This Last New Year

It has been a tremendous running year for me.  This is only my second New Year’s as a runner, yet reflecting on the past year’s running accomplishments has become my favorite part of this holiday.  It’s really a lot when I stop to think about them all at once. 

     I started Boston qualifying training with Coach Mitch on January 3^rd.  He grouped me with a few people who were training for Boston itself since that’s when the training session started.  It was a long a brutal winter, if you recall.  Weeknight speed workouts were hit or miss because footing was never a sure thing.  Every Saturday was the coldest temperature I’d ever run in.  Ice on my eyebrows and any exposed hair was expected by the end of my long runs.  And there was so much snow!  Every frigid run, someone would laugh it up, saying, “You’re building character.  It’s good for you.”  I agreed, begrudgingly.  Despite the challenging conditions, it was during this time that I became good friends with Coach Mitch, Bruce (See Whistlestop post), and Coach Red.  We ran through some horrific conditions, but at least we weren’t doing it alone.

Coach Mitch with iced over beard

     My plan at that time was to speed train all year to get faster and run Whistlestop Marathon in October with hopes of qualifying.  At least, that was my plan until February, when the Boston Athletic Association decided to raise their standards.  With the new rules, I would need to run a 3:40 marathon before September 15, when registration for the Boston Marathon opened.  Whistlestop was October 15^th.  By that time, I would need to run 5 minutes faster, a 3:35 marathon.  As if.  So Coach Mitch and I got to talking, and by week’s end, I was registered for the Newport Marathon in Oregon.  It would take place on June 4^th and had a high percentage of finishers who qualify for Boston.  Plus, it would be a mini-vaca for my husband and I who have not gotten away much since a) our daughter was born and b) Chris started law school. 

     In March, I ran the Irish for a Day 10 Miler to gauge my progress.  It was crazy cold and windy as all hell that day.  The snow was drifting like sand dunes around the lakes.  But I was determined.  I wanted a 1:19 (which would predict a 3:40 marathon) and I ran as hard as I could.  I’ll never forget the noise of Coach Mitch blowing the mystery horn that day.  I could hear it from across Lake Harriet.  As cold as I was running the race, he, Bruce, and a few others were out there cheering in that ridiculous weather.  Coach Red was at a different spot on Lake Calhoun and terribly underdressed, but you’d never tell from his enthusiasm.  He yelled out encouragement and told me to put my shoulders down.  I did.  I crossed the line at 1:21, 2 minutes behind my goal time.  At the time, I was upset.  Now, I think about what an accomplishment it was.  The conditions were about as bad as they could be.  Footing was non-existent.  And I only missed my mark by 2 minutes.  Well done, Cristina.  Well done. 

     In April, I ran the Get in Gear half marathon, sort of.  I made it a part of my long run that week, so I added 8 miles before the race started.  Even so, I broke two hours in the half marathon.  It was a PR for me. 

My friend Jamie and I at the Get in Gear Half Marathon

                In May, I ran the 1 miler through downtown Minneapolis. I loved this race last year and was excited to try it again.  This year was a little different, though.  I’d promised a friend who was full-term pregnant that if she was going to run that race, I’d do it with her.  So I did.  She asked me to pace her for a 10 minute mile and we hit our mark within 2 seconds.  I was completely thrilled for her.  I hope to follow in her footsteps when I have a second child.  She’s such an inspiration.  Running through pregnancy will be a huge goal of mine. 

One of my best Mommy friends, Andrea, me, and a very pregnant Jessika

     The Newport Marathon in June didn’t go as well as I had hoped.  I didn’t qualify, but ran well, considering.  The race happened to be on the hottest day on record in Newport.  It was in the 80s and there was no cloud cover.  I was right on track for the first half, got another half marathon PR of 1:48.  Unfortunately, I baked during the second half.  Even so, I ended up with a 29 minute PR.  Also, I fell in love with small-town, destination races.  Chris and I enjoyed Newport very much.  I highly recommend it.  I’d like to go back someday if I can talk someone into running the race with me.  It’s a good time.  The people are fantastic.  They make you feel appreciated for running their race.  What more could you ask for?

Baking in the sun at Newport Marathon

     Also in June, I met Taya.  She joined running club while she was in town for the summer.  My first run with her was my first run after Newport.  We became fast friends and I’ve enjoyed watching her make incredible progress with her running.  She’s one of the strongest people I know.  Also, she’s 10 years younger than I am.  She’s at my level, but she’s still got a L-O-N-G way to go in terms of reaching her potential.  She’s a machine and will blow past me any day now.  

