I'm not a runner. For a while I dabbled, but I could really never be called anything more than a jogger. I'm slow. I'm lazy. I run because it's cheap, and I know it's good for me. I've run in a few 5k races and one 10k. That was good enough for me.
My husband said that for his 40th birthday he wanted to run a marathon. "Great," I said. "Pick one you think sounds like fun, and I'll support you the whole way. I'll make you weird smoothies, I'll help evaluate your form, I'll stand at the side of the road with a hilarious sign, whatever you need me to do."
A few weeks later, he said, "What if we did it together? We could do it together. Wouldn't that be fun?"
My logical response was, "No. Not at all. None of that sounds fun."
But now I knew. I knew he wanted to do it together. I knew he cared about it enough to mention it and ask, seriously, if I would consider it. It was what he wanted for his birthday.
Fast forward a bit and our church was putting together a team to run the LA Marathon with Team WorldVision. In case, you're not sure, WorldVision is a charity that brings clean water to communities in Africa. They are the largest non-government organization providing water for people in Africa, to the tune of about a million people a day. It's a great cause. I told my husband, "There you go. You can run with friends from church, raise some money for clean water, do the 40th birthday thing, you should check it out!"
We both went to the orientation meeting where they handed out the training schedule. Team WorldVision employs a running coach, a physical therapist, and a nutritionist to help runners accomplish this crazy thing, and their training schedule is extremely gradual. Definitely geared toward people who are not used to running. As I looked at it, I thought, "Well, maybe I can do this. If I start now, and follow the schedule, maybe I can make this happen." And it was what he wanted for his birthday.
I signed up.
4 months later, I realized what a moron I am. That was the day I did my first 10 mile run. Now Team WorldVision is fantastically organized, and every Saturday, we had a group training session with everyone from Team WorldVision in our area. Honestly, that was the only thing that kept me training sometimes. I knew that if I didn't show up for the group run, they would notice and they would ask where I had been. The day I joined the Double Digit Club was a rough one. It took me well over 2 hours, and I was the last one to finish (a trend that continued through training up until the day of the race). When it was over, my husband told me I could back out if I wanted to. But I don't quit (read: I'm stubborn and don't think things through all the way so I tend to do things I'm not actually capable of).
I've lost track of when, but somewhere along the line, I injured a hip flexor muscle. It's a tiny muscle that runs from the lower vertebrae to the top of the thigh bone. However, it's the major muscle that pulls the leg forward, so straining or pulling it makes running (and walking if I'm honest) very hard. According to my physical therapist, that event caused a bit of a chain reaction where the muscles of my thigh and backside had to compensate for the injured muscle, rotating my thigh bone forward and changing the way the mechanics of my hip work. She also sounded as though she thought running a marathon might not be the best idea for me. But she didn't expressly forbid me from doing it, and like I said, I'm too stubborn to quit.
Fast forward again to the day after my 40th birthday. Why that day? That was the day of the marathon.
We caught the shuttle from our hotel to the starting line at Dodger Stadium and stood in the back with the slow people. In case you're unfamiliar with how races work, let me set this scene for you. All 24,000 runners are organized into groups called corrals. Near the front are the seeded corrals. Those are the runners with proven official times in previous marathons who are not strangers to this particular crazy activity. The number of corrals varies from race to race depending on the number of registered runners. The fastest runners are closer to the front, and the corrals get slower as they move further away from the start line. The final corral is called the open corral. That's the one for people who are running their first marathon or who are too slow to run with real runners.
We set off just as the sun was rising. And the day after my 40th birthday, I was running a marathon.
Things were great for the first 5 or 6 miles. I was alternating running and walking and feeling pretty good. Then I stopped to go to the bathroom. In the 2 minutes it took to do that, my feet swelled up inside my shoes. When I hit the pavement coming out of the bathroom, my feet hurt so much I couldn't run anymore. So for 20 miles, I walked.
I walked uphill. I walked downhill. I walked through downtown LA, Chinatown, Koreatown, past Disney Concert Hall (uphill), through Hollywood, through Beverly Hills, Westwood, Rodeo Drive, the Sunset strip, and into Santa Monica. Now, no one starts a marathon intending to drop out, but around mile 15 I was seriously considering it. My feet hurt, my hip hurt, it was hot, my hands were swollen, I was sunburned, I couldn't figure out what I needed to make myself feel more normal. Dehydration and exhaustion will make your brain do funny things.
