The Hurricane
Note: The actual date of this race was June 4, 2005, and the final time was 5:34:05. For the complete experience, read this account of the night before The Hurricane first.
The First Steps
Around 6:00 we ordered Chinese. The salt infusion seems to be exactly what I need the night before a big run, and the marathon the next day certainly qualified as such. Given the funerals and injuries and illnesses of the last three weeks leading up to this race, I considered the fortune I received a good omen, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Yeah, it was going to be a hell of a race.
The night before a big run I always have lo mein noodles.
I was everywhere and nowhere the morning of the marathon. I tried to think of some questions to which I wanted answers, but everything was just too big in front of me. I resolved that I would just wait to see what the race wanted me to know. And from that point I just tried to pay attention. I didn't turn on the radio in the car during the drive to the race site. Instead, I rolled the windows down and smelled the rain on the air. It won’t be long now.
Stretching out before the marathon.
I finished stretching before the race, and sat and thought for a little while. It occurred to me that I would return home a completely different person, I would be altered. I would be a marathoner. I tried to imagine the starting line, all of the people, the music that would surely be playing.
A few final thoughts pre-marathon.
The adrenaline started pumping and I felt for the first time that this was real. I was nervous, and I was ready.
Time to go, I grabbed my bag and headed for the car.
Finding a Stride
The race site was electric. I was anxious and didn’t know anyone, but as I looked around at the other people with their yellow marathon race numbers, I felt a sense of belonging and the anxiety lessened.
Mind went through the list of marathon prep and checked each item off. I’d already stapled my e gel to my race belt, I had my car key, body glide, sunglasses, hat, music, and I’d already stretched. I was ready.
"Runners, your attention please. 15 minutes to the start of the marathon!"
Holy crap! I had no idea what I was going to do for 15 minutes, it was an eternity, but at the same time it might as well have been 15 seconds. I started to look around. Body wanted to go to the bathroom for about the eighth time, but I was very tired of the tease and not about to stand in the mile-long line to the ladies' room, yet again, for nothing.
And with that I was drawn into the crowd again. I watched people walk and run by as they warmed up, all ages, all shapes and all sizes. I wondered what their reasons were for running a marathon - how they’d trained, if they’d been as nervous as I had been for so many months, or if they’d been nervous even longer. I wondered if this were a life-long dream that some of them were fulfilling, or just a training run for still others.
And I really wondered how many of them were like me – curious, and anxious for rain as the winds picked up.
The air was heavy and I looked up at the sky. The clouds were thick and they blocked out all of the blue. I’d worried about the potential heat that this race was famous for attracting, as most of my long runs were in moderately cool (or downright cold) and rainy weather, and the clouds put my mind at ease, for now.
Then just like that…"Runners, one minute to the start of the marathon!"
Wha -!?
I pulled myself out of the clouds and walked to the start line – the back of the start line. I’d learned my lesson about getting caught at the front of the pack and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. The gun went off, people were cheering and snapping pictures, the music was blaring and the road was moving underneath my feet. Body wanted to bolt but Mind caught it and slowed things to the 10-minute miles we’d all agreed upon. Plenty to see out here, and there’s plenty of time.
The Float
The first water stop came before I could believe it. I wasn’t thirsty or hot yet, but on the advice of a running friend who had promised to look out for me, I stopped and took a drink anyway. I smiled and thanked each of the volunteers. This was an early day for them and I wondered if they’d ever run, and if they had, if this is why they’d returned to be course volunteers. Soon I’d learn why they volunteered, and it had very little to do with if they'd ever been a runner.
At mile three the ten-minute-mile pace was starting to itch and everyone had to gang up on Body to keep things from speeding up and crashing up the road. Finally, it just got ridiculous and we negotiated that every six miles we’d speed up 30 seconds per mile. Body was satisfied with this and started to enjoy the course again.
People were standing on the corners of the intersections with their coffee cups and newspapers, one older man in his plaid pajamas, and I smiled and waved like I was nine. HI! Thanks for coming out! I’m sure that I thoroughly annoyed the people running immediately in front of me and behind me because they heard this every 20 feet or so. But I didn’t care, I was addicted.
Every time I smiled and waved and the people smiled and waved back a rush of energy flooded through me. Mental Gu …huh. I was overwhelmed by the amazing nature of people, every water stop volunteer’s smile, every spectator’s admiring gaze, every “first time mom, first time marathon” t-shirt, cancer survivors, “for Jody.” I had no idea that I was running, and I tried to store as much of this feeling as I could for later in the race.