My good friend, Taya, along with Victor looking on.

     August brought my second running of the Urban Wildland Half Marathon.  I didn’t do as well as I’d hoped, but it was a steamy morning.  Very humid.  I finished in 1:49.  I was a little disheartened that I could run a half marathon faster during a marathon, but I tried to stay realistic.  Conditions were not good.  Even so, that result made me think my upcoming marathon in October wouldn’t go as well as expected.  What a fun surprise that turned out to be!

     In September, I regretted not doing the Milk Run at the State Fair.  Next year. 

Me, my daughter, and my husband, Chris, at the Toddler Trot

                October was a busy month for running.   My daughter ran her second Toddler Trot, part of the Twin Cities Marathon festivities.  She did awesome.  Also, I was a course marshal for the Twin Cities Marathon.  I was in charge of mile 10.5-11.5.  It was a fun experience and I got a rad jacket out of the deal.  Plus, I got to spectate at a marathon for the first time in my life.  It was a moving experience.  My own marathon, Whistlestop, was a wild success.  I PRed by 20 minutes, making my improvement from the previous October 49 minutes!  Wowza!  Had the rules of Boston not changed, I would have qualified with 4 minutes to spare.  Blast!  Two weeks after I ran the hardest race in my life, I ran a 17 mile trail race on some pretty impressive hills.  While I was running it, it was hard and I didn’t like it.  When I was finished, I was thrilled to death for having done it.  It was a magnificent challenge that certainly pushed me out of my comfort zone.  Thankfully, Natalie was there to get me through it.  Thanks again, Natalie!  I don’t know what I would have done without you.  (Natalie was my very first friend in running club, back when I didn’t know what being a runner meant.  She got me through the early, scary days.) 

Wicked Hills at Surf the Murph

     After the marathon and intense trail race, it took me a long, long time to recover.  I’d hoped to PR in my home town’s Turkey Day 10k run.  I wanted to break 45, but ended up with a 46:30.  It was still a PR by 3 minutes.  Not bad.  As Coach Mitch pointed out, I wasn’t able to train for a 10k, so I should be pleased with whatever I got.  46 isn’t bad.  Plus, it leaves room for improvement – in case I don’t run a marathon and trail race preceding the Turkey Run next year.  If I had the chance to do it again, I’d do it the same, though.  Even though I didn’t have a good workout for a couple months, I’m delighted with my October results. 

               

     December brought surprisingly mild weather, which is always nice for running.  No races this month.  I opted out of a donut run to have a one-on-one long run with Coach Mitch.  That was a treat.  It was a cold, cold morning.  I told him I hoped this was the coldest it would get this winter.  He thought that was a stretch.  We ran 17 miles that morning just for the hell of it.  It was fun.  

17 cold miles with Coach Mitch

     I came to Kenosha 2 weeks ago and ran all but 1 of my runs solo.  (Freddy joined me for one of my long runs.)  It’s a different experience running by myself.  While I certainly miss the company of my running club back home, it’s been nice to run in the daylight – a luxury the club only gets on weekends this time of year in Minneapolis.  Today, I closed the year at 1500 miles.  Friggin Awesome.  I couldn’t be happier. 

                I’ve been lucky to have a healthy running year.  My injuries were minor.  The only thing that kept me away from running for a week was strep throat.  I ran through all of my other aches and twinges.  I feel completely content to think back about the year and say “Yeah.  I did everything I wanted.”  I couldn’t ask for more.  

Cancer

                Yesterday, I spent three hours at the Vince Lombardi Cancer Center with my mom.  It was her first visit with the oncologist.  This was after the mammogram with the suspicious mass, after the biopsy to determine what the mass was, after the breast cancer diagnosis, and after the lumpectomy.  Things were looking great for mom.  The cancer was found extremely early, Stage 0, and had not invaded into the blood or lymph.  As of today, she is cancer-free.  But there’s a catch.  A really big, fat, ugly catch. 

                Prior to her lumpectomy, she was tested for a genetic mutation that puts her at high risk of having cancer again.  She was a strong candidate for the test because her mother and sister both died of this disease.  Last week, we found out she indeed has this mutation.  The brca1 (pronounced braca 1) mutation is a blessing and a curse.  A blessing because it gives mom a chance to be proactive as opposed to reactive.  A curse because of the resulting standard of care. 

