26.2 Miles of Gratitude

Preface: I tried to record the details of my race exactly as I remembered them. Hence, this post is very long and is written pretty gramatically raw. It's what I'd tell you if we were face to face (all so I can remember it perfectly in 50 years from now). This was incredibly spiritual for me...and I never want to forget it. I don't expect anyone to want to read it. I simply put it here as a record of my accomplishment and what I've learned. If you happen to make it to the end, then bless you...and I hope that you gain at least a fraction of the growth and strength I did.

Pre-Race Training and Prep

Well, I did it again—I ran another marathon. Never thought I’d be saying those words just eight months after finishing my first marathon. Actually, never even thought I’d run the first one, come to think of it. After my first ½ marathon in 2006, I decided I was only half-crazy…not quite crazy enough to do a marathon. But, when I finished my first marathon, I knew that I would likely do another one in the future. I figured it would be in the far-off future, and I wasn’t going to do it again if I couldn’t find a solution to my GI issues—that was pretty miserable. Well, long story short, in the last 8 months, I’ve run two marathons and two ½ marathons, and I’m a better person for it.

I know at first glance, that last sentence seems a little excessive or extreme. But one of the biggest shockers of marathon training is that it didn’t take as long as I thought it would. If you’re already exercising 5 hours a week, then your long run only adds about three more hours to your week…and that’s only towards the very end and lasts for about a month. But whether anyone thinks I’m obsessed, crazy or excessive is totally irrelevant, because that simply doesn’t mean anything next to the growth that these experiences have brought me. I’m grateful that I didn’t give in to the temptation to put too much stock in what others would think about me doing a 2nd marathon so soon. I almost did, and I would have missed out!

My friend—Trisha—stopped me in the hall one day at church and said she wanted to pick my brain about running a marathon. She had just signed up for one and it was only 9 weeks away. She wanted to know if I thought she could do it. I knew she could because we had been doing the bulk of the training with two of our other friends (Jenny and Julie) who would be running their first marathon in 6 weeks. I had initially declined to run any more races because I was hoping (and planning) to be too far along in a pregnancy to run a race of that nature. But, at the time Trisha approached me, I wasn’t yet pregnant and the more we talked about the race, the more I started thinking about doing it myself. I quickly did the math and determined that if I were to get pregnant, I’d be at most 8 weeks along come race day. That was all it took…I signed up. (Mostly for motivation…I could feel myself slipping into the oh-well-why-bother-if-I’m-just-going-to-get-pregnant-soon-anyway rut and I knew I needed to nip that in the bud before that turned into 9 months of sheer gluttony.)

Because my first marathon forever shattered the glass ceiling on my potential, I knew that I could do this race, even with the short notice and training. I knew it would end up being a battle of mental willpower, and would be a race of the heart, rather than a race of the legs or lungs. I’d done it before and I could do it again. While that confidence comes in handy most of the time, I believe that I allowed myself to be a little too overconfident. About two weeks before the race, a little anxiety set in. I realized that while I had been training my legs and lungs, I hadn’t done much preparation for my heart and mind. Could I really be treating 26.2 miles that lightly? I’m ashamed to admit that I had been, and once I realized it, I was determined to give it the respect that it deserves. I pondered on how I could keep myself focused and driven when my legs and lungs started talking back. What would be my counter-attack when self-doubt and exhaustion spewed their dream-shattering philosophies my way? For my first marathon, I had a few hymns picked out and determined to sing them if I needed to, but I just wasn’t feeling I should take that route again. So, what did I come up with? My plan was simple—dedicate each mile to someone I love and when the going gets tough, simply think of the person to whom I’m dedicating that very mile and allow him/her to be my inspiration to continue. Turned out to be a great decision and I couldn’t have asked for better motivation. My only regret is that the race wasn’t long enough! (Even though, according to my Garmin, they snuck in an extra .2 miles. Rude! :0) There were more people I would have loved to have thought about and ran for…guess I’ll save that for next time. :)

