So a month ago I ran a marathon. And today I'm in self-quarantine with a pandemic on our hands. My how things can change in a month..... 26.2 miles, all in one go. It seems like a lot, until then you start training for it, and then it seems like A LOT.
I've been trying to think about what to say about this that people might find interesting, or maybe find something that they could relate to in their own lives. And so what I settled on is Strength.
Strength in myself, and what I learned about myself during my training, and then on Race Day.
Training:
So my training plan (The Hanson Plan) was pretty serious. 6 days a week. working up to 50 - 60 mile weeks. And that takes a lot of commitment. It also takes a lot of support, from my husband, who I was constantly abandoning to go on runs.
But here's what I learned. If you really want something you will find a way. I changed my work schedule so I could get in runs before dark. I learned to run on the Dreadmill at work. I ran in the dark. I ran in the rain. I ran slow when my training plan told me to, and ran fast when it told me to. I got bored of running, I got bored of the whole process, but that was about halfway through so it was too late to back out. I learned to do something even when I didn't want to. And that was Strength Lesson#1
I also finally developed a truly healthy relationship with food. Yes 40 years on in life, I saw food for the fuel it was. And I saw my body as the beautiful strong machine that it was. And I wanted to take care of it. Some days I was a bottomless pit of hunger; some days I was craving mineral water. My body told me what it wanted, and I listened and honored it and tried to give it the best nourishment I could. I very specifically told myself and everyone else I was trying to maintain, not lose, weight during my training. I ended up losing a little bit at the end, and that's okay too, but the intent was to love and honor my body and to take care of it the best I could
The Run:
For me, the marathon was the shortest moment in the huge run up of training and then pre-race anxiety. 18 weeks of training. 1 week of nerves. 4 hours of butterflies in the stomach, and then the starting line whistle blows and it's just me and my feet.
My race was in Pueblo, Colorado and it ran along a bike path from the Pueblo Reservoir into town, then an up and back in the not-so nice part of town and finally finishing at the Historic River Walk. There were only 77 marathoners, and I'm a back of the pack runner to start with so for most of the race, it was pretty quiet.
Each mile was its own journey. Some miles were just smooth, feeling pretty good miles.
Some miles were super exciting when my amazing cheer squad was at the sidelines (thank you Ed, Brit, Lauren, Jesse, Kelly, David and Amber for being there for me)
Some miles I questioned myself, my choice of clothing, if my pace was sustainable, or if I was drinking enough, but strangely I never questioned why I was doing this in the first place.
Then I got to the out and back part. It was a not-so nice neighborhood, and miles 14-20 were a gradual uphill going into 20 mph winds. My cheer squad couldn't get to this area, and they had a bathroom issue on the race, with no bathrooms available from miles 14-26. This was my dark time. This was the time I started walking, and started feeling tired, and a little hopeless. Just before the turn around I went through this super creepy tunnel that was dark and sketchy and I was like what the heck am I even doing here!?!?!
But I reached that turn around, gave myself a pity party, and then pulled myself back together and remembered all the people that were out there supporting me. All my friends who had told me they'd be thinking of me. My husband who was tracking my iphone and kept sending me encouraging messages, and I was like girl you got this! You may be tired and may have slowed down, but you WILL FINISH. And so I started running again. And knocked out one mile after another. Passed each aid station on the way back and thought, one mile closer to done. And then I got to the last aid station, with one mile left to go, and a guy who I'd just come up on said to me, well at this point we have to finish. And so we did.... So. we. did....
I've been trying to think about what to say about this that people might find interesting, or maybe find something that they could relate to in their own lives. And so what I settled on is Strength.
Strength in myself, and what I learned about myself during my training, and then on Race Day.
Training:
So my training plan (The Hanson Plan) was pretty serious. 6 days a week. working up to 50 - 60 mile weeks. And that takes a lot of commitment. It also takes a lot of support, from my husband, who I was constantly abandoning to go on runs.
But here's what I learned. If you really want something you will find a way. I changed my work schedule so I could get in runs before dark. I learned to run on the Dreadmill at work. I ran in the dark. I ran in the rain. I ran slow when my training plan told me to, and ran fast when it told me to. I got bored of running, I got bored of the whole process, but that was about halfway through so it was too late to back out. I learned to do something even when I didn't want to. And that was Strength Lesson#1
I also finally developed a truly healthy relationship with food. Yes 40 years on in life, I saw food for the fuel it was. And I saw my body as the beautiful strong machine that it was. And I wanted to take care of it. Some days I was a bottomless pit of hunger; some days I was craving mineral water. My body told me what it wanted, and I listened and honored it and tried to give it the best nourishment I could. I very specifically told myself and everyone else I was trying to maintain, not lose, weight during my training. I ended up losing a little bit at the end, and that's okay too, but the intent was to love and honor my body and to take care of it the best I could
The Run:
For me, the marathon was the shortest moment in the huge run up of training and then pre-race anxiety. 18 weeks of training. 1 week of nerves. 4 hours of butterflies in the stomach, and then the starting line whistle blows and it's just me and my feet.
My race was in Pueblo, Colorado and it ran along a bike path from the Pueblo Reservoir into town, then an up and back in the not-so nice part of town and finally finishing at the Historic River Walk. There were only 77 marathoners, and I'm a back of the pack runner to start with so for most of the race, it was pretty quiet.
Each mile was its own journey. Some miles were just smooth, feeling pretty good miles.
Some miles were super exciting when my amazing cheer squad was at the sidelines (thank you Ed, Brit, Lauren, Jesse, Kelly, David and Amber for being there for me)
Some miles I questioned myself, my choice of clothing, if my pace was sustainable, or if I was drinking enough, but strangely I never questioned why I was doing this in the first place.
Then I got to the out and back part. It was a not-so nice neighborhood, and miles 14-20 were a gradual uphill going into 20 mph winds. My cheer squad couldn't get to this area, and they had a bathroom issue on the race, with no bathrooms available from miles 14-26. This was my dark time. This was the time I started walking, and started feeling tired, and a little hopeless. Just before the turn around I went through this super creepy tunnel that was dark and sketchy and I was like what the heck am I even doing here!?!?!
But I reached that turn around, gave myself a pity party, and then pulled myself back together and remembered all the people that were out there supporting me. All my friends who had told me they'd be thinking of me. My husband who was tracking my iphone and kept sending me encouraging messages, and I was like girl you got this! You may be tired and may have slowed down, but you WILL FINISH. And so I started running again. And knocked out one mile after another. Passed each aid station on the way back and thought, one mile closer to done. And then I got to the last aid station, with one mile left to go, and a guy who I'd just come up on said to me, well at this point we have to finish. And so we did.... So. we. did....
I cried as I hugged my friends who were waiting for me, had been waiting for me for hours. Who handed me oreos and chips and water and congratulated me. I had run a marathon, and I would never be quite the same person again. Not for that day alone, but for the entire journey that led me there.
And now......posting this 1 year and 6 months later......
with more than 600,000 dead from Covid in the US and so so many more world wide,
with my mother gone from cancer,
with the world in the grips of climate change,
we have gone through those dark times and we have hit the wall, but we have kept going.
Colorado's Governor said last April that Covid was going to be a marathon, and not a sprint.
Maybe now we are at mile 24, when we say to ourselves.....well at this point we have to finish.
And I am now starting to learn about the new person that I am becoming, and how my priorities are going to be forever changed.... and that is OK.
Thank you all for coming on this journey with me, and I can't wait until we can share Oreos at the finish line.
https://www.madmooseevents.com/pueblo-marathon