The first 10 miles were gone before I knew it. I felt like I’d just started, luckily, because it was dangerous for a while. The 5 and 10K wind blew by a few miles back and the urge to speed up with them was almost more than Body could stand. Soon they veered off and as they did, several dozen turned to cheer on the marathon group. Wow...
On my left the first of the gazelles were turned around and running toward me on their way to Notre Dame, the finish line…mile 18, 19, 20 …absolutely incredible. I found myself at a whole new level of being amazed with humanity. These people were impossibly beautiful. They were on their way to completing sub (way sub) 3:00 marathons. I studied each one, I tried to say some encouraging things because I knew it had to hurt at that point, but anything that I said seemed to fall on deaf ears – I was sure that this was because it took every scrap of concentration to keep moving at such a pace, and tried to leave it at that.
But I couldn't, and I wondered if being that beautiful meant blocking out everything else for the sake of being so. This would reveal itself to be one of the questions I’d had inside of myself but didn’t realize until the race revealed it to me, as it soon would the answer.
The Fog
Mile 15 and all was well. I’d had an e gel at mile 12, and dumped a cup of water on myself for every one I’d drunk (which made for some squishy shoes, but I didn’t mind). Several people had turned around already. I’d counted six by this point and I wondered what could have gone wrong for them – the heat? Were they sick? That was my nightmare – to come this far just to turn around and go back, and watching one after another doing just that was pretty discouraging.
And then, little by little things started to get heavier, the clouds were smothering and the air grew thicker. I kept smiling, but I noticed that I wasn’t cheering as loudly for the gazelles or waving quite as much to the spectators. Physically, I felt fine, so I didn’t understand this sudden withdrawal, and I wondered if this was how the gazelles who hadn’t even smiled at my cheers felt - if they'd had to go so far into themselves that they couldn’t even hear me.
I didn’t want to get to the point that this race would take my smile, so I decided to make a plan.
The Pudding
The spectators were thinning out toward the end of mile 15. It was starting to get a little muggy and the bugs were becoming annoying. Are the water stops two miles apart now or something? Man, they can’t just move water stops in the middle of a race like this. The sky was getting pretty heavy and I looked around to see fewer and fewer runners and fewer and fewer spectators.
A Nissan breezed me and I almost jumped out of my skin Holy crap! Am I lost or something? Where is everyone? Wait, there are the mile markers and the little sunburst ray thingy on the road, OK, so what’s up with Nissan Guy!? Nissan Guy! Did you follow me? I said I wasn’t taking any of you to this race! Get out of here Nissan Guy!
Body looked up at Mind. Calm down, you’re freaking me out. It’s just a car -it’s not the same Nissan – seriously, chill or those vultures are going to be next, you kno- Sh*%! Nevermind! NO – there are NO vultures, Mind! I was kidding!
And thus the heat had apparently started to get to me. There was only one thing to do. I had to find someone with an awesome smile, and I had to find them soon, lest risk complete puddification of Mind. Body, Mind is turning into a frozen dessert, here’s the plan, are you ready? OK ...it’s all you.
And with that, Body locked on its target and ran over to a lady who was clapping and cheering and sitting on the curb with some other spectators. Body hugged this woman and said, “Thank you for coming out!!!”
The lady’s surprised and mom-like laughter flooded Mind and washed the stupid clean off.
Now we can get back to running.
The Recovery
It was still muggy, my squishy shoes were starting to get a little annoying, but I felt good approaching the 16-mile water stop. I wasn’t tired and I hadn’t lost my Mind, though it was a close call. The gazelles were few and far between now, but more and more of them were smiling and giving thumbs up in lieu of cheers (as they couldn’t talk). My faith was restored.
"Hey, who’s Jody?" I yelled, as I read the sign that was pinned to the shirt of the struggling runner in front of me. He’d been walking, and as I caught up I noticed that he was middle-aged and spoke with a southern twang. He had a nice smile.
"Well, Jody is a friend of mine, a coworker. She has cancer. It’s an awful thing…" I asked him if she was a runner and he said no, but that she was of the stuff that runners are after out here. I watched him describe her strength through all of her chemo-therapy, listened to how he admired her, and before long that gave him strength and he started running again. "Now, I have to know your name…" he said, wrinkles collecting around his eyes from no doubt years of laughing. "I’m Brent, by the way."