Race Day—June 12th, 2010

I woke up at 2:30 a.m. (UT time; 1:30 a.m. AZ time) to start getting ready to catch the bus. I also woke up to an overwhelming sense of nausea. I’m glad I woke up early enough to give myself plenty of time; every movement was painfully slow as the nausea was unrelenting. I didn’t want to let on to Trisha that I was not feeling well…didn’t want to mess with her psyche, as one of my main reasons for doing this race was to be a support to her. I was barely able to choke down a banana and was praying it would stay put. I finally let on to Trisha that I wasn’t feeling my best (but still didn’t let her know just how awful). She suggested nerves, but it sure didn’t feel like nerves and I remembered that McRae had been vomiting just three days before.

We left the house and the fresh air helped some. We met up with Trisha’s cousin and his wife (Tyler and Hillary) and carpooled to the finish line where the buses were waiting to take us up the mountain. The ride up the curvy canyon road didn’t do much to curb my nausea, but simply feeling the spirit of the marathon in the air took me to another place. I tried to get a little rest on that long bus ride and by the time we arrived to the start line, my nausea wasn’t so overwhelming. Just as we tossed our extra gear (rain coats, hats and gloves…it was cold and had been raining off and on the days prior) in the drop bags and placed them on the truck, it started to sprinkle. It was a pretty light rain, but we decided to put on our homemade rain coats—garbage bags. We waited with eager anticipation for the gun to go off, and when it finally did, I embarked on one of the most amazing journeys of my life thus far. What follows are the thoughts, feelings and impressions I had during the race.

Mile 1-3—dedicated to my Laurel, Mia Maid, and Beehive classes (the 30+ young women between the ages of 12-18 that I preside over at church). I thought of each one of them, the challenges they face now and that they will soon encounter. More than anything, I want them to know that anything is possible with hard work, dedication, and trust in the Lord. If I can do hard things, so can they.

Mile 4—Dedicated to my running group gals—Lisa, Mandy, Julie, Jenny, Trisha, and Trishell. Not only do these women keep me motivated with running and all things physical, they keep me motivated to be a better wife and mother—a better person. I think of them and the lessons we’ve learned from each other as we pound the pavement together. I am so thankful to have them!

Mile 5—my eldest brother, John. An unfailing example of doing what is right, even if it isn’t easy or popular. I think of the father that he is to his six, beautiful children—with the last one being born just a week prior to the race. So determined, patient and kind. I’m determined to be more like him and thinking about him inspires me.

Just what I needed, too, as I have just stopped for my first restroom break and have some ground to cover in order to catch my group again. The break cost me 3:38.

Mile 6—my older brother, Dan. Never met a funnier person in my life. Thinking of his humor and jokes pushes me forward as I pick up the pace and start to see my group ahead. Dan is the ultimate diplomat as he uses good communication and a great sense of humor to work through any scenario. Definitely motivating!

I’ve caught my group but am realizing that exerting myself like that wasn’t a very good idea for two reasons—1) miles 7 and 8 are uphill and I should’ve conserved my energy, and 2) I wasn’t feeling good to begin with, and that just made me a little worse. The rain has really started pouring down now and continues on through mile 10. We are soaked and our feet are squishing around in our shoes. It could’ve been worse, though—at least the wind wasn’t blowing…yet.

Mile 7—my younger brother, Phil. One of my best friends. Phil believed in me and loved me before I ever did. I was beautiful in his eyes, and even though I made mistakes, he loved me anyway and encouraged me to do better. (He still does to this day, too.) I want to love and encourage others the way he has me. Everybody needs a Phil in their life!

Mile 8—Grandma Gwen. Diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in her mid-50s, so I never really “knew” her as she was pre-disease. But I run in awe as I consider the awesome mother I know she was to her nine children. I think about those nine children and how their lives have turned out, and I know it is owed to their angel mother. I thank my Heavenly Father for a grandmother who so lovingly nurtured and raised my darling mother. I know my mother is the woman she is because of Grandma Gwen and I am overcome with gratitude.

