Monday, October 29, 2012

MCM

In regard to my last post, Dad, rest assured, I have cleared Purgatory and everyone is now in Heaven.

Yesterday John and I ran the 37th annual Marine Corp Marathon.  It was humbling, unexpectedly challenging and indeed, a marathon I will not soon forget.  My husband shocked me with his performance.  I see a tried and true ultra runner in this guy.  At one point, I do believe he was not even coherent, but I never would have known had he not told me later.  He looked completely unaffected by the hills, the wind and the distance.  The entire race, I kept expecting his wheels to fall off, his calves to cramp up or something to snap or pull and take him out.  After all, he didn't listen to me when I gave him advice.  He took weeks off for an injured calf muscle and neglected my ongoing suggesting (ok, nagging) that he get on the elliptical or accompany me to Sarah's cycling class to keep his cardiovascular fitness.  He never got nasty, but he continued to do his own thing, which in my opinion, was the wrong thing.  I told him of how agonizing that race would be for him if he did not do as I say.  I am, after all, a running coach!

Well this running coach was wrong.  Dead wrong.  Not only did I NOT take my own advice on what I know to be proper training (INCORPORATE REST!), but I also clearly did not know what was best for him.  Somehow, he did.  And don't think in days to come that will not annoy the living heck out of me.  But for now, with post marathon euphoria in full swing, I will admit that John did exactly as John should have done.

My morning started at 3 am Sunday.  I awoke from a solid sleep of six hours with a headache.  I had been dealing with it all day on Saturday and was taking ibuprofen every four hours.  I first thought I was just dehydrated.  We had an early flight that had me up at 2:45 on Saturday morning.  Our flight was at 7, but I needed to make sure the house was presentable.  We had our neighbor coming to take care of our pets and should anything happen to us while away, people would surely be coming in and out of the house.  So I got up and cleaned (maybe the headache is not a mystery after all...).  I also knew we'd be sore and tired and I would not want to do a darn thing on Monday.

All day Saturday I forced fluids.  I drank water and Gatorade until I was floating.  I carbed up and was pleased as can be to go to bed at 8 pm feeling bloated and heavy.  I knew this would come in handy during the race.  The headache would lessen considerably when I took ibuprofen, but by that 4 hour mark, I needed more.  I could tell the medicine was working as a "symptom masker".  At 3 am on Sunday morning I got up to go to the bathroom.  The headache was evident and my body was wiped out.  The day before was exhausting and I could feel the lingering effects of it all.  I leaned against the edge of the counter and began to cry.  How in the world could I go out and run a marathon today? I just wanted to go to bed and sleep all day.  What the hell am I doing to myself?  I am exhausted and just couldn't fathom running at all.  It wasn't a shitty attitude that was bringing me down.  It wasn't negative thinking.  It was absolute dread of what was to come with the way I felt.

I went back to bed and tossed and turned until 5.  I then got up, knowing I had to eat.  Maybe coffee would help.  The little hotel pot had 1 single packet of regular coffee.  John and I both drink it and he was beginning to stir.  Well, actually, I was telling him to get his ass up and eat.  I decided to do the nice thing and offered him the coffee.  I did let him know that I had not had any either yet, but he happily accepted that only cup.  I put the freshly brewed cup of watery hotel coffee with nasty powdered creamer on his nightstand.  He continued to lay there and not move.  So I walked over, picked it up and said, "Well since you aren't going to drink it, I will!"  He kind of snickered at my attempt to be selfless, which quickly turned selfish, and got up.  I, on the other hand, left the room in pursuit of REAL coffee (STARBUCKS!) in the lobby (carting the hotel cup of coffee in hand).

Upon my return to the room, John said he wanted to tell me something.  He sat down on the bed and said, "I know I've been telling you for weeks that I want you to run with me.  I know you want to race this and go for a 3:45.  I'm telling you that I want you to race.  I was just saying that, but fully intended to let you go race.  I told Suttan so we have been snickering at all your comments over the past few weeks.  I will be fine and will enjoy the marathon.  You just go do your thing."  Hey Suttan, we need to have a little chat.

"Why did you not tell me this?"

"I didn't want you to get all crazy nervous."

"No."

"No, seriously, I want you to go for it."

At that point, John had no idea of my 3 am bathroom tears.  He had no idea that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed.  I didn't want to walk the marathon, let alone, run it.

"I can't do it today, John.  I don't have it.  I am running with you and we will go for a sub 4.  We will line up with the 4 hour pacer.  Ok, well maybe we'll line up with 3:45."  Yup, that quick.  And then came the nerves.  I am as crazy as a shit house rat.

We met my cousins, Sean and Brian, in the lobby.  Stephen joined us shortly and we were off to the start.  The start was over a mile away and we were accompanied by lots of nervous and giddy marathoners.  As we approached the start, we walked along a fenced in area with tombstones as far as the eye could see.  It was Arlington National Cemetery.  Chills came over me and I stopped to take a picture.  On the website I read that the race starts in between the Pentagon and Arlington.  Right in between those working to protect and keep our country safe and many of those that died doing so.  You'd have to be rock to not feel overwhelmed by just being there and the significance of it all.

We got the start, went to the bathroom with minimal wait and hopped in our corral.  We could see the 3:45 pacer up ahead and that was enough for me.  I didn't know what would happen... we'd just wait and see.  Shortly before the wheelchair race, we were treated to a flyover of 2 Osprey planes.  It was crazy cool.  The National Anthem followed shortly and then the wheelchair racers were off.  In no time at all, the cannon boomed and the marathon began.