Brent was running his 20-somethingth marathon. He was a 50 states runner who had come up from Tennessee, and we ran together for a little while. His legs were cramping and he was in pain, and I hoped that I wasn’t annoying him with my gushing about mental gu. But he smiled and laughed to himself and I could tell that he understood.
We talked for a little longer about the ridiculous humidity and the incredible nature of the people out there supporting the course, and I noticed that he smiled and thanked everyone at the next water stop. We were separated there, but I hoped I’d see him again before the end.
The War
Mile 17. I’ve run 17 miles out here in this. People have turned around, gotten on the bus, gone inside, but I’m still out here and I’m still running. I’m almost there…
Halfway to the mile 18 water stop I felt my stomach start to tighten up, so I reached to the back of my race belt for an e gel. There were none. I’d made the monumental mistake of stapling them to the belt (I never had to worry about carrying so many with me on training runs, as I just ran six-mile loops past my house, and after each loop I’d grab one from the mailbox). The staples didn’t hold and they’d fallen somewhere on the course.
Well, there will be Gatorade at 18, same thing. I’ll be fine.
Mile 18 water stop. No more Gatorade.
Wind. Clouds. Squish… Squish… Squish.
OK, don’t freak out. Just slow down, everything is fine. They have Gu, just try that. Just slow down…
And then Body reminded us that it didn’t like Gu. I think that the cramps were mainly due to lost electrolytes, but were probably aggravated by the Gu since I hadn’t used it in training. It felt like my stomach was folding in on itself, and soon it spread to my right hip and down my leg.
At the mile 19 water stop I drank a lot of water and stretched out. I was light headed, nauseas and hot, but cold at the same time. The sky was heavy.
You’re OK, kid. Here you go… I looked up and a saw an older woman smiling and holding out a few cups of water for me. I almost started crying because my grandmother was the only person who ever called me "kid" before, and she wasn’t out there handing out water. At least I didn’t think she was until that moment.
The sun came out at this point, but I still couldn’t see any blue in the overcast sky. Part of the road was brick at this particular intersection, and the heat radiated up and caused a steamy mirage off in the distance. I thought of the Badwater runners, the desert, and for a few seconds I thought that I might be able to imagine how I’d feel out there. No, it was impossible to imagine that.
I thought of all of the people I loved and all of the people who loved me, all who had ever wished me well for this race, who told me good luck, we’re behind you… I thought of what it meant to come this far, through the road-kill, the vultures, the pick-up truck stalker, the Nissans and mini vans.
I was angry and sick and afraid.
What if I don't finish this thing? I have to finish. It's too close...
I remembered the smiling face of the man with Downs Syndrome at mile four. His race tag said 10K and I teared up because he just radiated so much joy. I remembered the third place gazelle who smiled and pointed at me as he passed...Keep going, kid!
I started walking a few blocks after the water stops at mile 20. I stopped and squeezed some water from my socks but refused to look at my right foot because I knew that if I saw it I’d never be able to get the sight out of my Mind for the rest of the race, and it simply would have taken up too much room in my head. I put my socks and shoes back on and tried to finish what I’d started.
Starting up again caused a ripping kind of pain in my stomach and down my inner right thigh. I picked a flower, took a deep breath and thought of the stadium. I imagined running through the shoot and hearing my name over the loudspeaker as I crossed the finish line. I thought of the faces I’d passed to this point, the look of admiration and respect and love in the eyes of the spectators. The man who had come out in his plaid pajamas with his coffee, and two hours later he was in the same spot wearing a three- piece suit. As if there was no such thing as time. All of the kids in strollers, all of the grandmothers.
And at Mile 21 I started to figure it out. An elderly black man with a white beard sat on his front porch as he made boxer’s fists at me and smiled, Go for it, kid…You can do it! He kept talking but he spoke so softly I couldn’t hear him, but I didn’t have to.
Thank you for coming out!
Go for it, kid…
The Dawn
It wasn’t going to rain. It wasn’t going to let up and I had to accept it. The clouds were going to hover there and press down on me and the air was only going to get thicker. The cramps were radiating and each step on my right foot echoed louder and louder in my head. Body and Mind didn’t exchange blame this time, they were too exhausted and in too much pain. It was all too much, and there was only one thing to do.
I had to finish this damn race before it finished me.
