The Marathon: A Retrospective Account

Three months ago, I ran 26.2 miles…in a row…on purpose. It nearly seems surreal as I reflect upon this accomplishment, but I actually survived to tell about it.

A little history:

I had never been an exerciser. I hated the shortness of breath and pounding heart that go along with it. In fact, prior to motherhood, I would have been better classified as a smoker and drinker. That lifestyle was clearly incompatible and, honestly, undesirable once I became a mom. Shortly after having E, my friend told me about a running program she was trying, Couch to 5K.

I had never run for fitness in my entire life, and I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to start. However, with the nicotine and alcohol out of the picture, I needed an alternative coping mechanism. Plus, I realized that I really didn’t have any personal goals with the exception of keeping the kids alive until the end of each day. Trust me, I know how important and how difficult that task is, but after nearly three years of this, I wanted something more. So in January 2009, I hit the treadmill. I followed the program closely for the first 6 weeks. I remember how accomplished I felt when I was able to run for 5 consecutive minutes. By week 7 or 8, I achieved my 5K goal (3.1 miles).

This just got the ball rolling, and in May, not even four months from initiating the program (I had no intention of doing this when I started running), I ran a half-marathon. And a year after that, I completed the full marathon. Needless to say, when it comes to the Couch to 5K program, I am a believer!

The training:

Determination and dedication were keys in the training process. Just getting to the starting line took hours and hours of work. I don’t want to toot my own horn here, but I don’t want anyone to think that sufficiently training for a marathon is an easy task either. It wasn’t a walk in the park for my husband and kids. Someone had to be watching the two temporarily motherless kids every Saturday morning. Thanks, Dear!

I asked experienced runners for recommendations on training schedules. I also did a fair amount of internet research as well. I really don’t know how the human species survived prior to Google. I finally came up with a running schedule that would be somewhat compatible with our busy family schedule. I had three short runs (3-10 miles) during the week and a “long” run every Saturday (10-20 miles). The premise was simple. The long runs gradually increased in mileage building up to a maximum of 20 miles. Most resources recommended one 20 mile run in the novice schedules with more for the seasoned veterans. However, I wanted to be confident that I could make it, so I chose to do three 20 milers during the training. Additionally, every third week of training, the overall mileage was a little lower to give my body a little reprieve.

The weather, family obligations, and being tuned into what my body was saying forced me to be somewhat flexible with the regimen, but I was very strict about getting my long mileage in every weekend. I attempted a little cross training, but I wasn’t very diligent with this due to time and energy constraints. It really was a balancing act, but I tried my best to distribute my time between my family and running. This meant some late nights on the treadmill and a husband and kids longing for a Saturday morning with Mommy.

Preparing for a marathon just isn’t all about the running. I had to do a lot of research about diet, injuries, blister management, clothing, bowels, routes, music selection, bras, etc. I went into the half-marathon completely naïve. This made my running life rather simple, but I wanted to be completely prepared for this huge endeavor. There were some answers that I just couldn’t get from a book or Google, so I hit up the experts (at least in my book) for the truth and advice. Steve’s cousin and a physician at work were my go-to experienced runners. Thank you!

To reach the finish line in a marathon is to enter an elite group:
only about one-tenth of 1 percent of the population does it.

(I would cite this, but I lost my internet connection before I could see the author or book. For the sake of time and the story, let’s just assume this is from a credible source.)

Considering this tidbit plus being a rookie without a clue, I went into the training and race with one goal: To finish without hating myself.

The race:

Like all the books had warned, I hardly slept that night. Understandably, I was nervous and excited and very concerned about oversleeping. Upon rising, I stuck to my pre-running regimen: bagel, ibuprofen, stretching, bathroom, clothing, headband, ponytail, lubricating feet, chapstick ,Tums, washcloth. Since it was the big day, I also prepared a marathon survival kit for my husband and friends to have on hand just in case.

There are really no words to describe the pre-race atmosphere. Getting all of those participants together with the desire to run or walk for fun just gets the air buzzing. Energy galore!





The familiar faces all along the course made the experience that much more enjoyable. In fact, seeing my family and friends along the way brought indescribable joy to my heart. Here’s where I need to get in a quick word for my husband. He taxied around the kids, my parents, and my brother all morning long. For those of you who don’t know, two kids in and out of car seats at least ten times is an incredible amount of work! So is driving in this town when many of the major streets are closed. But his efforts certainly did not go unnoticed. The anticipation of seeing their lovely faces actually kept me going at times. The sweetly familiar “Run, Mommy, Run” brought a smile to my face.



The first 21.5 miles went better than I had expected. I intentionally took it easy the first few miles to get warmed up, taking care not to burn up all of my energy too early. From the get go, I felt great. The first half I had to purposefully restrain myself from picking up the pace. I reminded myself that I had no idea what I was getting myself into, so I thought better be safe than sorry. Mentally, the halfway point was difficult. Although I was on track physically, when everyone around me was hooting and hollering that they were almost done, it took a lot for me not to scream back, “Shut up! You suck!”

I remember thinking to myself around mile 18, “What wall?” That’s how good I was feeling. My toenail detached around mile 19, but it didn’t slow me down much because I didn’t really understand what had just happened. I just felt it and knew that something wasn’t quite right.

Around mile 20, I saw my two dedicated cheerleaders for the last time on the course. At mile 21, I energetically yelled to my husband, children, parents, and brother, “I’ll see you at the finish line.” Still feeling halfway decent, another five miles seemed reasonable. Then I came face-to-face with “The Wall”, the monster I had read so much about. Seemingly out of nowhere, I was weak, nauseous, thirsty, blurry-visioned, shaky, drained, pain-stricken, hot, heavy-legged, and wanting to cry. Every bit of me was screaming out, “Stop, you insane woman!” But, somehow, someway, I kept moving. Slowly…VERY slowly, but moving nonetheless.

At the suggestion of the running expert cousin, I had a predetermined mantra all lined up just for this situation: “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” (Phillipians 4:13) Sounded good in my head prior to meeting The Wall, but did I stick to it? Nope. I didn’t abandon it completely as I tried to rope myself back into that verse and what it meant, but to be honest, most of the time I was uttering expletives under my (shortness of) breath. Oh, to be a mere mortal attempting her first marathon!

The good news: no one I knew was there to witness this rock bottom running moment for me. And everyone else around me was essentially in the same boat to some degree. Although I describe it as rock bottom, I continued to move and my legs carried me a few miles this way. Under the weight of The Wall, that’s victorious in itself.

I began to feel more like a human being again around mile 24 or 24.5. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. I could visualize the structure that held the greatly desired finish line. About 100 yards before the finish line, I had a bit of emotion overcome me. I started to get a little teary eyed while I was thinking, “I did it! I actually did it! I just ran 26.2 miles without stopping! And I didn’t crap myself or puke.” After four hours and fourteen minutes and 23 seconds of running, my name was announced overhead and my (not pretty, sweaty, red, blotchy faced) picture was on the stadium big screen as I crossed the finish line. I had a brief conversation with God in my head, and then was warmly and proudly greeted by the world’s best running fans.







Mission accomplished: 26.2 miles.

I might even do it again someday…