I was an athlete in high school and college. Basketball was my game. I knew it. I loved it and I was good at it.
When the winter season was over, there wasn’t much to do for the rest of the school year by way of sports. So, someone suggested I join the spring track team. What a great way to keep up the activity and school spirit. There were only a handful of events I could do with any competitiveness. Discus. Shot put. I didn’t like the shot put, but in tossing a discus, I earned a Varsity letter at Districts as a freshman. That was a fun day.
One time, at a home track meet, I told the coach I wanted to run the mile event. Ba-ha! He said, go ahead, but let me tell you 5’10 basketball girl: running is not your sport. All I remember: I didn’t finish first, that’s for sure, but I didn’t finish last either. Hard work. Effort. Perseverance.
Years later.. and I mean years… decades in fact, I made the decision to run the Marine Corps Marathon. The People’s Marathon. Well, I was one of those “people.” The kind you don’t normally see running 26.2 miles. Not tiny. Not fast. But the kind of person with a work ethic and desire to learn the game so I could finish the race.
I signed on to run with the St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital Team in 2003. We raised money for St. Jude’s and in exchange, we were given training and the support of a running group on Saturdays. I started with 2 miles and by the end of the training period, ran 22 miles throughout Washington D.C. on our last long run. I didn’t finish first but I finished that training run, which ended at the base of the U.S. Capitol after we ran the uphill climb around one side and down the other. I remember standing there in the heart of D.C. at the end thinking: well, I just ran 22 miles so I guess I’m ready to do 26.2. Bring it.
There were just two weeks left until the race in late October, 2003. My third child would turn one year old the same weekend. It was such an amazing feeling of accomplishment. Over the last two weeks leading up to the race, our St. Jude’s team got together a couple of times. We ran a couple “short” runs of 5 miles. A mere warm up at that point. Ha! In total, we raised over $330,000 to support the work of St. Jude’s. There were about 50 of us on the team, so that is an amazing figure in hindsight. Thank you to all those who supported our team!
The day of the actual race was surreal. We were standing there alongside the Iwo Jima Memorial and Arlington National Cemetery at 6 a.m., waiting for the start, wearing trash bags and throw off clothing, and an old school plastic time chip attached to our shoelaces. It was a cold October morning and we had already been up for hours, making our way downtown by Metro on the very first train of the morning. As we gathered there waiting with about 15,000 other runners, a wave of doubt crossed my mind. I’m never going to finish this race, I thought. This is not my sport. What was I thinking?
No, that’s enough of that. I am going to finish this race.
A little less than one mile into the race, in a dark tunnel just outside the Pentagon, my right foot stepped into a pothole. I tripped and fell. Hard. My right knee was gushing blood. I got up and kept going for another mile.. but there was no choice. I had to stop at one of the medical tents and get first aid. Twenty minutes. They wrapped up my knee and I teared up, thinking, I’ll never meet my time goal now. Maybe I won’t even finish. My running partner waited with me, even as I encouraged her to keep going. She waited.
We were finally on our way again, but the lost time was a true psychological barrier. We knew we had a time deadline to get across the 14th street bridge by mile 21 and we were only on mile 2. The task seemed impossible at that point, but we were not giving up. Our training kicked in. We put our heads down, stopped talking and we ran. We ran past the Pentagon in Arlington, through the Rock Creek Parkway, through Georgetown, laughing at the group of spectators in that part of town passing out fancy vodka shots instead of water to the runners.
We ran down the National mall in D.C., where my family caught up with me for the first time with their little “Go Mom!” signs. What a morale booster! We ran up and around the Capitol Building, holding back the tears because we knew we might not make the bridge and would have to call it a year. We finished the loop around the Capitol, with just a few miles to go to the bridge, and my running partner stopped. She sat down on a curb and cried. I can’t go on anymore.
I waited about three minutes and then I told her GET UP. We are making the bridge. GET UP!! No. You go on without me. I literally pulled her up off the curb. You waited for me when I fell. Now, I am waiting for you, but we are out of time, sister. Let’s go.
She got up and we kept going. Around Hains Point. Even with the beauty of the Potomac River on either side through East Potomac Park, silently cheering us on, it took forever. Every muscle in our bodies were aching and begging for us to quit. Give up. Call it a day. Maybe next year.
So, we thought about those little kids at St. Jude’s who couldn’t run. We thought about all the 5 a.m. Saturday mornings for six months when we got up and drove to Alexandria to run from Belle Haven Marina to Mount Vernon and back, trying to figure out how to consume one of those chocolate flavored GU packs without throwing up.
No. We are finishing this race.
And so we ran. We kept running. We crossed the 21 mile marker at the bridge with fanfare as the Marines, stationed at that point, congratulated us for making the timeline. We both stopped for a minute and took in the moment and cried.
In your novice marathon runner training, no one tells you that the 21 mile marker of a 26.2 mile marathon is actually the true half way point. The last 5.2 miles seem close to impossible in your exhaustion and psychological state of thinking you are almost there, when you really are not almost there at all.
It wasn’t pretty or fast, but about an hour later we crossed the finish line together. We were not first. Please. But, we were not last either. We looked at each other and knew that neither of us would be standing there with our finishers medals without the support of the other. We did it. What a moment.
Perseverance. Grit. Training. Friendship. Teamwork.