Mile 22. There were sponges at this stop, all of the ice had long since melted and the water was lukewarm, but it was cooler than I was and I wiped it over my face and the back of my neck. I drank a few cups of water, which aggravated the nausea and I had to sit down for a minute. Almost there…just a few more miles…come on, kid.
I smelled my little flower and started to cry, it couldn't end here, could it?
Stop crying Body, you’re wasting electrolytes!
I’m not doing it! It’s you - Mind, turn it off! Turn it off!
I can’t! I didn’t do it!
Yes, it has to b-
Gonna sit there all night then?
And I stopped crying.
Well?
I got up, and I remembered what real pain was all about. No slack. No sympathy. Unforgiving.
I walked for two blocks before I could get myself to start running again. I caught up to the people who had passed me and asked them how they were doing. I told them that we were almost there, that we had come this far, and I started to believe it, too.
And then I met Ouida.
She wore a brightly colored head wrap and earrings, she was struggling on and off throughout the mile and I caught up to her. Something about her was electric.
"Hey, we’re almost there. Just a few more miles."
She smiled at me, "Yeah, it has been a day, mah Lord."
She was from Georgia and I loved to listen to her accent, like old time gospel music. She was in pain and tired, worn out from fighting concrete devils and the suffocating sky, but she kept going.
"Here, this helps." I gave her my flower. The smile she returned gave me far more than it had or could, and we were separated over the last big hill.
The Finish Line
Mile 23. A miracle happened.
Somehow I had forgotten about the package of e gel that was stuffed into the pocket of my race belt. It was from my last bike ride, and I’d never used it. I took it immediately and washed it down with a few cups of water at the next water stop. It was only a matter of time.
It hurt, but I didn’t care. I was nauseas and dehydrated, but it didn’t matter. I will finish this thing if I have to drag myself across the line with my teeth.
The boxer’s fists, the Downs runner, come on, kid, let’s see it… surprised mom-laughter, smiling gazelle, vultures, Nissans, squish, mini-vans, so many early mornings, cold eggs and toast, “…you hab fun wunning, Mommy?” the plague, the attack-bush, “…though walls of granite intervene…” 5K wind, pick-up truck stalker, hail, "mah Lord…” frozen flower buds…mile 24.
The cramps were gone. It was all gone. I soaked my sponge and carried it with me to mile 25 where I dropped it. I didn’t need anything else to carry me to the finish line. Halfway to mile 26 I could see balloons in the distance, I saw the shuttle bus and the stadium. This is it, kid…
Ouida was behind me now, she was walking and I yelled to her, "Come on, Ouida!! Come on! We made it, Ouida!"
"I’m comin’ girl, I’m comin’!!"
Mile 26.2. The Notre Dame fight song was flooding from the shoot, military personnel in desert cammies were saluting and others were clapping, everyone was smiling and laughing and cheering and running and crying.
"Ouida!"
"Go on, girl, go on!!!"
"Runner #260: Welcome to Notre Dame!!"
And in the loud celebration everything was suddenly quiet. I looked up and smiled, heh...it won. The blue had finally broken through the sky.
You did it, kid…
The Moral
Interesting things happened to everyone in the swell after we crossed the finish line.
Body was processing the fact that it could finally stop, and sorted through the 12 different chemicals flooding its bloodstream as it ate fruit and drank Gatorade. Mind was trying to remember how to put sentences together intelligibly, but without much success. And Heart, well, Heart beamed as it watched Ouida cross the finish line, still clutching the flower it had given her. It became lost in the hugs from Mr. Iron Wil and my running coach and friends who had run the half marathon. And it looked around at all of the faces of the runners it had never met, but somehow knew.
At the beginning I wanted to make a list of questions to which I could discover the answers along this journey. I resolved that I was not so wise nor should I be so presumptuous, and that the training and ultimately the race would tell me what I needed to know.
And now when I look at the big picture of everything leading up to this marathon, everything during and everything after, the lesson is clear. People are kind and compassionate. They draw strength from giving to others, and as this race showed me by bringing me to my weakest point, so do I.
This bond transcends age, gender, culture, religion, race and distance. For me it has come to define this chapter of my journey to Ironman, for though the marathon was a solitary endeavor, I was never alone.
And nor will I ever be now that I understand the power of a smile.
The First Steps
Around 6:00 we ordered Chinese. The salt infusion seems to be exactly what I need the night before a big run, and the marathon the next day certainly qualified as such. Given the funerals and injuries and illnesses of the last three weeks leading up to this race, I considered the fortune I received a good omen, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Yeah, it was going to be a hell of a race.
