full seven miles alone, I felt so sad. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! But I plodded on, running the first four miles (to the ascent of the Ambassador Bridge) without stopping.
In the midst of it all, I have to admit to feeling like this running stuff wasn’t so much fun. I didn’t acknowledge that it would be every bit as hard (at times) as my training runs. But it was!
And then I hit my point of equilibrium. This is the point where my breathing becomes consistent, my heart stops its heavy thumping, and I (almost) forget that I’m running. This is the part that I love. And it came not a moment too soon.
I scaled the four percent grade of the Ambassador Bridge, came flying down the other side, persevered across the Canadian river walk and found my relay point – and Cameron. I was so glad to see him! He wondered where Dave was and I told him it was a long story and that he should just get moving.
I stood there with a lemon-lime Gatorade in my hand wondering if that was all. My part was over. And then I saw Dave. He was five minutes behind me, at the very back of the pack. But he looked good and strong and I sent him on his way to find Cameron.
Which, of course, he never did.
Our relay team finished in under five hours, just like we predicted. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. That’s what I like about running: I feel so good after I finish that I (almost) forget how awful it feels in the midst of it all.