About this time, I walked past an Episcopalian church. Outside was a priest wearing a sign that said, "Bless me Father, for I have a long way to go." He was sprinkling holy water on all the runners as we passed. I will always be thankful for that priest. Just as I was thinking about flagging down a medical transport and giving up, I saw his sign, and he smiled at me as he sprinkled me with holy water. It helped me keep going.
Around mile 24, I stopped into a medical tent and asked if they had anything for blisters. A nurse sat me down and asked me to take off my shoes and socks. One word: blisters. Blisters EVERYWHERE. Blisters on the balls of both feet that were spreading up between my toes. Blisters on the insides of both my big toes. Blisters under the nails of both my middle toes. Blisters on the insides of both my heels. Blisters under the two smallest toenails on both feet. I knew my feet hurt. I knew I had blisters. I was not prepared for the disaster that was actually present. I commented to the nurse that the blisters were bigger than I had expected. His response: "Yeah, these long races can take you by surprise." I'm proud to say that I refrained from responding with profanity. After covering my feet with moleskin, I squeezed my swollen feet back into my shoes and took off again.
About a mile further down the course, I came to the WorldVision support tent. They gave me a bottle of Gatorade, and reminded me that every mile I had come so far represented a child who could go to school because they no longer had to spend the day fetching water. Every mile was a mother who could allow her children to live normal lives for the same reason. Every mile was a community that would be free of any number of preventable diseases now that they had access to clean water. Then as I walked away, they shot me with a confetti canon. I will always have a soft spot for confetti now.
At this point in the story, I have to stop and talk a little bit about Team WorldVision. They are an amazing organization. Not only do they support communities by providing clean water and child sponsorship, they also do an incredible job of supporting the runners who raise money for them. They are there for the runners every (literal) step of the way. They coached us on everything from how to buy the right pair of running shoes to ways to raise funding to being there all day the day of the race cheering for everyone and providing drinks, snacks, and encouragement. That support was the only thing that kept me training, and as I reached the end of the course, it kept me going when my body wanted to do nothing but stop and collapse.
As I crossed the finish line, I wish I could say it made it all worth it and I felt incredible. I didn't. I wanted to die. Volunteers put a huge medal around my neck, and all I wanted to do was rip it off. I walked half a mile to the gear check truck, all the while wanting to lie down, and knowing that was the wrong thing to do. I picked up my gear bag, and met up with my husband (who ran the same race with a kidney stone) at the WorldVision tent, where a well-meaning young man stuck a microphone in my face and asked a bunch of questions I don't remember, and I tried to answer through my "civilized person" filter. Once he let me go, I sat on the grass and ripped my shoes off, peeled my socks off, and tried to figure out what I needed.
Now, if you've ever engaged in any ridiculous, extended physical activity, you know that when it's over, you have no idea what you need. I told hubs I was feeling dizzy and he immediately peppered me with questions about what I needed. I didn't know. Water? A snack? Gatorade? A massage? I didn't know. Finally someone handed me a can of ginger ale, and I suddenly knew that's what I needed. I had the presence of mind to sip slowly.
We were supposed to walk about a block to the shuttle stop to go back to our hotel, but my feet hurt so much and were so swollen that not only could I not put my running shoes back on, but I also could not put on the sandals I had left in my gear check bag. I couldn't walk. I wanted to lie down. There was nowhere to do it. Finally, my father-in-law hired a pedi-cab to take us to his car and he drove us back to our hotel.
I also would love to say that I took a shower and a nap and felt almost back to normal, but that's not true, either. I did take a shower, and a nap, but when I woke up it became abundantly clear that I was still dehydrated. I drank a bottle of water, FaceTimed the kids, and my husband convinced me that I should probably eat some food, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. And my feet still hurt so much I could barely walk. We ate dinner in the restaurant in the hotel lobby and went back upstairs.
The next morning, after over 500 training miles and one day of hell, we drove home.
I will never do that again. Hubs says he might one day, but it will be in a different locale. I told him I was 100% behind him if that's what he wanted to do. But I will no longer be participating in the insanity that is marathon running.