The night before a big run I always have lo mein noodles.
I was everywhere and nowhere the morning of the marathon. I tried to think of some questions to which I wanted answers, but everything was just too big in front of me. I resolved that I would just wait to see what the race wanted me to know. And from that point I just tried to pay attention. I didn't turn on the radio in the car during the drive to the race site. Instead, I rolled the windows down and smelled the rain on the air. It won’t be long now.
Stretching out before the marathon.
I finished stretching before the race, and sat and thought for a little while. It occurred to me that I would return home a completely different person, I would be altered. I would be a marathoner. I tried to imagine the starting line, all of the people, the music that would surely be playing.
A few final thoughts pre-marathon.
The adrenaline started pumping and I felt for the first time that this was real. I was nervous, and I was ready.
Time to go, I grabbed my bag and headed for the car.
Finding a Stride
The race site was electric. I was anxious and didn’t know anyone, but as I looked around at the other people with their yellow marathon race numbers, I felt a sense of belonging and the anxiety lessened.
Mind went through the list of marathon prep and checked each item off. I’d already stapled my e gel to my race belt, I had my car key, body glide, sunglasses, hat, music, and I’d already stretched. I was ready.
"Runners, your attention please. 15 minutes to the start of the marathon!"
Holy crap! I had no idea what I was going to do for 15 minutes, it was an eternity, but at the same time it might as well have been 15 seconds. I started to look around. Body wanted to go to the bathroom for about the eighth time, but I was very tired of the tease and not about to stand in the mile-long line to the ladies' room, yet again, for nothing.
And with that I was drawn into the crowd again. I watched people walk and run by as they warmed up, all ages, all shapes and all sizes. I wondered what their reasons were for running a marathon - how they’d trained, if they’d been as nervous as I had been for so many months, or if they’d been nervous even longer. I wondered if this were a life-long dream that some of them were fulfilling, or just a training run for still others.
And I really wondered how many of them were like me – curious, and anxious for rain as the winds picked up.
The air was heavy and I looked up at the sky. The clouds were thick and they blocked out all of the blue. I’d worried about the potential heat that this race was famous for attracting, as most of my long runs were in moderately cool (or downright cold) and rainy weather, and the clouds put my mind at ease, for now.
Then just like that…"Runners, one minute to the start of the marathon!"
Wha -!?
I pulled myself out of the clouds and walked to the start line – the back of the start line. I’d learned my lesson about getting caught at the front of the pack and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. The gun went off, people were cheering and snapping pictures, the music was blaring and the road was moving underneath my feet. Body wanted to bolt but Mind caught it and slowed things to the 10-minute miles we’d all agreed upon. Plenty to see out here, and there’s plenty of time.
The Float
The first water stop came before I could believe it. I wasn’t thirsty or hot yet, but on the advice of a running friend who had promised to look out for me, I stopped and took a drink anyway. I smiled and thanked each of the volunteers. This was an early day for them and I wondered if they’d ever run, and if they had, if this is why they’d returned to be course volunteers. Soon I’d learn why they volunteered, and it had very little to do with if they'd ever been a runner.
At mile three the ten-minute-mile pace was starting to itch and everyone had to gang up on Body to keep things from speeding up and crashing up the road. Finally, it just got ridiculous and we negotiated that every six miles we’d speed up 30 seconds per mile. Body was satisfied with this and started to enjoy the course again.
People were standing on the corners of the intersections with their coffee cups and newspapers, one older man in his plaid pajamas, and I smiled and waved like I was nine. HI! Thanks for coming out! I’m sure that I thoroughly annoyed the people running immediately in front of me and behind me because they heard this every 20 feet or so. But I didn’t care, I was addicted.
Every time I smiled and waved and the people smiled and waved back a rush of energy flooded through me. Mental Gu …huh. I was overwhelmed by the amazing nature of people, every water stop volunteer’s smile, every spectator’s admiring gaze, every “first time mom, first time marathon” t-shirt, cancer survivors, “for Jody.” I had no idea that I was running, and I tried to store as much of this feeling as I could for later in the race.
The first 10 miles were gone before I knew it. I felt like I’d just started, luckily, because it was dangerous for a while. The 5 and 10K wind blew by a few miles back and the urge to speed up with them was almost more than Body could stand. Soon they veered off and as they did, several dozen turned to cheer on the marathon group. Wow...
