The Marathon!

The marathon.  Something that only 0.1% of the U.S. Population will set out to run and finish in their lifetime.  Two days before the marathon, we were still in taper mode and carb loading to our heart’s content.  It is said that a runner in taper mode can be a very boring travel companion.  Of course, it is true that while we aren’t going to hike any local trails or peruse the stores for hours at a time, if you’re down with napping, lounging and eating (Italian food that is) then you’ll love it.  We found an amazing Italian restaurant and overate on pasta, garlic bread and a fantastic lemon-iced cake.    It was the first of a series of meals spent shoveling food into our mouths and chasing after the little ones.  It seems as though sitting through meals, riding in strollers and sleeping in confined spaces isn’t what they would call a good time.

The next morning we found a great coffee shop for breakfast.  The boys chased seagulls and we drank our coffee and watched as the runners walked to and from the expo.  There was an energy to this place as the crowds picked up and runners filled the sidewalks carrying their sweat bags and talking excitedly about the race to come.  There were many words of “Good Luck” exchanged and we began to get excited about making the trip to retrieve our race bibs.  We headed back to the hotel and changed into our running gear for a very light 2-mile jog to the water.  My husband, who can be a bit challenged when it comes to doing math and running at the same time, calculated out a route that left us with a full mile walk back to the hotel.  Well, there goes our taper. 

After the expo, we figured it might be a good idea to see what we’re up against.  We proceeded to drive the route that, in less than 24 hours, we would be running.  The drive was beautiful.  As we kept driving and driving and driving, it began to dawn on me…26.2 miles is REALLY far.  We jumped out of the car for a quick picture.  It was chilly and the wind was blowing in from the ocean at such a high speed that I could barely stand up straight.  I recall feeling a slight tremor of fear at that moment, but decided to brush it off.  The wind was not forecasted to be strong so maybe we would luck out. 

The parents watched the kids while we headed back to the Italian restaurant to split a pasta dinner (it’s not a good idea to overeat the night before) and talk about our race strategy for the next day.  Then to bed we went at the early hour of 7 p.m.  Yes, that is early.  But, so is waking up at 3 a.m. to don your race gear and head to the shuttles that would take us to the starting line.

We loaded the coach and the excited chatter began.  The buzz of voices lasted for a good 10 minutes and began to quiet down as we drew closer and closer to the start. The runner’s village was packed.  This race would only boast 4,500 runners, however, the space was small.  As the shuttles unloaded their passengers, the runner’s village filled up and we would find ourselves fighting a crowd to drop off our sweat bags with the rental truck that would deliver these bags to the finish line.  It was a chilly morning so we waited until the last possible moment before tearing off our sweats and tossing our bags to the volunteers manning the station.

We asked our fellow runners what their goal was for the day and we received an overwhelming number of “no time goal…we just want to enjoy ourselves” responses.  This should have tipped us off.  But we lined up at the starting line blissfully unaware of what awaited us.  The announcer asked how many of us were first-time marathoners.  Troy and I and about twenty or thirty other naïve racers raised their hands.  Rather than a congratulatory response, the announcer should have said “You’re crazy!  No one should run their first at Big Sur.”

They announced the race would start about ten minutes late.  Troy and I turned to each other and began to pray.  We prayed for our race, our spirits and our family.  We prayed especially for those in whose memory we would race.  Their names fluttered on ribbons pinned to the back of our shirts.  This race wasn’t just for us.  It was for them.

The gun sounded and we were off.  We continued to remind ourselves that we needed to start off slow.  “Remember…the real race doesn’t start until mile 20.”  As runner after runner passed us, we took solace in these words.  We were doing the right thing pacing ourselves.  And it’s not like we were running all that slow.  A 10:45 pace was our average for the first 5 miles.  These first miles wind through the beautiful red woods that Big Sur is known for.  The air was calm and crisp.  Runners were already hopping off the road to pee in the woods and we were enjoying a light conversation as we easily covered these first miles.  We knew mile 6 would turn toward the coast and we would begin to hear the sound of crashing waves. What we didn’t know is that a strong head wind awaited us. 

Mile 6 began and we found ourselves charging into a headwind that was later reported to be constant with gusts of wind up to 40 mph.  Troy and I ran side by side for the first mile or two then I began drafting him just to get a quick break.  Just as the wind seemed to let up, we began climbing the 2-mile stretch of hurricane point.  At the end of 2 miles, we climbed a total of 500 feet.  This was the biggest climb of the race and we passed many walkers during our trek to the summit. 

During our ascent the wind would let up briefly, and then we would turn a corner and find ourselves pushing into the wind yet again.  It seemed like a constant battle…and we were not winning.  Our pace was getting slower and slower and we hadn’t even reached the halfway point.  This is where I began thinking to myself “Why am I doing this?  What crazy person would think this is fun?” 

At the top of Hurricane point, the gusts were so strong that I literally couldn’t run any more.  This would be the first of my many brief periods of walking.  Troy turned to me and said “I think we’re walking as fast as we were running.”  He was right.  With my hat tightened up and my head down into the wind, the beauty of “the ragged edge of the western world” was missed by me.  I slowly started up to a jog and began the one mile descent to the tune of classical music played by a pianist on a beautiful grand piano.  This marked the halfway point.

The remainder of the race would be remembered for its numerous hills.  Some hills are steep.  Some hills are long.  And some hills are steep and long.  The steepest and the longest we had left back in miles 5 through 12.  Starting at mile 22 we entered a period of rolling hills.  Short and steep.  Combine that with a canted road and two very exhausted and wind-blown runners and this becomes the most challenging part of the race.  The sweet reward?  Fresh strawberries at mile 24.  The strawberries were the most delicious things I had ever tasted.  Or maybe my taste buds were a little tired of the 6 packs of GU that I had already consumed.  I noticed a strawberry that had been dropped on the road.  I actually considered picking it up to eat it thinking “what fool would waste that?”  This might have been the point of delusional exhaustion for me.  And I still had 2.6 miles to go. 

We were determined to finish the last two miles in a full-out run.  We passed a Jamaican band which would awake my spirit for the rest of the run.  I let out a loud whoop with hands in the air and a big smile on my face.  And Troy replied “now there she is!”  We would finish this race strong and earn those medals.  We saw the hill at mile 25 in the distance and hunkered down for our last hard push.  The spectators became more numerous.  We became more energized.  Our American Cancer Society coach met us with 0.2 miles to go.  He shouted words of encouragement and paced us to the finish.  “You have 0.2 miles left.  You know what to do now, right?” he would yell.  We replied aptly with “hell yeah!” and forced our legs to move just a little faster.  The finish line was there.  Troy reached for my hand and we crossed the line.  We finished.  Just as we started together, we finished together.  Hand-in-hand.  It is synonymous for our desires for our marriage.  Every trial, every pain, every joy.  We do it together.  Hand-in-hand.

Hebrews 12:1


Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.