It's been nearly a week since the Kiawah Island Marathon, and I'm still unsure how to write this update. So I'll just fire away and see what happens…
The days leading up to the race…frankly, I was tired of well-intentioned folks asking if I was nervous/excited/petrified/choose your own adjective. At that point I was thinking only of our travel day, going through my packing routine (triple- and quadruple-checking my gear), and getting there. In fact, I didn't think about the actual race until we went to the conference center to check in and pick up our bib numbers (and sherbet-colored tech shirts). Then it hit me: Marathon. Pheidippides. "I'll never run a marathon." 26.2 miles?!
I was surprisingly relaxed (at least I thought so) and slept fairly well Friday night. Skip ahead (5:30 a.m. alarm for the 8:o'clock race. Shower. Dress. Pre-race pictures. Pacing. Antsy-ness. Let's go.)
I've done a bit of reading about running and the mental side of covering long distances. While I was sure I had physically prepared for this (remember all those training miles?), the late-mile mental battle was an unknown. To combat mental fatigue I generated a sort of psychological cache, containing people, events, milestones, even an odd mantra of sorts; however, I didn't know when this would come in handy. During the first half of the race I caught this cache bubbling to the surface, so I stifled it, sometimes saying aloud, "Not yet."
Miles seem to fly by. I run down Bufflehead Road (which I adopted as my running mantra…because it's fun to say). There's house number zero. Hey, was that Tom Selleck? Around mile nine I cross paths my wife, my sister, and their friend running the half marathon. "I feel great and figure I'll take another lap when I get back." (It was a double loop marathon.) It's hard to believe that one hour, fifty-three minutes could seem like nothing, but that was my split…a little fast going out for my first full marathon; and as I turned for the second loop, "Lonely Boy" by Akron's own The Black Keys plays on my iPod. Three thousand runners, only 850 of those doing the full 26.2. It got lonely.
At mile eighteen I opened some of my mental cache, saying each of your names, thanking God for your support and encouragement. The race started to get tough; and when I crossed the twenty mile marker, I triumphantly smacked it and said, "10k!" Around mile twenty-two I encountered the ugly mug of my brother-in-law who has essentially lived vicariously through me and been my running Yoda throughout this experience. He was sitting atop his bicycle (I won't describe it, as you should have the freedom to imagine it as you please…even if it's a purple, banana-seated piece with streamers coming from the handlebars) and pulled alongside me. "How are you feeling?" Instinctively: "Like S#@%." Apologies to the mother and her child on the side of the course…she laughed and forgave my indiscretion. "What do you need?" "The finish line." Over those last four miles I know we talked about a few things: What not to say to people running a marathon ("Almost there!"); Walking would be bad, as you might cramp when you try to run again; Potential adrenalin rush at mile 25 (It came a mile later.); Flat courses being awfully difficult because your muscles make the same motion for 4 hours (running onto a curb was a struggle). I can't accurately recount those last miles, so here's the finish…
Where I had turned right more than two hours ago, I now could turn left and head for the finish line. I wanted to see what I had remaining in me, so I forced myself to run faster (Thanks, adrenalin!). I see the finish chute and the banner welcoming, congratulating, and taunting all at once. I think I hear my wife, possibly my sister, so I struggle forward, staring straight ahead and giving weak thumb's-ups to the rowdy bunch on my left side. About 100 yards to go I hear some feral shouting and notice that it's coming from me, so I throw my hands into the air and scream louder because I'm going to finish. Congratulations from the folks handing out medals and large sheets of foil that are supposed to keep you warm. "How do you feel?" "Terrible, but I did it."
And I'll do it again.
RB
P.S. The donor site will remain open until December 31, 2011. Please consider passing this along to others who might be interested in contributing to the worthy mission of Mentor Leaders. Running a marathon was the most difficult physical feat I've ever accomplished, so thank you dearly for partnering with me. And all praises to the Almighty for seeing me through it.
