Holy crap, I still can't get over it. In some ways, it almost seems like it didn't happen because it's so weird to be on the other side of it after so many weeks of preparation. I finished a marathon and here I am, totally normal again -- albeit a bit creaky in the legs today.
I couldn't quite take it in yesterday, that I'd actually achieved my goal. Today I keep getting little bursts of that totally high and empowered feeling I had after I gave birth the first time -- like, "If I can do that, I can do anything." Just little bursts, mind you, but they sure are great.
I'm glad I'm coming away from the experience feeling positive because I think I very easily could have made myself feel bad about it. I never wrote about this, but my fond hope was to finish the marathon in 5 hours, or even a few minutes under. That would have put me at ... (quick pause while I use a calculator because I can't figure this out on my own) ... 11.5-minute miles. Not unreasonable, considering how I did on the longest training runs.
I'll just put this out there right now: I didn't get anywhere near 5 hours. Instead, it took me 5 hours and 28 minutes to cross the finish. (More calculation) That translates to 12.5-minute miles. Pretty terrible as far as pace goes.
I will say that my pace for the first half was pretty good: I was right at the 11.5-minute miles that would have gotten me to the finish in 5 hours. (I know this because there was a handy clock at the halfway mark displaying the time that had elapsed since the start.) But I was also pretty much a wreck by the time I got to the halfway point.
Leaving for the marathon.
Let me start at the beginning. Clearly, I had worked myself up into a good tizzy by the time marathon morning arrived. I didn't sleep well Saturday night because I was so freaked out about the next day. I tried to calm myself down when I got up at 5:45. I checked the weather (which ended up being absolutely perfect: cloudy and a comfortable 50 degrees or so), ate a good breakfast, the same thing I eat before every long run, then re-read some things that have helped me to relax in the past. SuperAthlete J had given me an incredible card full of encouragement and motivation, and I jotted a few more inspirational sayings on the back of it before tucking it away in the back pocket of my running jacket for good luck. I went upstairs to wake up Husband M, put on my shoes, gathered up my stuff, and then it was time to go. We picked up SAJ at her place and headed down to eerily quiet Seattle Center. We arrived less than 10 minutes before the 8:15 start and I was still feeling totally nervous.
Arriving at Seattle Center with SuperAthlete J.
Here's an interesting thing I didn't realize about the Seattle Marathon: not a lot of people run it. Tons of folks do the half, as I saw when I ran it two years ago, but not nearly as many do the full. After Husband M dropped SAJ and I off, we easily found our way to the starting area and waited in line for less than a minute to use the honey buckets for our last pee before the start of the run. I've never had a wait that short during an organized run. Then we found a place in the group of runners (SAJ wanted to stand just behind the pacers that would be leading the runners aiming for a 4-hour marathon time, and I ridiculously stood with her). Looking around at the comparatively small number of runners made me even more anxious ... if I was slow, it was going to be even more obvious. All too soon it was Star Spangled Banner time, quickly followed by the horn that signaled the start of the race.
SAJ and I had agreed that we wouldn't run together: she wasn't wearing her heart rate monitor and wanted to go balls out to get the best time possible. Since my goal was simply to finish and I know my stamina is much better if I stay at or below 156 beats per minute, I did wear my monitor -- and had promised myself that I'd stay in my efficient range during the run. I also hoped that, if I minded my heart rate, I'd avoid the dizziness and nausea that bothered me on the 20-miler. I totally ignored my heart rate on that run so I could get up all the hills without slowing to a walk.
I started running and crossed the start just a few seconds after the horn went off -- another first for me. In my experience with shorter runs, the sheer volume of people usually makes it impossible to even break into a jog for the first few minutes.
I lost track of SAJ immediately -- she darted ahead and got lost in the small sea of bodies. That was OK; less pressure to be speedy, I thought. I started my music, which I'll post about separately, and got rolling.
I noticed almost immediately that I was breathing really fast and shallowly. I wasn't out of breath from running; it was nerves. I told myself I'd relax after I got settled into the run and resolved not to look at my heart rate until I'd gone at least a mile. On my solo runs, I like to occupy my mind by only checking distance every three songs -- when, generally speaking, I can be assured that I've run a mile or more. So I planned to get through three songs, then look to see what my heart rate was doing.
