Running

On December 13, I did something crazy. I completed my first marathon. It was one of the most breath-taking experiences of my life. Nine months of preparation leading up to this race had me feeling a lot like I was about to deliver my first child. My experience was hard, really hard. But something tells me I would opt for another marathon before I would tackle child birth.

I wish that I could say those nine months of training completely prepared me for the race, but that wouldn’t be true. My goal finishing time was 4.5 hours. I configured this time based on past long run split mile times and added time in case I needed to stop to use the restroom or drink water. You can imagine the disappointment I felt when my finishing time was a whole hour slower than my goal. But, I learned a lot of valuable lessons  that day. First, I learned that if there was any inkling in my mind that I was completing this race through my own will, I was wrong. There is no way I can take any credit for what happened out there on the Boulder City/Hoover Dam course.

The morning of the race I noticed that my stomach was feeling like a million butterflies were fluttering around, attempting to escape through any means necessary. This physiological response was not new to me. Growing up, I participated in track and field as well as cross country at my high school. Stepping onto the starting line prior to a race had always been a nerve wrecking, gut wrenching experience for me. I think that there are so many “unknowns” to account for when you are racing, that a Type A personality like me, who doesn’t easily embrace change or required adjustments, feels anxiety and doesn’t know how to handle it. That’s exactly how I felt when I approached the starting line this time. Like adrenaline was a shooting through all of my extremities and I was going to spontaneously combust.

I can’t imagine what my race would have looked like if I did not have the support of my family, who flew in from California just to watch me race. I think God provided angels through my family members to watch over me, make sure I wasn’t going to have a panic attack, that I ate/drank properly prior to the race, and to ensure all of the funny intricacies that come along with spectating at any running events were met (such as coloring a fabulous poster of the course and writing the runner’s name in huge neon letters, whistling with both pinky fingers at that certain pitch, and getting other spectators to cheer you on as well). My in laws as well as brother and sister in law also joined along the family spectator crowd. I can’t explain to you how good it felt to have a group of people cheering you on as you approached mile 23. They carried me through the last 3 excruciating miles of the race.

It is so bizarre and unexpected to me that the day after the race I would not be in more physical pain. Apparently, if my nine months of training prepared me for anything, I can say that it prepared my legs/joints for such a grueling experience. My race pace was hindered by my stomach issues. I had to stop several times and walk or sit because I thought I was going to vomit. I could have never expected this to be the reason that I had to “hold back” during a race. I had visions prior to my race that I was going to be very tired and if there was any reason I needed to stop it would be to catch my breath, but then I would continue right on again. This is where I can say with 100% conviction that God carried me through this race and there is no way I could have done it without Him.

The week leading up to the race was a trial in its own right. I was informed that back surgery was scheduled for my brother five days prior to my race. I was heartbroken for him. The decision for surgery was made in haste and my parents did not agree on the terms- such as where, when, and who would be present. I felt an immense amount of pressure to assist with Thomas as my mom was not able to change her already scheduled flight to Las Vegas. Our family was split based on this painful but seemingly necessary decision.

 I made two trips daily to visit my brother while he was in the hospital- before and after work. I awoke early to prepare for the trek out to spend time with him.  I stayed late not wanting my brother to be alone and knowing that my dad was tired and should go home to rest himself. The hospital was 45 minutes from my house, but luckily it was very close to my work. Seeing my brother in such pain was heart wrenching. I cried the first time I walked into his hospital room and saw him so dull and exhausted. He had tubes in his mouth and needles coming out of his neck. I am so thankful that he had professionals that truly cared and listened to him. For the first time in my life I witnessed my dad presume the position of a servant. He helped my brother in and out of bed, bathed him, wiped him, fed him, and ensured he was getting the best care possible.

When mom flew into town she couldn’t wait to spend time nursing Thomas back to health. She took every opportunity to pamper and feed him, making her famous enchiladas and a few other meals that Thomas requested. I can’t imagine the positon she was caught in- having her twins in what couldn’t have been more different circumstances. Me, preparing and training to run 26.2 miles all at the same time, and my twin brother stuck in a hospital bed unable to move without the assistance of another person. Ironic. I never felt neglected or like my mom was preoccupied with Thomas that week. She treated and pampered me too, which I know was not easy.

The days leading up to the race were busy with life, hosting the South East Las Vegas Young Life Leader Christmas Party at our home the same day of my brother’s surgery,  excitement at work for our Staff Retreat, and anxiety for the race that was to come. At this point I was ready for Saturday to just “get here.” I was also getting very sick of eating pasta. It seemed liked carb loading was growing old and plain. I was craving any food besides pasta, but knew this would help fuel me.

The morning of the race I awoke around 5:30am with a grumbling stomach. Uh oh.  My alarm was set for 6am and I was very concerned with getting enough rest. I knew that in a few hours I would be well on my way to a 4.5 hour run. I decided to take Immodium to pacify the grumbles. I attributed my stomach pains to anxiety. Luckily any symptoms I had quickly went away, but the butterflies remained. I decided to start getting ready for the BIG DAY and woke up the rest of the house with my excitement. I went through my mental checklist and was sure to grab everything I might need (much of which was placed in a back pack and was never used) and ate a small piece of baguette with peanut butter, before heading out the door.