                For mom, it means a bilateral mastectomy.  (Bilateral means both sides.)  She will also have her ovaries removed because the mutation puts her at significant increased risk for ovarian cancer.  In my mom’s words, she will become a “Frankenstein.”  She’s starting to accept it, though.  She’d do just about anything to ensure cancer will not return.  Cancer is very prevalent on both sides of my family.  Maybe it’s because both sides of my family are huge.  Or maybe it’s a southern Italian immigrant thing.

                  For me, it means I may be facing the same situation.  Tomorrow, I will go for a blood draw for this same genetic test.  I have a 50% chance of having the brca1 mutation.  If I do, my daughter has a 50% chance of having it as well.  The good news is if I don’t have it, I can’t be a carrier.  Keep your fingers crossed that I don’t!  As much as I complain about them, I really like having my boobs.  It would be heartbreaking to part with the part of my body that nourished my baby for her first year. 

Me with my mom and dad, husband and daughter after finishing my first marathon.

                It was a lot to take in at the doctor’s office yesterday.  I didn’t have a chance to process it until today’s run, a run I didn’t want to do.  I’ve been sick since I’ve been in town and just wasn’t feeling it.  Almost every ounce of my being told me not to run, but luckily, I’m painfully disciplined about getting my workouts in.  I drove to the north side and parked at an apartment complex.  Even after the car was turned off, I was trying to convince myself not to go.  These demons who want me to feel worse were very strong today.  But I knew I had to get out of the car and run for my own sanity.  So I did. 

                I ran alone in Petrifying Springs Park, my new favorite place to run in town.  While I was running I thought about how happy running makes me.  For so many reasons, running makes me happy.  The friends, the sight-seeing, the heart health, the sense of calm and confidence it instills . . . these are just a few.  As I followed the path, I found myself wishing my mom could be a runner.  I wished she could get all of the endless benefits I get from running.  I think about how much it would help her mind and her well-being.  It would give her a powerful tool for coping.  She would be a happier person.  Yet, I cannot picture it.  I don’t see mom as a runner or even a jogger.  I wonder if I can trick her into becoming one.  For example, give her a treadmill workout and plug in 1 minute jogs here or there.  (It’s amazing the things that seem like great ideas when I’m in the middle of a run.)  As I type it, I know it will never happen.  She wouldn’t find the support system here that I so strongly depend on back in Minneapolis.  There isn’t a running club here that would be sensitive to her needs.  Still, I wish her the benefits of running.  I wish I could take everything I gain from a run and give it to her as a gift. 

                For all of us runners out there, let’s be grateful that we can run.  We keep our minds and bodies in a very positive place because of the miles we log.  Not everyone can do what we’re able to do.  We should be thankful we get to enjoy all the gifts running gives to us.  

Whistlestop

                It was a blustery October evening when my husband, Chris, and I rolled into Ashland, Wisconsin on Lake Superior for the Whistlestop Marathon.  The high winds snuck into our hotel room through the air conditioner and made a continuous high-pitched whirring.  The windows rattled erratically drawing my attention and annoyance.  This was the night before my marathon.  How was I going to get any rest? 

At packet pickup, we ran into Victor and Bruce.  Both of these men are in my Minneapolis running club and both are old enough to be my father.  In running club, there are two groups of people: the group that I’m polite to and the group that gets me uncensored.  Bruce and Victor are part of the latter group and the uncensorship is, of course, reciprocated.  When you log hundreds of miles with such a group, you become bonded, for better or worse.  I was ecstatic to have these men run this race in Ashland with me.  Bruce registered 14 hours before gun time, one of the many perks of this small town marathon.  He also brought his own bag o’ noodles to the Pasta Feed and Lake Superior Fish Boil.  He can’t do gluten.

Bruce sneaking in gluten free pasta.  It looks like brains.

                The four of us ate dinner in one of the many long rows of tables.  Think church basement.  Victor’s red, squinty eyes begged for sleep, but he kept up with our banter.  He was up all night with a sick kid, but wouldn’t let that ruin his marathon weekend.  In fact, he didn’t even complain about it.  A few other Polite folks from running club sat with us.  It was fun having so many familiar faces there 200 miles away from home.  We discussed the cold weather that would wait for us at the start in the morning.  The wind was not supposed to let up and it was gusting 20-30 miles per hour.  What would we wear?  What time should we get on the shuttle?  How long would we be sitting out at the starting line Lodge?  Would there be room for us inside?  The cold starting line weather became the focus of my paranoia for the rest of the night and into the next morning.  Sure, Chris was around and could drop us off, but he couldn’t take us all the way to the start.  Cars are not allowed within the first two miles of the race and I wasn’t about to add 2 more miles to my expenditure that day.  Also, I never trust the sweats check and didn’t think to bring throw-away warm-ups. 