Song #1, song #2, song #3 ... I still didn't see the "mile 1" marker and I had read that there were markers at every mile along the course. So I made myself listen to one more song before checking my heart rate. Imagine my surprise when I came upon a marker and saw that I'd already reached mile 2. Somehow I'd missed mile 1 completely. Hooray!, I thought. Two miles down already and they totally flew by! I can do this! Then I checked my watch and saw that my heart rate was at 168.
168! My heart sank. That's normal during intervals for me but I never get that high during a regular run. I chalked it up to anxiety and started working on getting myself to settle down. I tried taking deep breaths, relaxing my shoulders, shaking my arms out, thinking calming thoughts. After another three songs, I checked it again: no change.
That was very dispiriting. Rightly or wrongly, I believed that I wouldn't be able to complete the marathon if my heart rate stayed that high. I started to panic, thinking that I had to figure out how to bring it down. I decided to check my average pace (gotta love that incredibly functional watch of mine) and saw that it was 5.6 mph, a bit faster than normal for me, particularly on a long run. Plus, everything I'd read said that for a marathon, you're supposed to start slowly.
So I tried to slow down. I had been staying with the 4:45 pacers, but dropped back further into the crowd. I kept working on my breathing but couldn't shake that anxious hyperventilating feeling I had. My face felt really hot and I just knew it was beet red. I'd already broken a good sweat, way early in a run for me. Plus, I realized, I had menstrual cramps. Then, before I knew it, we'd taken a left and started up the on-ramp to the I-90 express lanes.
Here's another obnoxious thing about me: I'm totally claustrophobic. I really dislike when a course "traps" me and goes someplace where there's no easy exit. I can really only relax when I feel like I can run right off the course whenever I want to. Obviously, that's not possible on an elevated freeway. Nor was it in the tunnel that followed it. Or on the floating bridge that followed that.
I told myself that I'd feel better after I got off the bridge, at mile 8. Although I'd promised myself that I'd eat something every 3 miles, I felt too nervous to even consider it until the bridge was behind me. I kept checking my heart rate every three songs. The lowest reading I got was 163. I tried to slow down even more, but was aware that I was dropping back further and further. I started to worry that I'd be the last runner on the course and that made me even more anxious. It should have made me happy to see SAJ passing me on her way back to the Seattle side of the bridge, but instead I was bummed at how far behind her I was.
(See how much fun I was having?)
It was a big relief to get to the turnaround at the end of the bridge and start heading back toward Seattle. I saw flashing lights near the mouth of the tunnel I'd come through earlier and wondered if someone had gotten hurt. Imagine my dismay when I passed the lights 15 minutes later and realized they were on the sweeper cars, following the last runner on the course. Now, they were just starting the round-trip bridge crossing and I was almost done with it, but still ... no one likes to get that close to the sweeper car. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time I'd see it.
Finally I got off the bridge. I kept my promise and ate something immediately: half a LaraBar. I'd been stopping at almost every hydration station to mix up a cup of water and Gatorade and slug it down, but I still took a minute to wash down the bar with water from my camelback. The bar tasted good and I thought, OK, this will give me some energy and I can get back on track.
No dice. The run just kept getting harder. I gave up on trying to get my heart rate to 156 and settled on feeling satisfied with anything less than 160. I began to wonder if I'd be able to complete the marathon. I started to doubt it. I just felt doomed. I counted down the miles until mile 15, where Sister A was going to meet me. I kept thinking that if I could just make it to her, the worst would be behind me. The route was flat at that point in the course, so I just tried to zone out and find my rhythm. It escaped me. The run just felt like work.
At mile 11 or so, I saw SAJ's family waiting for her. I smiled and waved and they jumped up and down for me, which was great. I ate more bar, which tasted OK but didn't seem to want to go down my throat. Then I headed into Seward Park to follow the loop and double back along the lake to the long-awaited mile 15. A really nice woman started chatting me up in the park, telling me about her triathlons and work with Team In Training. She was following a run/walk plan: five minutes of running followed by a minute of walking. Even walking one minute of every six, she eventually passed me. I kept going. The park was beautiful but I couldn't appreciate it ... instead, I scoped out areas that I could run and hide in if I suddenly felt terrible.