Mile 9—Grandpa Jim…my mother’s father. Unwavering faith, meek and humble—a true disciple of Christ. He never judges anyone—sees the best in all and strives to provide opportunities for those less fortunate to be their best. I love him and am grateful to have grown up so close to him. I realize that he is aging and that I need to make more of an effort to spend some quality time with him.

I’m starting to feel tired and I’m getting a little nervous. It’s too early on to be feeling like this…but then again, I’m sick. Those hills really left me worn out and I’m realizing that I need to conserve my energy and I withdraw from the group conversation. The conversation turns internal as I battle inner demons with positive self-talk and thoughts of Grandpa Jim.

Mile 10—Grandpa John. A true work horse…never known a harder worker. At 87 years old, he still works from sun up to sun down. A saint. Who would marry a woman with 7 children? He did and he loved them each like they were his very own. And his grandchildren never knew that he wasn’t our biological grandfather, because his love was so genuine and so consuming. I can take and apply many lessons from Gramps’ life, and I would be a better person for it.

Post-Race Edit: Gramps passed away on July 1st. I was able to spend the night of June 28th in the hospital with him—caring for him. I believe it was one of his last lucid nights and I’m forever grateful for that opportunity.
I’ve often noted the many parallels between a marathon and life, but I’ve never seen it more clearly than I did as I watched Grandpa cross the finish line of his earthly marathon. I imagined how sweet his reunion must be with my dear Granny. I imagined the crowd of people who were cheering him on from this side of the line and the hosts of angels who welcomed him over to the other side of the line. Grandpa invested his heart and soul in the things that mattered most, and in doing so, he won the love and admiration of many—mainly his large family. If you measure the success of a man by happiness, by the amount of people you love and the people who love you, then I’d be hard pressed to find a man with greater wealth than Gramps.

Mile 11—Allison Seno. A relatively new friend in my life, who truthfully, I don’t know all that well but I’m so inspired by. She’s made incredible changes to her life and has slowly influenced many family members by her constant, steady example. I think of her preparing to take one of the most important steps she can take in this life with her family (going to the temple) and I am filled with joy for her.

My stomach is hurting and it’s time to stop for another restroom break. I know this one is going to be a little longer than last and I tell the group not to wait for me. Pit stop cost me 6:25. I know that catching them would be hard in any circumstance, but nearly impossible with my illness. I determine that I just have to run my own race and take it at my own pace…whatever my body would allow that to be. Miles 11-19 are the toughest of the race for me. Even though the race is mostly downhill, there were some unexpected climbs in there and I felt each one of them.

Mile 12—Bill Koeppen (aka stingraystripe). A new friend who sees the world so plainly and inspires me to be my best self. He’s made incredible changes in his life and believes so much in me. Even though this mile is pretty painful, I think of him and that I can’t let him down. I know that he will be thinking of me today and cheering me on all the way from Ohio. Knowing that he is pulling for me gives me the determination to continue.

Mile 13—Aussie Paul Hughes. Another dear friend who is so kind and genuine. He inspires me in every way…physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. He is unfailingly devoted to his wife and children and knows that the source of true joy comes from helping others reach their true potential. He’s made it his mission to inspire and lift others. As I picture his massive grin, I can’t help but smile myself—even through the pain and self-doubt. I know that quitting is not an option…and Paul would never even consider it.

Mile 14—Retha. The mother of my dear friend Trishell. She lost her life just 6 days prior in a fatal car crash. She was out here serving members of her family as they had recently fallen on hard times. She dedicated her life to her family and literally lost her life in the service of them. I am inspired by her example that mothering doesn’t stop just because your children leave the house. I pray for her family as I know they are attending her funeral a state away while I keep running along.

Mile 15—Dad. Wow! This mile is tough. I’m hurting and I just can’t wait to get my shoes off. All that rain didn’t make for comfortable circumstances with the feet. I feel the negativity slipping in and I re-focus my efforts to concentrate on dad and all that he has done for me. I remember how he used to take us out as kids and work on running drills, jumping drills, shooting and dribbling drills. He made it fun. He ran basketball and other clinics for us and our friends to enjoy. He always had a way of making it fun and I attribute my love for all things athletic to him. I realize that running a marathon wouldn’t have ever been an option if dad hadn’t first believed in me and given me to tools to succeed so early on in life. I stop to walk for two minutes to appease the nausea and feel rejuvenated as I think of dad’s dedication to his family. Now…if I can just keep that same determination with this race.