So what did I learn? Well, I learned I can, in fact, finish a marathon. I learned that in order to do that, I needed a lot of support and accountability. And I learned that we are all capable of things we thought impossible.
My husband said that for his 40th birthday he wanted to run a marathon. "Great," I said. "Pick one you think sounds like fun, and I'll support you the whole way. I'll make you weird smoothies, I'll help evaluate your form, I'll stand at the side of the road with a hilarious sign, whatever you need me to do."
A few weeks later, he said, "What if we did it together? We could do it together. Wouldn't that be fun?"
My logical response was, "No. Not at all. None of that sounds fun."
But now I knew. I knew he wanted to do it together. I knew he cared about it enough to mention it and ask, seriously, if I would consider it. It was what he wanted for his birthday.
Fast forward a bit and our church was putting together a team to run the LA Marathon with Team WorldVision. In case, you're not sure, WorldVision is a charity that brings clean water to communities in Africa. They are the largest non-government organization providing water for people in Africa, to the tune of about a million people a day. It's a great cause. I told my husband, "There you go. You can run with friends from church, raise some money for clean water, do the 40th birthday thing, you should check it out!"
We both went to the orientation meeting where they handed out the training schedule. Team WorldVision employs a running coach, a physical therapist, and a nutritionist to help runners accomplish this crazy thing, and their training schedule is extremely gradual. Definitely geared toward people who are not used to running. As I looked at it, I thought, "Well, maybe I can do this. If I start now, and follow the schedule, maybe I can make this happen." And it was what he wanted for his birthday.
I signed up.
4 months later, I realized what a moron I am. That was the day I did my first 10 mile run. Now Team WorldVision is fantastically organized, and every Saturday, we had a group training session with everyone from Team WorldVision in our area. Honestly, that was the only thing that kept me training sometimes. I knew that if I didn't show up for the group run, they would notice and they would ask where I had been. The day I joined the Double Digit Club was a rough one. It took me well over 2 hours, and I was the last one to finish (a trend that continued through training up until the day of the race). When it was over, my husband told me I could back out if I wanted to. But I don't quit (read: I'm stubborn and don't think things through all the way so I tend to do things I'm not actually capable of).
I've lost track of when, but somewhere along the line, I injured a hip flexor muscle. It's a tiny muscle that runs from the lower vertebrae to the top of the thigh bone. However, it's the major muscle that pulls the leg forward, so straining or pulling it makes running (and walking if I'm honest) very hard. According to my physical therapist, that event caused a bit of a chain reaction where the muscles of my thigh and backside had to compensate for the injured muscle, rotating my thigh bone forward and changing the way the mechanics of my hip work. She also sounded as though she thought running a marathon might not be the best idea for me. But she didn't expressly forbid me from doing it, and like I said, I'm too stubborn to quit.
Fast forward again to the day after my 40th birthday. Why that day? That was the day of the marathon.
We caught the shuttle from our hotel to the starting line at Dodger Stadium and stood in the back with the slow people. In case you're unfamiliar with how races work, let me set this scene for you. All 24,000 runners are organized into groups called corrals. Near the front are the seeded corrals. Those are the runners with proven official times in previous marathons who are not strangers to this particular crazy activity. The number of corrals varies from race to race depending on the number of registered runners. The fastest runners are closer to the front, and the corrals get slower as they move further away from the start line. The final corral is called the open corral. That's the one for people who are running their first marathon or who are too slow to run with real runners.
We set off just as the sun was rising. And the day after my 40th birthday, I was running a marathon.
Things were great for the first 5 or 6 miles. I was alternating running and walking and feeling pretty good. Then I stopped to go to the bathroom. In the 2 minutes it took to do that, my feet swelled up inside my shoes. When I hit the pavement coming out of the bathroom, my feet hurt so much I couldn't run anymore. So for 20 miles, I walked.
I walked uphill. I walked downhill. I walked through downtown LA, Chinatown, Koreatown, past Disney Concert Hall (uphill), through Hollywood, through Beverly Hills, Westwood, Rodeo Drive, the Sunset strip, and into Santa Monica. Now, no one starts a marathon intending to drop out, but around mile 15 I was seriously considering it. My feet hurt, my hip hurt, it was hot, my hands were swollen, I was sunburned, I couldn't figure out what I needed to make myself feel more normal. Dehydration and exhaustion will make your brain do funny things.