After passing the halfway mark and seeing my not-disrespectable time, the menstrual cramps I'd been dealing with off and on for the entire run suddenly intensified. I realized I should change my tampon and stopped at mile marker 14 to do it (sorry for the TMI). When I sat down in the honey bucket, the whole thing felt like it was rocking like a boat on the ocean. That freaked me out a bit. I got out as quickly as I could, noticing that my calves and hamstrings were cramping up much earlier in the run than they usually do. Eating two more chunks of supremely hard to swallow bar, I walked to the adjacent water station for a drink and increased the ratio of Gatorade to water. Then I headed for mile 15. I started crying thinking about Sister A waiting for me there -- the first tearful outburst of many.
That last mile before Sister A felt like the longest one ever. It wasn't helped by the fact that I saw the sweeper car again -- heading toward Seward Park. I was still a good three or four miles ahead of it, but it seemed like a signal that I wasn't going to make it. I also saw a truck picking up honey buckets along the course. I felt like a total loser -- they were putting everything away while I was barely halfway finished -- but kept slogging ahead.
Approaching mile 15 -- look at that fake smile.
At last, I rounded a bend and there was Sister A across the street from mile 15 marker -- and next to her was Husband M. They were both clapping and cheering and I felt like crying all over again. I didn't stop; Sister A just fell in next to me after making sure I didn't need to use the honey bucket that the mile marker was attached to. We set off and she asked how it was going. I told her I was struggling and couldn't get my heart rate down. I admitted that I didn't know if I could finish. She, wonderfully, asked if I needed help slowing my pace and I said yes. And for the rest of our five miles, she set a slow and steady pace for me to follow. I took my first non-water-or-bathroom-related walk breaks while we were together; there were a couple small hills and we walked up them so I could continue catching my breath. I walked again when it was time to eat more bar -- the last I'd be able to muster on the run; they just wouldn't go down anymore. But by mile 18, I had finally gotten my heart rate to 157 and was finally starting to calm down ... although I was queasy and pretty out of it. I still didn't feel sure I could finish. Sister A, bless her heart, gave me so much encouragement and wisdom during those five miles. She told me over and over again that I could make it, that I was almost there. She told me I was doing great, that she was proud of me. She saved me. I'm still incredibly humbled by what she did for me. Just typing that made me well up.
Setting out with Sister A.
All through the run, I'd been beating myself up because I wasn't having fun. I had gotten messages from so many people in the days leading up to the race -- all of them saying, "Have fun!" And I just couldn't. Even worse, the challenging time I was having was all my fault. I was stressing out and making my heart rate skyrocket instead of enjoying the big event I'd been training for all season. And I knew that my frustration with myself was only exacerbating the situation. It was a total downward spiral. But that all started changing at mile 15, when I met up with Sister A. By the time we met up with Husband M at mile marker 20, I ironically felt better than I had for the entire run.
Changing shoes at mile 20.
After a pit stop for me to change my shoes -- how luxurious that I had my own pit crew and the opportunity to do something like that! -- Husband M and I set out. Let me first say that he has never run 6 miles in his life, and he happily committed to do the final 6 of the marathon with me. And he couldn't have been a better partner. I was so relieved and thankful to be with him that I suddenly felt very lighthearted. I was able to maintain a pace that kept me in a comfortable heart rate and we jogged along, chatting and even laughing. We talked to other runners as we passed them by or vice versa. We smiled at the people who cheered from the side of the road, and thanked the marathon volunteers we encountered. We admired the scenery. We checked the price on a house that was for sale -- Husband M grabbed a flyer as we jogged past and filled me in on all the details. He took pictures and made jokes. It was clear that the marathon was coming to a close -- volunteers were packing up at the hydration stations as we passed by -- but I didn't feel concerned about bringing up the rear anymore. I actually started having fun.
Feeling good with husband M.
Mind you, it was hard. Husband M reminded me right away that I was in unknown territory: I'd never run farther than 20 miles before. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my chest hurt, my stomach hurt, I had cramps ... you get the picture. But my mindset was different. I felt safe and calm with my husband. As I told him before the run, those miles were a great metaphor for our marriage -- and I loved having him by my side while I willingly went to the very edge of my physical limits.