On my left the first of the gazelles were turned around and running toward me on their way to Notre Dame, the finish line…mile 18, 19, 20 …absolutely incredible. I found myself at a whole new level of being amazed with humanity. These people were impossibly beautiful. They were on their way to completing sub (way sub) 3:00 marathons. I studied each one, I tried to say some encouraging things because I knew it had to hurt at that point, but anything that I said seemed to fall on deaf ears – I was sure that this was because it took every scrap of concentration to keep moving at such a pace, and tried to leave it at that.
But I couldn't, and I wondered if being that beautiful meant blocking out everything else for the sake of being so. This would reveal itself to be one of the questions I’d had inside of myself but didn’t realize until the race revealed it to me, as it soon would the answer.
The Fog
Mile 15 and all was well. I’d had an e gel at mile 12, and dumped a cup of water on myself for every one I’d drunk (which made for some squishy shoes, but I didn’t mind). Several people had turned around already. I’d counted six by this point and I wondered what could have gone wrong for them – the heat? Were they sick? That was my nightmare – to come this far just to turn around and go back, and watching one after another doing just that was pretty discouraging.
And then, little by little things started to get heavier, the clouds were smothering and the air grew thicker. I kept smiling, but I noticed that I wasn’t cheering as loudly for the gazelles or waving quite as much to the spectators. Physically, I felt fine, so I didn’t understand this sudden withdrawal, and I wondered if this was how the gazelles who hadn’t even smiled at my cheers felt - if they'd had to go so far into themselves that they couldn’t even hear me.
I didn’t want to get to the point that this race would take my smile, so I decided to make a plan.
The Pudding
The spectators were thinning out toward the end of mile 15. It was starting to get a little muggy and the bugs were becoming annoying. Are the water stops two miles apart now or something? Man, they can’t just move water stops in the middle of a race like this. The sky was getting pretty heavy and I looked around to see fewer and fewer runners and fewer and fewer spectators.
A Nissan breezed me and I almost jumped out of my skin Holy crap! Am I lost or something? Where is everyone? Wait, there are the mile markers and the little sunburst ray thingy on the road, OK, so what’s up with Nissan Guy!? Nissan Guy! Did you follow me? I said I wasn’t taking any of you to this race! Get out of here Nissan Guy!
Body looked up at Mind. Calm down, you’re freaking me out. It’s just a car -it’s not the same Nissan – seriously, chill or those vultures are going to be next, you kno- Sh*%! Nevermind! NO – there are NO vultures, Mind! I was kidding!
And thus the heat had apparently started to get to me. There was only one thing to do. I had to find someone with an awesome smile, and I had to find them soon, lest risk complete puddification of Mind. Body, Mind is turning into a frozen dessert, here’s the plan, are you ready? OK ...it’s all you.
And with that, Body locked on its target and ran over to a lady who was clapping and cheering and sitting on the curb with some other spectators. Body hugged this woman and said, “Thank you for coming out!!!”
The lady’s surprised and mom-like laughter flooded Mind and washed the stupid clean off.
Now we can get back to running.
The Recovery
It was still muggy, my squishy shoes were starting to get a little annoying, but I felt good approaching the 16-mile water stop. I wasn’t tired and I hadn’t lost my Mind, though it was a close call. The gazelles were few and far between now, but more and more of them were smiling and giving thumbs up in lieu of cheers (as they couldn’t talk). My faith was restored.
"Hey, who’s Jody?" I yelled, as I read the sign that was pinned to the shirt of the struggling runner in front of me. He’d been walking, and as I caught up I noticed that he was middle-aged and spoke with a southern twang. He had a nice smile.
"Well, Jody is a friend of mine, a coworker. She has cancer. It’s an awful thing…" I asked him if she was a runner and he said no, but that she was of the stuff that runners are after out here. I watched him describe her strength through all of her chemo-therapy, listened to how he admired her, and before long that gave him strength and he started running again. "Now, I have to know your name…" he said, wrinkles collecting around his eyes from no doubt years of laughing. "I’m Brent, by the way."
Brent was running his 20-somethingth marathon. He was a 50 states runner who had come up from Tennessee, and we ran together for a little while. His legs were cramping and he was in pain, and I hoped that I wasn’t annoying him with my gushing about mental gu. But he smiled and laughed to himself and I could tell that he understood.
