Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Twenty-Six Point Two Current mood: good As many of you may know, I completed a marathon this weekend. Now, I am not the athletic type, nor have I ever been particularly charitably active, so this endevour is most out of character for me. We (me and my friend Beth) raised $3,700 each for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. They paid for our entry fee and our entire weekend in Phoenix (except our $68 bar tab). All we had to do was complete the marathon. Easy, right? No way. The first twenty miles were fine. I could have done them without too much disruption, maybe a little soreness and mental anguish, but the last six, oh my God, that's a different story. Twenty-six-point-two miles just rolls off the tongue, like it's nothing. Maybe for those runner types who actually enjoy pain, it is nothing, but I've never been a particular fan of pain, in fact, I am the opposite, a rampant fan of comfort in most of its forms. I don't think, even with all the training we did, we realised how far 26.2 miles actually is. I did enjoy the marathon. The organisers did everything possible to make it as bearable as possible. Bands played at every mile, local high school cheerleaders dressed up in silly outfits and did ridiculous cheers to make us laugh (towards the end, they formed tunnels for us to pass through so they could hand us licorice, jelly beans and high fives), there were water and Powerade stations at practically every mile, and the toilet facilities were adequate (although I am thoroughly disgusted by portopotties). I was surprised by how many people tailgated in their front yards along the route. It really did help me keep going. I felt like I was Lance Armstrong on the Tour de France! I was jealous of all those people hanging out in their gardens with their coolers of beer while I was suffering for charity. I really did o.k. until about mile 21. I had even been running some until that point. About mile 22, my feet swelled up so much I couldn't feel them any more. I undid the laces as much as I could, but my fingers were swelled up like big fat sausages so my coordination wasn't so great. I had also been courting blisters since mile 14 or so, despite my expensive shoes and socks. I had to consciously tell myself to ignore my pain. My entire body, waist down, hurt more than I can describe and it truly was a matter of mind over body - my body had had it and was ready to give up. I actively prayed. I apologised to God for having to go the direct line because I didn't know who the patron saint of marathons was, but I prayed for the strength to continue anyway. I also thought about the money and how I had pledged to finish it. The shame of failure kept me going. I knew I just had to finish. I had heard people talk about "the wall," about hitting "the wall," and I wondered exactly what that meant. About mile 22 1/2, I found out. I thought, "Oh God, I have four more miles, and I am never going to make it." My body was crying out for mercy. My legs and hips and especially my feet, hurt. I started to feel nauseus and dizzy and felt like I was going to pass out. I just kept going. I called my legs the "autolegs," and they were. They just kept going. All I could concentrate on was putting one in front of the other in a reasonably quick manner. Beth hit her wall about mile 24, in a much worse way than me. She slowed down considerably and thought she was going to throw up. She thought she really wasn't going to finish. I felt better when I finally got to mile 25. I knew I could do it then - it would be ridiculous not to, right? When I got to mile 26, I started running. I just really wanted it to be over. When I turned the corner and saw the finish line, I burst into spontaneous tears - I was that happy at the prospect of it being over, finally! I did feel proud of myself as I came to the finish line and people cheered. The announcer called my name and where I was from as I crossed the finish line. That got to me too. When Sandy (our mentor) hugged me, I burst out sobbing. I was so relieved it was over. I don't know how to explain it. It is a really difficult thing to do, but you do feel proud. It is an emotional experience and you do feel like you might have done something concrete to help someone. Our charity raised 4.6 million in that one race. At the beginning of the race, probably within the first couple of miles, a woman, who obviously had no hair and was wearing a scarf on her head, came out and high-fived us as we passed. About mile fourteen, a woman stood carrying a sign that said "I survived Leukemia - Thank you for doing this." I hope what we did made a difference to someone, somewhere. I currently am spending most of my week attempting to walk normally and taking really long, really hot showers I have a three-inch horseshoe shaped blister which stretches all the way around my right heel, and muscles I didn't know I had ache. However, I am thinking about trying to run the half marathon at the Country Music in April. I must be insane, but I want to raise money for breast cancer research. We'll see how I go with that goal. Maybe instead of giving something up for lent, I can take on a challenge instead. Currently listening : Urban Hymns By The Verve Release date: 30 September, 1997