Finished!

When I was a junior in High School I realized that my entire life was literally ruled by homework and church activities. This is not a bad thing, but at that moment I think the fear of lost opportunities first introduced herself to me and I decided to take a more active role in my own adventures. In shorter terms, I made a bucket list. Obviously being created by a sheltered junior in high school means it is littered with goals that make me laugh now, but there is something comforting about having it on paper staring me in the face daring me to ignore it and fade into the sparkle of the mundane sameness that dominates my existence. Now as I get older and older it is fun to check off items. Go on a mission-check. Go on two dates in one day-check. Graduate from college-check. Learn to play the guitar-well, in progress anyway. Get a doctorate degree-also in progress. Stay up all night two days in a row-check, but I think the nap in the day in between may call for a redo of that one. My latest victory, however, was the marathon. Finish a marathon-check. That's right. My innocent little sheltered mind who knew I hated running thought it would be fun some day to join the less than one percent of the world's population dumb enough to voluntarily go 26.2 miles in one setting.

Honestly I do feel happy and somehow impressive now that it's over, but it was much harder than I thought. I did train alright for it so I knew it would hurt. What I wasn't expecting was the mental game of it. I read about it of course, but I had no idea that it would be such an issue. After about seven miles in the heat when everything started to tighten up and the blisters on my feet opened up again I began asking my seventeen year old self, "what were you thinking? Why am I here? This actually really sucks. This isn't any fun any more. I hurt. Gross. What am I doing here? Why?..." and you get the idea. I only had about two and a half hours worth of running music on my mp3 player and unfortunately it took a lot longer than that to finish. After about mile 18 it was easier to go on mentally, but then the physical toughness escalated a lot. EVERYTHING EVERYTHING started to hurt. My rear was throbbing, my feet were swollen and I could almost feel the blisters grow with each step. My calves, quads, and shoulders were tired of the same movements. Walking hurt even worse than running, but at about 23 miles I literally couldn't run more than about half a mile without needing to stop and breathe. Anyway, it was painful.

My family came--mom and dad and one of my sisters. I am 100% convinced that I couldn't have done it without them. They cheered me along especially at the end. They brought me raisins to reward every couple miles, they met me at the finish line and hugged me even though I was sweaty and absolutely disgusting. Mom made sure I had sunscreen on and kept re-applying. Dad made sure I stayed hydrated, and my sister insisted on filming every excruciating detail. They saved me. The marathon was unique in that it was a patriotic-themed 9/11 memorial event and the track was only a mile long, so I was able to see them about every two or three miles.


The race itself was kind of cool. where it was a patriotic theme there were a bunch of soldiers--a couple in full gear who ran it with us. There were some marines, some returnees from Iraq, a few older veterans, etc. There were flags everywhere and several bands contributed to the live entertainment that was mostly on key. All in all a cool marathon. Lots of food (pizza, peanut butter sandwiches, pretzels, candies, even donuts) and refreshment available at every mile. Well run, well attended, lots of spectators, lots of volunteers, even a volunteer cameraman who put up all kinds of free pictures of nasty pained runners. Really though, it seemed like a great race. Not an experience I think I will ever repeat, but it did feel good (and I mean it felt good three days afterward) to have it done.


So yeah. Check. On to the next goal. Bungee jumping, anyone?