Mile 16—my sister, Amy. I think of how she’s just started running some and how she said she never would. I chuckle to myself about it. I think of the limiting beliefs we allow ourselves to carry and realize that I’m carrying some down the mountain with me. I try to throw them off as I consider the wonderful friendship of my sister. I’m so lucky to have her.

Mile 17—my sister, Rebecca. I think of the two marathons she’s done and how she really laid the foundation for me to even start running in the first place. I’m grateful for her example…in all things. She has a can-do (and very positive) attitude and where it impresses me the most is when it comes to her mothering. Having just delivered her sixth child the week prior, she is definitely a woman who believes in herself. I can do the same.

Mile 18—my sister, Louise. A health and fitness guru. She constantly challenges herself with worthy goals and doesn’t give up when the going gets tough. Her quiet, competitive spirit encourages me to give my best and to only race against myself.

Mile 19—my sister, Christina. Also a runner. I remember the ½ marathon we ran together in January and how fun that was. I’m amazed at her ability to succeed at anything she tries. She doesn’t let the fear of failure stop her from trying. I won’t let it stop me either.

I’m about out of the canyon and I know that bathroom opportunities will be hit and miss for the remainder of the race. In an attempt to relieve my stomach, I stop at this aid station and wait in line for the port-a-john. This is a costly, fruitless endeavor…the line is long and I’m unable to relieve my stomach. I waited for 6:42. I know that in a ½ mile I will see Brian and McRae for the first time. This encourages me, as I desperately need their support. I’m in the home stretch and I’m feeling barn sour.

I come up on Brian and McRae (and Paul and Brigham). Stop for quick kisses and hugs. They ask if I need anything—water, dry socks or shirt. I reply, “Just your prayers! My stomach is hurting something fierce. Just pray for me.” I continue on with a renewed sense of energy. From that point on, I average an 8:30 to 9:15 min/mile pace. Not a single person passes me in those last 7 miles—a different story from my first marathon. Instead, I am passing people and able to give them some encouragement to continue on as I pass. This positive energy keeps reciprocating and the last six miles are simply amazing—I cry every mile from here on out, but only for a brief moment as I can’t afford the energy it would take to run and cry at the same time. (Try it sometime…you’ll see. :))

Mile 20—my sweet husband, Brian. Always supporting and believing in me. He simply believes I can do anything and that my potential for greatness is endless. I ponder on his unwavering love and devotion to me. I am overcome with the Spirit and feel a very distinct impression from my Heavenly Father that I am loved. That people are praying for me and He has heard their prayers. Tears fall freely as I feel His amazing love for me.

Mile 21—McRae. My pace quickens as I ponder the sweet gift of my son, McRae. I consider the great responsibility I have to teach and nurture him. I want him to know that his mother knows…with God, all things are possible. He can do hard things and I will be a living example of this. My emotions continue to be right on the surface.

Mile 22—my niece, Shay. At 14, she’s at such a pivotal age—an age where girls can be hard on themselves and these behaviors can become habits that affect them for years to come. More than anything, I want Shay to love and accept herself for who she is…to realize her amazing potential and to never sell herself short. I want her to believe that if she wants to run a marathon some day, she can. Tears fall again as I listen to the crowd cheering me on—perfect strangers cheering for a perfect stranger. I’m in awe of their support and consider the influence for good that I can be in the life of my niece…just like many of my aunts are to me.

Mile 23—Trishell. I think of her attending her mother’s funeral—probably at this very moment. I think of the pain and sense of loss she must be feeling. I determine that no matter how painful this mile might be, I offer it up freely—and many more—if my pain could in any way relieve some of her own. I realize that my offering won’t help her as much as it will help me—that price has already been paid. And I think of the Savior who suffered unimaginable pains so that we don’t have to. That He overcame death and has given us the same privilege. Trishell’s separation from her mother is only temporary—as is her pain—if she allows the Master Physician to do His work in her life, and I know she will.