Yes, we took walk breaks. The last 6 miles are the hilliest of the entire Seattle Marathon route. We walked up the course's one brutally steep hill, and also walked up a couple smaller ones. That's why my split time was so bad (just over 2:30 for the first half; nearly 3:00 for the second). But in the moment, I didn't care. I was just glad to be feeling better and headed for the finish. For the first time in many miles, I allowed myself to hope that I could complete the marathon, even if I had to do a significant amount of walking.
Mile 22.
Mile 23.
Weirdly but not surprisingly, the last few miles went by faster than any of the others. At mile 23, I started to feel tired and shared a package of Luna Moons with Husband M. But my spirits were still good. Just after we passed mile 24, Husband M's phone rang and he answered it: SAJ's husband was on the other end. Although it was very hard to hear because we were jogging alongside I-5, he was able to understand that SAJ had to pull out of the run at mile 14. She'd had a cold all week and it had gotten the best of her. That brought me down a bit. I told Husband M I needed to have music again and put my earbuds in.
Mile 24 obscured by my big head.
Hanging in there.
Mile 25.
The mile markers kept coming faster than I thought they would. At mile 25, Husband M said, "You're going to do it!" I told him I wasn't ready to believe it yet. We kept jogging. My legs got really wobbly after two steep downhill blocks, and I took one last walk break before committing to run to the finish. We set out. A song that he'd written for me was on my iPod and I sang it to him as we ran together. He sang along, which was funny because he couldn't hear the music. I laughed thinking about how off-key I must have sounded.
The last downhill.
The last uphill.
That last mile was simultaneously tremendously fast and slow. Time seemed to stand still, yet suddenly we were rounding a corner and the volunteers told us, ".3 to go!" I couldn't believe it and started crying again. Then it was down a short hill and up another, where I could see the entrance to the stadium that held the finish line.
Greeted with huge love by Music-Lovin' J.
Music-Lovin' J pulls me up the last of the hill.
Suddenly there was a huge whoop and holler from the side of the road. It was my wonderful, wonderful friend Music-Lovin' J. She ran out into the street like a happy banshee, grabbing my hand and pulling me up the last of the hill. I was totally blubbering at that point and stumbled along behind her.
Running for the finish with pregnant Sister M.
Then my beautiful pregnant Sister M was there, whooping right along. I don't know exactly what happened, but the next thing I knew, I was holding Sister M's hand and running along with her. Sister M's baby is coming in less than two weeks. Can you imagine what that must have looked like, my 9-months-pregnant sister running the last tenth of a mile of the marathon with me? On the corner that led to the stadium entrance stood Sister A along with my daughters Sweet A and Little C, holding a gigantic banner that they'd made that morning at home. With Sister M holding my hand, I kept heading toward the stadium.
My family running on the other side of the barricades.
My family followed along, running abreast with me behind the barricades. Then they peeled off and I ran into the stadium on my own. I was crying, sobbing really, quite openly. I couldn't believe that I was actually finishing a marathon.
Heading into the finish.
Then all of a sudden I had crossed the finish, shown my number (hidden under my jacket), received my finisher's medal and dropped my timing chip in a bucket. I took a breath and Husband M was there, crying and saying, "You did it!" while giving me a hug that threatened to take my breath away. Sweet A came running right up, bursting into tears on the way. Oh, it was a beautiful tear-fest, with me crying the longest and loudest of all, marveling on the inside that someone who works so hard to stay in control could just let it go like that.
Crying.
More crying.
More crying.
Finally not crying so much.
That's pretty much the end. After all the crying and hugging, there was more hugging and lots of picture-taking. Then I went to the recovery area to get some food and tried to eat while Husband M went to get the car. Sisters M and A took my girls out for pizza so I could have some quiet time at home. And I spent most of the rest of the day on the couch, relaxing and eating carbs. My legs and feet were pretty painful for a few hours, but soon they just started to feel sore. And for all the worrying I'd done about feeling queasy after the marathon, I really didn't feel too bad. Just really, really tired.
My awesome running partners.
The most beautiful cheerleaders.
My wonderful family.
And that is the story of my first marathon.
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