We talked for a little longer about the ridiculous humidity and the incredible nature of the people out there supporting the course, and I noticed that he smiled and thanked everyone at the next water stop. We were separated there, but I hoped I’d see him again before the end.
The War
Mile 17. I’ve run 17 miles out here in this. People have turned around, gotten on the bus, gone inside, but I’m still out here and I’m still running. I’m almost there…
Halfway to the mile 18 water stop I felt my stomach start to tighten up, so I reached to the back of my race belt for an e gel. There were none. I’d made the monumental mistake of stapling them to the belt (I never had to worry about carrying so many with me on training runs, as I just ran six-mile loops past my house, and after each loop I’d grab one from the mailbox). The staples didn’t hold and they’d fallen somewhere on the course.
Well, there will be Gatorade at 18, same thing. I’ll be fine.
Mile 18 water stop. No more Gatorade.
Wind. Clouds. Squish… Squish… Squish.
OK, don’t freak out. Just slow down, everything is fine. They have Gu, just try that. Just slow down…
And then Body reminded us that it didn’t like Gu. I think that the cramps were mainly due to lost electrolytes, but were probably aggravated by the Gu since I hadn’t used it in training. It felt like my stomach was folding in on itself, and soon it spread to my right hip and down my leg.
At the mile 19 water stop I drank a lot of water and stretched out. I was light headed, nauseas and hot, but cold at the same time. The sky was heavy.
You’re OK, kid. Here you go… I looked up and a saw an older woman smiling and holding out a few cups of water for me. I almost started crying because my grandmother was the only person who ever called me "kid" before, and she wasn’t out there handing out water. At least I didn’t think she was until that moment.
The sun came out at this point, but I still couldn’t see any blue in the overcast sky. Part of the road was brick at this particular intersection, and the heat radiated up and caused a steamy mirage off in the distance. I thought of the Badwater runners, the desert, and for a few seconds I thought that I might be able to imagine how I’d feel out there. No, it was impossible to imagine that.
I thought of all of the people I loved and all of the people who loved me, all who had ever wished me well for this race, who told me good luck, we’re behind you… I thought of what it meant to come this far, through the road-kill, the vultures, the pick-up truck stalker, the Nissans and mini vans.
I was angry and sick and afraid.
What if I don't finish this thing? I have to finish. It's too close...
I remembered the smiling face of the man with Downs Syndrome at mile four. His race tag said 10K and I teared up because he just radiated so much joy. I remembered the third place gazelle who smiled and pointed at me as he passed...Keep going, kid!
I started walking a few blocks after the water stops at mile 20. I stopped and squeezed some water from my socks but refused to look at my right foot because I knew that if I saw it I’d never be able to get the sight out of my Mind for the rest of the race, and it simply would have taken up too much room in my head. I put my socks and shoes back on and tried to finish what I’d started.
Starting up again caused a ripping kind of pain in my stomach and down my inner right thigh. I picked a flower, took a deep breath and thought of the stadium. I imagined running through the shoot and hearing my name over the loudspeaker as I crossed the finish line. I thought of the faces I’d passed to this point, the look of admiration and respect and love in the eyes of the spectators. The man who had come out in his plaid pajamas with his coffee, and two hours later he was in the same spot wearing a three- piece suit. As if there was no such thing as time. All of the kids in strollers, all of the grandmothers.
And at Mile 21 I started to figure it out. An elderly black man with a white beard sat on his front porch as he made boxer’s fists at me and smiled, Go for it, kid…You can do it! He kept talking but he spoke so softly I couldn’t hear him, but I didn’t have to.
Thank you for coming out!
Go for it, kid…
The Dawn
It wasn’t going to rain. It wasn’t going to let up and I had to accept it. The clouds were going to hover there and press down on me and the air was only going to get thicker. The cramps were radiating and each step on my right foot echoed louder and louder in my head. Body and Mind didn’t exchange blame this time, they were too exhausted and in too much pain. It was all too much, and there was only one thing to do.
I had to finish this damn race before it finished me.
Mile 22. There were sponges at this stop, all of the ice had long since melted and the water was lukewarm, but it was cooler than I was and I wiped it over my face and the back of my neck. I drank a few cups of water, which aggravated the nausea and I had to sit down for a minute. Almost there…just a few more miles…come on, kid.
I smelled my little flower and started to cry, it couldn't end here, could it?