Mile 24—Mom. I try to reflect on everything this wonderful woman has sacrificed in my behalf and I’m certain I’ve missed more than I’ve remembered. I’m simply in awe. I offer up this painful mile as if it is a way of saying thank you. Even though I know it can’t possibly say thank you, making my mind believe it was my offering of thanks pushes me through this mile.

Mile 25—Granny. I think of her contagious laugh and her witty sense of humor. I imagine her looking down on me from above—probably thinking I’m crazy—but loving me so effortlessly as she does. I know each of her grandchildren felt as if they were her favorite, but I smile to myself as I run on, believing that I really was her very favorite!

Mile 26—Kristen (aka Hook). Wow. Next month will be 6 years since I lost my best friend. I think of what she would say to me about running a marathon and I imagine the inflection in her voice—“Are you nuts? Who does that? You’re crazy!” But I know she’d be so proud of me. I wonder what her life would be like if she were still alive. I think of her and Granny watching from above and I imagine them playing a game of Skipbo while looking down on me (they loved each other so much here, I can’t imagine them not being together up there). This thought makes me laugh and cry all at the same time.

A cruel joke to place a massive hill at mile 25.5. Although it was relatively short, it was really steep. Seriously? I mean, really—at mile 25.5? As I trudge up it, I realize I have less than a mile left. My dear friend Lisa was perfectly placed at the bottom of the other side of that hill. Seeing her face and hearing her voice cheering for me gave me the strength I needed to kick it into high gear for that last mile.

Final .2—Baby #2. For whenever he or she decides to grace us with his or her presence. I will keep myself strong and healthy in all ways to promote the best environment for nurturing his or her growth—and I’ll start now by finishing this race with pride, strength and determination!

I cross the finish line and find friends and family waiting for me. (Trisha and her family, Julie Howells, my cousin Wendy and her four kids, Lisa Bastian and her three children, and of course, Brian and McRae.) I’ve done it again. I’m tired, but I’m not exhausted. My stomach hurts but I realize that I was literally carried through those last 6 miles…I know that many prayers were offered in my behalf and I know that they were answered. I feel overwhelming gratitude—in a way that only spirit can convey to spirit, because words just don’t do it justice.

Post-Race Details

I was stiff and sick for the remainder of the day. I’m certain I had the same stomach virus McRae had a few days prior. I never threw up but my nausea never subsided. In comparing my illness post-race to my first marathon, this one was 10 times better. I was at least still able to function. The days following the race were amazing. While I felt stiffer post-race this marathon than my 1st, I had very little to no soreness on days 2 and 3. If I sat in one place for a while, I would be a little stiff when first getting up, but that would quickly subside within the first few steps. I was running again 3 days later. I surprisingly didn’t end up with any blisters or chafing. I usually don’t have problems with that, but I thought that, for sure, the rain would wreak some havoc. Another blessing, I suppose.

I ended up beating my time from my first marathon by almost exactly 11 minutes. I finished in 4:40:46. Which, when I consider that I stopped 3 times for the restroom and that cost me around 17 minutes, plus having to take it a little slower between miles 11-19 than I normally would have due to illness, I’m pretty ecstatic about that. But, as in my first race, this definitely wasn’t about the time…it was about the experience, and that simply can’t be beat. While my 2 marathons had a lot of similarities, I would say they were more different than they were similar. I cried a lot more in this race than the first. I felt more physically tired at the end of this race and feel like this one took more heart. This was an absolutely wonderful experience. Makes me wonder what I’ll learn next time…and I can hardly wait!

P.S. I’m not pregnant—darn it. I actually thought I was about two weeks along during my race and wondered if morning sickness was the cause of my nausea—although it would be rather early for that. But within the next week and a half, I learned I was just a little late and it was a false alarm. I definitely just had a stomach bug (and Brian ended up with it a few days later). All in due time…all in due time.