St. George Marathon

I decided on a whim to enter in the St. George marathon lottery about six months ago. And although I was thrilled to get into the race, I had no idea what I had gotten myself in to. Seven hundred miles of training later. . .

We got Addie and Ryan out of school early and took the beautiful drive down to St. George. We arrived in the late afternoon and went straight to the big race Expo to get my race packet and take part in the carb-loading spaghetti dinner. There were SOOO many people there! My nerves started picking up as I realized what a serious thing I was a part of: 7200 runners from 48 states!

This little girl scout was quite the competent little thing. She got all my things together, gave me the drill about my race number and asked to "verify" my Driver's License, all in a very business-like tone and straight face. Troop #714 apparently trains their "Brownies" well.

The race leaders. The BYU guy in front ended up being the overall winner with a time of 2:24:43 (5:30 pace). The race began at 6:45am, just before sunrise. I had been up since 2:00am sick to my stomach from nerves. You see, my last race longer than 8 miles had ended in a ride in the back of an ambulance, and that had only been HALF this distance. Also, the temperature at the starting line was 69 degrees, which is a record-high for the St. George start. Things were not looking good for a first-time marathoner who has a tendency toward dehydration. Anyway, I was quite scared and could not for the life of me eat any more than a few bites of oatmeal that morning. I was near tears and told Ryan I didn't want to run. He drove me to the start anyway, of course.

I still felt sick as the race started. But as I started to warm up, I felt really good. I was right on pace for the first quarter of the race. My little fans were strategically posted at mile 7, just before the infamous Veyo Hill. It lifted my spirits to see their smiling faces cheering me on.

Ryan got a quick picture of me while I was running past them. Things were good. I was definitely going to be fine. Or was I?

I found one of Ryan's friends from grad school just before the hills. It was his 12th marathon, so he coached me through the next 6 miles of hills. I stayed on pace, but just barely, and it required way more effort than I had expected. By mile 13, I was again starting to question whether I would ever see the finish line. My quads had gotten REALLY tight on the hills and seemed really fatigued. The miles passed. The plan was to run a conservative first half so I could take the down-hills faster and run a negative split.

Well, quite the opposite occurred. As I ran through Dammeron Valley, Diamond Valley, and Snow Canyon my legs got progressively more tight and fatigued. I got pretty discouraged as I had to start walking slowly through the aid stations and drinking more and more fluids to make it through the miles. At mile 20, I was hurting REALLY bad. Even with the downhill, my quads wouldn't relax and turn over. I was forced to forget pace entirely; my finish time goals were abandoned. (Did I mention there was a head wind the ENTIRE way?) My new strategy included one goal: getting to the finish line in one piece without hallucinating or passing out. Incidentally, this strategy included quite a bit of walking and longer trips through the aid stations.

With 4 miles to go, I felt like I may as well have 1,ooo. The finish line seemed like an eternity away. I started to have really negative thoughts. I looked around me and was like: "All these people are CRAZY!! If this is what it takes to finish a marathon, I want no part in it! I don't want to be one of these crazy people!" A police officer on a motorcycle drove passed, asking if people were okay. The back of his motorcycle looked more and more enticing with each passing step. I wanted to cry out, "Take me with you!" But instead, when my legs seized up I just walked, then shuffle/jogged again until I had to stop again. Over and over.

With one and a half miles to go, a miracle happened. Ryan found me. He could see I didn't look too great. He started running beside me, coaching me along. He put ice chips in my mouth one by one, squirted me down with water, (did I mention it was extremely HOT? I think it was about 90 degrees by this time) and said lots of positive things. He kept reminding me that I was almost there and could take as much time as I needed to get there. As I rounded the final corner and saw the finish line, I sped up for a little while. But I had to back off a little again when my legs almost gave out. I ran the second half of the race 20 minutes slower than the first half. But I finished it. My time was 3:47:24, certainly not record-breaking nor even reasonably fast, but it was a PR for me! I stayed on my feet and was grateful to still have my wits about me, more or less.

Dazed and SOOOOO thankful to be across the finish line.

One of the first things I did after I finished was yank off my shoes and socks. I had two big blisters and some seriously sore feet.

"Are you going to run another one?" was the question I was asked over and over by numerous strangers after I finished. That is like being asked, "Are you going to have another baby?" right after you just gave birth (which, by the way, is a piece of cake compared to running a marathon, and I've done it the old-fashioned way). All I could think to say was: "NOT today."

So, will I do it again? I probably will, but I think I will wait until Ryan and I can train and race together. I need to run with someone who is not a head case; who can keep me relaxed and positive through the tough spots. Either that, or I need to go to counseling to retrain some of my negative emotional running baggage. It is really hard for me not to get competitive when I run. I know that my best running event is 52 times shorter than a marathon (the 800m), and that distance running has always been challenging for me, particularly in the heat. But I still cannot help but get frustrated when I get passed.

Anyway, I am happy to say I have now run a marathon. It is no longer a mystery and I can finally cross it off the good old "Bucket List." It was a very humbling experience. And although I ran much slower than I had hoped to, I am so grateful to be healthy enough to run at all. I truly love running, and hope to always be able to keep it an important part of my life.

P.S. It has been a week since the race, and it still hurts really bad to go up and down the stairs. :)