Marathon, check

I did it. I did it faster than I ever imagined I could, even when I was fantasizing about how fast it might be. I ran 42.2km in 3 hours, 42 minutes, 13 seconds, which means I averaged 5:17/km. That put me 55th among all women, and 19th in my age category (neither of which sounds very exciting, but there were a lot of fast and well-trained people there, that's for sure.) And it got me dreaming about knocking a few more minutes off and completing in 3:30. A girl can dream. Or, more precisely, a middle-aged mother of four can dream.

So, what was it like? What do I want to remember? I want to remember the people who come out to cheer. I love those people. I was so happy all race, never so lost in my own effort that I wasn't waving and smiling back, and saying thank you. Those cheers all count. There was a great sign with about 1.5km to go. It said: The pain is temporary. And then a little further on: The pride is forever. It sounds so cheesy, but I know I picked up my pace.

I decided to run without much baggage. Didn't carry water, did bring along some energy chews, just in case, and chewed on a couple. I made good use of the water stations, though for about half the race didn't bother to slow down, just threw the water back. I started with the 3:50 pace bunny. I was nervous. I really really really wanted to finish in under four hours. I didn't care if it was 3:59:59, but I really wanted to say, yes, I did a marathon in under four hours. I don't know why. Vanity, I guess. But that was the goal that wouldn't leave me alone. So for the first 10km, I ran near the 3:50 pace bunny. Not that fast, really, about 5:40/km or so, but then I started getting a little restless. Around 10km, that pace bunny and his crowd kind of got lost behind me. I started following a man and a woman who were using some fancy pacing device, and I thought, okay, they're pacing themselves a bit faster than 3:50, but not too much faster, and I seem pretty comfortable at their pace ... but by the next water station, they were lost behind me too.

I was just naturally speeding up. By 15km, my pace was coming in very comfortably at 5:20/km, and I was passing people quite steadily. I felt great. My breathing was easy, my legs were light. And that was when I became brave. I wasn't brave up until 15km. I was still running with anxiety and doubt--could I do it? Would I hit a wall? Would I fail? Had I undertrained? And it took me until 15km to believe in myself. Once that happened the whole race changed. It was wonderful from there on in. (I'm not saying it was bad before, and physically I'd certainly felt fine, but I was definitely distracted and nervous up until 15km.)

At 21 km, it was a pleasure to notice that I'd run it faster than my half-marathon last spring, by three minutes (which also means I ran the second half of this race faster than the first, which seems to be my style.) And I enjoyed greeting various milestones along the way. I was also faster at 25km than I'd been in the Toad last month, though of course the Toad was on crazy trails, and this was a road race and relatively flat (flatter than the half-marathon, too.)

At least, it was flatter until we hit THE BEST part of the race, when our route went onto a highway and we got to run where the cars usually drive. Plus, it was all downhill. I let myself go. I'd already been hitting 5 minutes flat on a couple of kilometres, and I stopped paying attention to time for the entire downhill, just let myself go at the pace that came naturally. I know it was pretty fast, because it was downhill and because I was passing people.

But at 29km, we got off the highway, and went up an off-ramp, and boy did I feel that uphill. I suddenly felt tired. Is this my wall, I wondered. I'd just passed a bunch of people and I wasn't too keen so see them zooming past me, but I stopped and walked for the water break. I tossed back a cup of water, followed by a cup of electrolyte stuff, followed by another cup of water. Too much? I wondered. Not at all. I was instantly renewed. Bam, I was off. At 30km, I knew it was only 12km left. Totally doable. An ambulance roared by. That can't be good, a man said. He'd passed me on the highway, and now I was passing him on legs that almost felt fresh. It was weird. And I was worried about whoever was suffering ahead of us. When I got there, it looked like the person was conscious, and was obviously being well-cared-for. Thankfully.

With 10km left, I realized that I wouldn't be able to get under 3:40, which had become my new race goal as I'd zoomed down the highway. I would have to run as fast as my fastest 10km race to get there. Okay, I thought, let's do that, then. The water stations were spaced about 3km apart, so I just focussed on getting to each of them, stopping for a big drink, and firing back up again. At every marker, I told myself, run the fastest 8km of your life. Run the fastest 7km of your life. I felt that I had nothing to lose. I wasn't actually managing to run the fastest 8km of my life, but I kept a strong pace until the very end, averaging just over 5/km. For the last 2km, I told myself to run two 4:30s, which is probably my current limit for speed runs ... and usually those aren't run after 40km. But heck, why not go for it? I also realized that though I was running as fast as I could, I didn't really care at that point what my time was--I just knew it would be better than imagined, and that I'd done my best. I couldn't make my legs go quite as fast as 4:30, but was happy to catch a few more women (and men) as the finish line approached. At 500m I felt something POP on my foot and it did hurt. I hoped I hadn't injured myself in some way, but there was nothing going to stop me at that point. As soon as I saw the finish line, I sprinted as fast as I could. (Turned out the pop was just a blister.)