Stop crying Body, you’re wasting electrolytes!
I’m not doing it! It’s you - Mind, turn it off! Turn it off!
I can’t! I didn’t do it!
Yes, it has to b-
Gonna sit there all night then?
And I stopped crying.
Well?
I got up, and I remembered what real pain was all about. No slack. No sympathy. Unforgiving.
I walked for two blocks before I could get myself to start running again. I caught up to the people who had passed me and asked them how they were doing. I told them that we were almost there, that we had come this far, and I started to believe it, too.
And then I met Ouida.
She wore a brightly colored head wrap and earrings, she was struggling on and off throughout the mile and I caught up to her. Something about her was electric.
"Hey, we’re almost there. Just a few more miles."
She smiled at me, "Yeah, it has been a day, mah Lord."
She was from Georgia and I loved to listen to her accent, like old time gospel music. She was in pain and tired, worn out from fighting concrete devils and the suffocating sky, but she kept going.
"Here, this helps." I gave her my flower. The smile she returned gave me far more than it had or could, and we were separated over the last big hill.
The Finish Line
Mile 23. A miracle happened.
Somehow I had forgotten about the package of e gel that was stuffed into the pocket of my race belt. It was from my last bike ride, and I’d never used it. I took it immediately and washed it down with a few cups of water at the next water stop. It was only a matter of time.
It hurt, but I didn’t care. I was nauseas and dehydrated, but it didn’t matter. I will finish this thing if I have to drag myself across the line with my teeth.
The boxer’s fists, the Downs runner, come on, kid, let’s see it… surprised mom-laughter, smiling gazelle, vultures, Nissans, squish, mini-vans, so many early mornings, cold eggs and toast, “…you hab fun wunning, Mommy?” the plague, the attack-bush, “…though walls of granite intervene…” 5K wind, pick-up truck stalker, hail, "mah Lord…” frozen flower buds…mile 24.
The cramps were gone. It was all gone. I soaked my sponge and carried it with me to mile 25 where I dropped it. I didn’t need anything else to carry me to the finish line. Halfway to mile 26 I could see balloons in the distance, I saw the shuttle bus and the stadium. This is it, kid…
Ouida was behind me now, she was walking and I yelled to her, "Come on, Ouida!! Come on! We made it, Ouida!"
"I’m comin’ girl, I’m comin’!!"
Mile 26.2. The Notre Dame fight song was flooding from the shoot, military personnel in desert cammies were saluting and others were clapping, everyone was smiling and laughing and cheering and running and crying.
"Ouida!"
"Go on, girl, go on!!!"
"Runner #260: Welcome to Notre Dame!!"
And in the loud celebration everything was suddenly quiet. I looked up and smiled, heh...it won. The blue had finally broken through the sky.
You did it, kid…
The Moral
Interesting things happened to everyone in the swell after we crossed the finish line.
Body was processing the fact that it could finally stop, and sorted through the 12 different chemicals flooding its bloodstream as it ate fruit and drank Gatorade. Mind was trying to remember how to put sentences together intelligibly, but without much success. And Heart, well, Heart beamed as it watched Ouida cross the finish line, still clutching the flower it had given her. It became lost in the hugs from Mr. Iron Wil and my running coach and friends who had run the half marathon. And it looked around at all of the faces of the runners it had never met, but somehow knew.
At the beginning I wanted to make a list of questions to which I could discover the answers along this journey. I resolved that I was not so wise nor should I be so presumptuous, and that the training and ultimately the race would tell me what I needed to know.
And now when I look at the big picture of everything leading up to this marathon, everything during and everything after, the lesson is clear. People are kind and compassionate. They draw strength from giving to others, and as this race showed me by bringing me to my weakest point, so do I.
This bond transcends age, gender, culture, religion, race and distance. For me it has come to define this chapter of my journey to Ironman, for though the marathon was a solitary endeavor, I was never alone.
And nor will I ever be now that I understand the power of a smile.
posted by Wil at 4:28 PM
2 Comments:
Wil,
I just came across your entry about your marathon experience. You are an excellent writer and a wonderful person. It ignited memories of my marathon experience and I felt like I had been out there, with you, running during those final challenging miles.
Good for you! You ARE a marathoner!!!
Jesus. Here I sit in my office, bawling my damn eyes out.
I cant WAIT for this experience come Jan 07.
by the way I am reading from June 04 archives.
Post a Comment
<< Home