In the first 5 miles, I knew a 3:45 wasn't happening.  That sluggish, tired feeling was present even with the adrenaline rush of the marathon start.  I was totally ok with that and settled into a 9 or so minute pace, with John setting the pace.  John felt great from the start.  I could just tell.  His breathing was easy, he was chatty and he looked as relaxed as could be.  By mile 6, my body had warmed up and I felt much better.  "Ahhh...", I thought, "I really DO get better with distance."  This is where I began to enjoy just running alongside my husband, talking and noticing the surroundings.  We were having a great run, racing each other to the timing mats to see who could get the better split (for the record, our splits were exact until the finish, where he crossed one second ahead... whatever!).  I took out my phone to take some pictures of some of the incredible things I'd witnessed along the way.  I smiled at the sweet, encouraging texts from Sarah, who was tracking us.  At the 15k split, I remembered Air Force.  This was when I knew I was in trouble.  No such trouble lingered today.  My legs were not heavy and I felt well fueled.  Although I felt confident a sub 4 hour race was a given today, I approached that thought with caution.  John commented on the number of runners passing us.  I replied, "Just wait until the last few miles.  We will see many of them again."

At around mile 15, the race began to change.  John made a comment that made me think "Boy, it's early for this..."  He was hurting.  I got very worried with still 11 miles to go and his training history.  "It's ok.  Just stay steady.  We are ok.", I said.  And then the wind started.  We looked at each other and said "Well, here it is!" in reference to the nasty winds predicted for the race.  We both got quiet and settled into the task at hand.  One foot in front other.  With the wind picking up, our pace began to slow a bit.  I didn't want to fight it because I knew what would happen... we'd be done by mile 20.  So we didn't fight, but just readjusted and chugged along.

My race changed dramatically at mile 21.  While John seemed to come out of his struggling spell, I was slipping into mine.  We were on pace for just under 4 hours and I knew I was the decisive factor.  "You have just 5 miles to do this for him.  Just 5.  That's nothing.  That's a Marvin loop.  Ok, Marvin sucks, don't think of that.  Ok, how about 2.5 out and back on the outer.  Yeah, much better!"  Then what I like to call the "real stuff" had to be pulled out.  It was time to run in prayer.  It was time to suck it up and stay steady.  Why was I here?  I was here because my cousin, Brian, asked me to be.  Brian has an autistic son, Brian, and we were running in support of the school he attends.  I was thinking of what it would be like to deal with not only that diagnosis, but day to day life, with an autistic child.  A hell of a lot more challenging than anything I have ever dealt with.  I wore a reminder on my head of the "puzzle" of autism spectrum disorder.  Sarah bought me the head band a couple of weeks ago to wear in the race.  I thought of what she was doing... watching the splits, crossing her fingers and hoping we were going to hit that sub 4 time.  I thought of how lucky I am to have such an awesome and dedicated friend.   I continued to pray, certain a gazillion people were entering Heaven as I ran.  I prayed for my goddaughter, Mariana, and the challenges her sweet life will bring for her.  I prayed for sweet Nora, Aleisa and William.  Each thought carried me forward.   But the miles were getting super hard.  At one point we had a small, but insurmountable hill.  I remembering asking Jesus that if He could kindly push me up, I would appreciate it.  My Garmin battery had died around mile 19 and I could no longer see what pace I was running.  John was calling out our splits with each mile and I was certain we had a shot.  By mile 23, John seemed to be a bit ahead.  I looked at him.. perfect form, no shuffle and strong.  "Buddy, go.  Go get that sub 4.  You can get it."  "Nope, I don't care.  We are running together."  "Please, John... YOU CAN DO THIS!"  I thought of my friends who had run Columbus the week before and qualified for Boston.  I remember the pain on their faces when I saw them.  "Come ON, Kate... get it together.  2.5 miles to go.  Those girls gutted it out and so can you.  DO NOT lose this for John."  Hard as I tried, my exhausted body wasn't having it.  I believe the months and weeks preceding this race had come to a head.  There wasn't anything to give and nothing to do but survive the duration.  It wasn't a fuel issue.  I wasn't shuffling, I was running.  It was an exhaustion issue.   At mile 26 there was a hill to the finish.  Knowing we were already over 4 hours, I pleaded with my husband "Don't leave me."  I could not believe those words came from my mouth.  But somehow I didn't think I could get up that hill.  That finish was so close, yet a lifetime away.  Anyone who scoffs at the last .2 miles of a marathon has clearly never run one.  That point 2 is brutal and deserves credit.  As we neared the mat, I grabbed John's hand.  We crossed hand in hand.

Immediately the 3 am bathroom episode came to mind and I smiled.  I was disappointed that we didn't get sub 4, but so happy I was able to complete it in the time we did.  There wasn't a hint of disappointment on John's face.  He was ecstatic!

We made our way through the finishers chute and a line of Marines greeted us and shook our hands and thanked us for running.  "No, THANK YOU!", I said over and over to nearly every single one.

It is hard to run a race like the Marine Corp Marathon and come away unaffected by the things you see on that course.  I hope if you are a marathoner, you will put this one on your list of ones to do.  It is worth the cost of the entry fee and of getting there.  God Bless the USA.

Semper Fi


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