About this time, I walked past an Episcopalian church. Outside was a priest wearing a sign that said, "Bless me Father, for I have a long way to go." He was sprinkling holy water on all the runners as we passed. I will always be thankful for that priest. Just as I was thinking about flagging down a medical transport and giving up, I saw his sign, and he smiled at me as he sprinkled me with holy water. It helped me keep going.
Around mile 24, I stopped into a medical tent and asked if they had anything for blisters. A nurse sat me down and asked me to take off my shoes and socks. One word: blisters. Blisters EVERYWHERE. Blisters on the balls of both feet that were spreading up between my toes. Blisters on the insides of both my big toes. Blisters under the nails of both my middle toes. Blisters on the insides of both my heels. Blisters under the two smallest toenails on both feet. I knew my feet hurt. I knew I had blisters. I was not prepared for the disaster that was actually present. I commented to the nurse that the blisters were bigger than I had expected. His response: "Yeah, these long races can take you by surprise." I'm proud to say that I refrained from responding with profanity. After covering my feet with moleskin, I squeezed my swollen feet back into my shoes and took off again.
About a mile further down the course, I came to the WorldVision support tent. They gave me a bottle of Gatorade, and reminded me that every mile I had come so far represented a child who could go to school because they no longer had to spend the day fetching water. Every mile was a mother who could allow her children to live normal lives for the same reason. Every mile was a community that would be free of any number of preventable diseases now that they had access to clean water. Then as I walked away, they shot me with a confetti canon. I will always have a soft spot for confetti now.
At this point in the story, I have to stop and talk a little bit about Team WorldVision. They are an amazing organization. Not only do they support communities by providing clean water and child sponsorship, they also do an incredible job of supporting the runners who raise money for them. They are there for the runners every (literal) step of the way. They coached us on everything from how to buy the right pair of running shoes to ways to raise funding to being there all day the day of the race cheering for everyone and providing drinks, snacks, and encouragement. That support was the only thing that kept me training, and as I reached the end of the course, it kept me going when my body wanted to do nothing but stop and collapse.
As I crossed the finish line, I wish I could say it made it all worth it and I felt incredible. I didn't. I wanted to die. Volunteers put a huge medal around my neck, and all I wanted to do was rip it off. I walked half a mile to the gear check truck, all the while wanting to lie down, and knowing that was the wrong thing to do. I picked up my gear bag, and met up with my husband (who ran the same race with a kidney stone) at the WorldVision tent, where a well-meaning young man stuck a microphone in my face and asked a bunch of questions I don't remember, and I tried to answer through my "civilized person" filter. Once he let me go, I sat on the grass and ripped my shoes off, peeled my socks off, and tried to figure out what I needed.
Now, if you've ever engaged in any ridiculous, extended physical activity, you know that when it's over, you have no idea what you need. I told hubs I was feeling dizzy and he immediately peppered me with questions about what I needed. I didn't know. Water? A snack? Gatorade? A massage? I didn't know. Finally someone handed me a can of ginger ale, and I suddenly knew that's what I needed. I had the presence of mind to sip slowly.
We were supposed to walk about a block to the shuttle stop to go back to our hotel, but my feet hurt so much and were so swollen that not only could I not put my running shoes back on, but I also could not put on the sandals I had left in my gear check bag. I couldn't walk. I wanted to lie down. There was nowhere to do it. Finally, my father-in-law hired a pedi-cab to take us to his car and he drove us back to our hotel.
I also would love to say that I took a shower and a nap and felt almost back to normal, but that's not true, either. I did take a shower, and a nap, but when I woke up it became abundantly clear that I was still dehydrated. I drank a bottle of water, FaceTimed the kids, and my husband convinced me that I should probably eat some food, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. And my feet still hurt so much I could barely walk. We ate dinner in the restaurant in the hotel lobby and went back upstairs.
The next morning, after over 500 training miles and one day of hell, we drove home.
I will never do that again. Hubs says he might one day, but it will be in a different locale. I told him I was 100% behind him if that's what he wanted to do. But I will no longer be participating in the insanity that is marathon running.
So what did I learn? Well, I learned I can, in fact, finish a marathon. I learned that in order to do that, I needed a lot of support and accountability. And I learned that we are all capable of things we thought impossible.