The drive into Boulder City was beautiful. My mom, sister, and stepdad all crammed into our “Little Red Bean” with Max and me. My mom had to pat my leg and assure me over and over that I was going to be okay and that I was the strongest person she knew and she had no doubts at all that I would finish. I can’t tell you how useful those validations were to me in the midst of my run. Your mind does something tricky in the middle of a long run like that. You go into it thinking that all of the effort and time and preparation you put into training would finally pay off. Then, doubt sets in. You question your abilities, your motives, and your worth. You wonder if you really are good enough or strong enough. If you really can pull this thing off. If God really wanted you to pursue this “desire of your heart” or whether your actions were reflecting selfishness and pride based on something you would tell yourself I did on my own. This doubt had me question whether or not I should stop running after the first 13.1. Max joked that had someone pulled up to him in a car at that point in the race and asked if he wanted a ride to the finish line he would have taken them up on the offer. I have to tell you I am 100% thankful no one pulled up in a car next to me, because I know I would have struggled to turn down their offer too.

I had to talk to God a lot during the race. I pleaded with Him to help my stomach stop hurting and for energy and strength to make it through. I told Him that I knew he had equipped me with strength and power from his Holy Spirit. Self-talk was so crucial to me being able to finish the race. It broke up the quiet whispers that trickled in telling me that I wasn’t good enough. I am so thankful for a God that sends me reassurances when I am stuck in the “quick sand.”

 God also surrounded me with His beauty on this day. I ran next to the most beautiful lake and sky I have ever seen in Nevada. The air was very crisp on this day. The sun hid behind clouds for the majority of the day and I didn’t even need my sunglasses. A few rain drops were felt but I would say the 45-50 degree weather conditions were perfect.  For the first 7 miles I ran next to a young man that was keeping a fairly similar pace to what I was comfortable with. I even got to a comfortable sprint while jamming out to “Bang Bang” by Iggy Azalea. Sometime after two terrible hills and two sets on awful stairs I told him that he could pass me if he wanted (passing was strictly prohibited at this point because the stairs were no steep and narrow). He graciously accepted and passed me up.  It was also around this time that I ran past Max going the opposite direction that I was (he had started the half marathon an hour after I did). Seeing him was good for my soul. I was so excited that I shouted to him and jumped up to kiss him all, without stopping to run.

I got very tired after this point and nausea set in. I had to stop several times and make sure I was staying hydrated. I wished there were more familiar options to me at the refreshment tables. I had grown accustomed to eating trail mix and bananas on my long runs and presumed these options were to be available for him. Knowing what I know now, I would have come more prepared and brought these with me. Luckily, water and energy gels seemed to keep me going in the meantime, but just barely. At about the 4 hour mark, I stopped to text Max that I was feeling extremely nauseous and I had to stop and walk. I was extremely disappointed with myself at this point after realizing that my 4.5 finish time would not be happening.

The last six miles were complete torture- starting and stopping, starting and stopping. This should have been the place where I was most comfortable as it was all downhill and the finish line was in sight. However, I was tired and just wanted a nap. I will never forget how great I felt at this mile marker when I heard my mom whistling and saw my whole family holding up signs and cheering me on. They even made friends with the volunteers at the refreshment tables and even got them and nearby runners to cheer me on. I needed that so badly. I decided that I would try my best to finish without stopping.

The next three miles were completed without stopping. However, by the time I got to mile 23 I was in a weird place- mentally and physically. The adrenaline had worn off and as I looked around I was mainly alone, with the exception of a big man in front of me. My family had driven down the hill to catch up with me at this point and it was here that I was barely maintaining a shuffle. I told them, “I just want to be done,” and knew that if they weren’t within sight of me I would be walking. Only 3.2 left I told myself. As soon as they were out of sight I did stop and walk. At the very last mile marker, the volunteers could tell that I was so defeated that they did not say much besides You can do it 714. Only .8 mile left after this. What would have been an encouragement to me came across as condescending and hurtful. I heard family members laughing about something at this point and felt like they were jeering at me and how long I had taken to finish. It’s funny how insecure you become when you reach exhaustion.

With less than .2 left until the finish line I decided I had enough left in me to pick up my legs and run the rest out. It felt incredible crossing the finish line with my family cheering my name and my mom and Max waiting with their arms open. I ran into my mom’s arms and felt Max kiss my face. Boy, did it feel good to be done! I ended up finishing 4th in my age group. At some point someone put a medal around my neck and I sprawled out across the cold side walk- ahhhh. My mother in law, Jill, gave me water and an apple sauce and both never tasted so good in my life. Next, the Almond Champagne that I just had to have (but could barely force down) and the Asian out-of-towners that cheered and drank with us, followed by a slow walk back to the car to venture out for a BIG, UNHEALTHY lunch. I could only finish half of my Coney Dog but it was delicious.

I was so proud of Max for running just three minutes slower than his first half marathon considering this course was killer! He was such a trooper that he even managed to work a full shift at Texas de Brazil the same day. Mom called him her “Champion” for the rest of her trip. I enjoyed a nice, long soak in an Epsom salt bath followed by a head massage from my sister. My stomach was still a little queasy at this point so I decided that I could stomach a piece of blackberry pie for dinner. I awoke around 11pm to stomach grumbling and Max coming home. This time the grumbles signaled that I was starving! I had to get out of bed and make myself a full plate of spaghetti and bread. My day started and ended with a grumbling stomach. My goal is to set aside this physiological response and run another marathon without nausea in the future. And maybe a course without hills. Mom says I’m crazy.