I felt slightly dizzy when I stopped running, but a volunteer walked with me a little way and I quickly recovered. My husband and kids had seen me round the corner to the finish line and had cheered crazy loud, but I hadn't heard them. I was so focussed on running as fast and as hard as I could. How awesome to find them afterward. How I wish my youngest hadn't been whining for pizza for the next 20 minutes. I got my food, got a Pepsi, and we didn't linger at the race site long.

My legs were pretty stiff when we got out of the car after the ride home, and I suspect will be sore for a few days, but lots of things were good, physically, about the race as a whole. I didn't cramp up. I felt adequately fed and watered. I didn't lack for energy. My muscles were tired by the end, but not weary. I never hit any kind of a wall (and I sure passed a lot of people who clearly had--how could you stop with only a couple of kilometres to go??? you'd have to be feeling pretty awful.) My breathing was always controlled, though I did let myself push to my edge for longer than I would have planned before the race began. My body didn't seem to mind operating at its edge.

Best of all, I felt so damn happy. The whole race. When we hit the highway, I got emotional. The view was amazing. I felt so good, so much stronger than I'd expected to feel.

And as I ran to the finish line, I was pretty close to sobbing (maybe it was all inside, because I was awfully focussed on going as fast as possible.) This was not a race I really felt like running, truth be told. I was genuinely concerned that I hadn't trained enough, not enough really long runs (maybe they're not so necessary--a woman on the bus to the start line told me about a friend who trained for years using the really-long-run method, but only qualified for Boston after dropping that method, and instead never training over 25km at a time. I like the sounds of that.)

Most of all, though, this past week I've been feeling the weight of my grandpa's loss. That sounds too dramatic. But I noticed it in all of my siblings when we got together on Wednesday after the funeral. We were all kind of drained. Emotionally as much as anything, but the emotional affects the physical, too. A grey feeling. Fully functional, just ... well, grey of spirit. I felt drained and tired going into the race today. It wasn't the best state in which to start a race at a distance untried. No wonder I started with such a lack of confidence. But the race gave something back to me. And that was what I was feeling as I ran toward the finish line. I was feeling joy. What a gift. To feel renewed confidence. To feel a sense of celebration. To be a part of something like a race, like a marathon. All of those people, doing their best. I wanted to stay at the finish line and cheer for everyone. I would have if the youngest hadn't been whining so loudly. Really, races are not much fun for young spectators (and I was so glad to have my family there.)

Even standing at a little distance, drinking a cup of soup, I realized that I was experiencing joy as those other runners came in--vicarious joy for what they'd accomplished, pride in their accomplishment, as if we'd done it together.

Well, I guess we did.

Thanks, Hamilton. I won't forget this. It does kind of cap an amazing year pretty perfectly. Apparently my time used to be fast enough to qualify me for Boston, but no longer. That's okay. I'm only 2 minutes, 13 seconds over the qualifying time, and it's a nice thing to aim for ... maybe ... well, why not. Why not do this again? I was thinking that it might seem like I'm training for races, but what I'm really doing is training for these amazing life experiences, these sweet sweet moments in time that can be gruelling, but are also rewarding. At the beginning of the season, I had to fight myself a lot more: I had to fight that weariness, that desire to quit, that feeling of wanting to give up and give in, to stop the suffering. And those thoughts scarcely flicker anymore. The further I run, the less discouraged I'm tempted to become. The more positive-minded, the more excited, the more I feel in touch with potential. And I used to get very competitive and almost angry when running races--angry isn't quite it, but close. I could hardly stand for any obstacles to get in my way, I was so irritable. Today, I felt none of that. I still felt competitive, but I also just felt more relaxed. Whatever happened, happened. It was just another thing that I needed to get past.

If only I could apply this in real life.

Well. That's about it. And it's more than enough, isn't it.

Thanks to all who have trained with me, and encouraged me, and believed in me, and kept me going. What a season. Wonder what next season's going to look like?