A week ago I ran the Portland Marathon.
My goal was to run it in 5 hours, and I ended up running it in 5:10, so I consider that a goal met.
Even though I signed up to run the marathon back in January, I didn't really start training until June. I ran a little bit here and there before that, but the idea of starting training in rainy weather was not appealing to me, so pretty much I started putting the miles in when summer started.
I wasn't sure how my body would handle running 26.2 miles. The longest distance I'd ever done before was 10 miles back in late June, and I did not like it at all because it took my knees a week to return to normal. In fact, I didn't do any more distance runs after that. Just a lot of 4-6 mile runs. And an 8.5 mile run. But otherwise, I didn't have the time or the desire to go out and run 20 miles.
Which, by the way, is what you're supposed to do when training for a marathon.
But here's the deal: I just wanted to finish it. I didn't care that much about time. I thought 5 hours was a realistic goal because I just couldn't imagine running longer than that. My brother Jake--the hard core runner of our family--told me to prepare for 5 and a half hours. So, I did that. "If I can do it in 5:30, that will be good," I said to myself.
So last Sunday, I woke up at 4:45 am, drove into Portland at 5:15, got to my starting corral at 6:10, and crossed the starting line several minutes after 7 am.
Thousands of people ran the race, and thousands more lined the streets of Portland to cheer us on. I listened to my running playlist in one ear, and to the crowds cheering in the other ear.
And I never stopped smiling.
The whole thing was amazing. I've heard people say they'd never run a marathon again, say they wanted to give up, say they cried at mile 20, say it was the hardest thing they had ever done.
I went into it thinking: I'm doing this for me, for my girls, for my husband. I'm doing this because I want to, not because I have anything to prove.
The truth is I have faced harder things in my life. I suffered mind-numbing, soul crippling, darker than the darkest night depression during my pregnancy with Adelynn. THAT is the marker for the hardest thing I've ever done. Running 26.2 miles on a gorgeous day through one of the best cities in the country, with my family cheering me on? Yeah. Seriously.
I never felt discouraged during the run, never wanted to give up, never hit the wall. Yes, my legs got tired. Very tired. If I had just been out there running for kicks and giggles and exercise, I would have stopped running at mile 19.
But I was there to finish.
Jason, my parents and my grandpa cheered me on at mile 8 and 11.
Sharon and my girls joined them at mile 18.
My brother and his girlfriend Christa joined at mile 21.
And my sister too! Over the phone! From Scotland!
After mile 21, I was on my own, knowing that they would all be waiting for me at the finish line.
Those last five miles were difficult only in that my legs were darn tired. But they were easy knowing that I was this close to being done. Five miles. Four miles. I imagined myself running down the main street of our town, turning left past the railroad tracks.
Three miles. I thought of running past the corn fields, the ones I had seen growing all summer, and seen harvested a week before the race.
Two miles. I saw myself running past the horses that Addie and I fed apples to when she would stroller along on my runs. I thought of running past the little league fields where I would hear the Saturday morning crowds cheering on kids.
One mile. I stopped imagining, and just took it all in. Down the streets, past the crowds, past the signs, the bands, the last aid station handing out Altima, water, gummy bears, and pretzels.
I saw brother Jake and Christa off to the right, waving me on, cheering me through the last .2 miles.
My girls. My husband. My parents and mom-in-law. My grandpa.
I crossed the line.
5:09:59
My legs were wobbly and my stomach filled with too many gummy bears.
It took my stomach three days to forgive me for the run and allow me to start eating regular food.
My left knee is still swollen.
No matter, though.
Some people go for the records, jump from 24 miles above the earth, train all their life for the one moment, believe that this one thing will make all the difference.
I broke no records, I trained as much as I had time and determination for, and I have accomplished greater things in my life than running a marathon. But this one thing? Running a marathon just because I thought it would be a fun thing to do?
Yeah. I did that.
And someday I might just do it again.
{More marathon pictures are on Flickr...with more play-by-play commentary...here.}