Victor, Me, and Bruce at the Pasta Feed and Packet Pickup

After I laid out all my race gear on the extra hotel bed, I realized I’d have to check some items that were very dear to my heart.  My running pants and my winter running jacket were going with me to the start and would get tossed into some guy’s trailer just before the gun.  There was no better option.  I’m a person who gets painfully attached to material items.  I give them personalities and reflect on the times we’ve spent together, so this was going to be difficult for me.  Those pants and jacket had gotten me through a long, cold, snowy, cold, long winter of Boston-qualifying training.  We’d been through a lot.  Even so, I’d invested too much into my training to risk having a bad race, so I had to trust the trailer.  Freezing at the start wasn’t going to get me a 3:40 marathon.

All the possibilities

The next morning, Coach Mitch woke me up, unintentionally, at 4:30 a.m. with a text.  “U ok?”  I couldn’t fall back asleep after that.  I was okay.  Nervous, but okay.  I’d done this twice before.  I knew what to expect, but 26 miles is a long way to run strong.  Running easy wouldn’t be so bad, but I couldn’t give up on my training.  I knew I’d have to go hard and I knew it was going to hurt.  I wasn’t confident about a 3:40 performance.  A half I’d run in August was slower than I’d expected and it didn’t predict a 3:40 marathon.   On the way out of the hotel room that morning, I told Chris, “I can’t wait until this is over.”  “Why do it, then?” he asked. 

Let’s go run a marathon!

Chris dropped me off at the shuttle before 7:30, 90 minutes before gun time.  I was SO relieved to see Bruce and Victor waiting for me there.  We hadn’t planned this, they were just THAT nice.  I was instantly calmer and happier.  The ride out to the start was L-O-N-G.  Crazy long.  I mentioned to the guys how it seemed like we were being driven halfway back to Minneapolis.  In reality, the school bus dropped us off somewhere 25 miles outside of town and we were supposed to run back via the Tri-County Corridor, an old railway path in northern Wisconsin. 

                The first best part of the day:  It wasn’t that cold!  The starting line and 95% of the race is in the woods and protected from the wind.  The temperature was in the mid-forties and the sky was overcast.  In other words, PERFECT.  We found a spot in the lodge right next to the pool table, just like Coach Mitch told us to do.  It was comfortable.  With all that time to kill before the race, I ventured out to the porta-potties twice.  Inside the door, there was a small mirror, which I’d never seen in a porta-potty before.  This made me smile and I didn’t let the opportunity pass.  Instead, I got face to face with myself in the mirror, pointed at my reflection, and told myself I was going to have an awesome race:  “You can do this, Cristina.  This is what you train to do.  Don’t be scared.  You know how to do this.  Show some fucking discipline.  Be smart.  Let’s do this.”  The affirmations were an enormous help and all but extinguished my jitters.  Both times.  I really pumped myself up. 

                Gun time was fast approaching and I decided to get rid of my warm ups and get used to the temperature.  I stripped off my jacket and my pants and scrunched them into a garbage bag.  I wished them luck in their journey and tossed them into the trailer.  Spandex shorts, a singlet, and a long sleeve layer would be my race gear.  Not to mention my gloves and a ball cap.  Victor and I filed slowly to the starting line, a group of a few hundred people.  This was my second small-town marathon and I really appreciate the camaraderie and easiness of it all.  It’s much more of a community feel when you’re one of 300 as opposed to one of 12,000.  At Twin Cities Marathon last year, I felt alone in the masses, except for my girl and pace-buddy Tanya.  Here at Whistlestop, everyone was my friend.  Everyone was rooting for me. 

                Bruce found us just a minute before the start.  He gave me a big hug just before the gun.  It was just what I needed for a little added motivation.  I wasn’t just racing for me.  I was racing for everyone who helped through the last year of training:  everyone who kept my spirits up during sub-zero degree long runs last winter, everyone who watched my daughter so I could get my workouts in, everyone who had more confidence in me than I had in myself.  More than not letting myself down, I didn’t want to let anyone else down either.  A lot of people invested in me and I felt all of that encouragement in that hug. 

                Then the gun.  The race started.  Bruce began the race just behind me talking to another guy from our running club.  I didn’t see him again until after the finish.  Victor ran the first mile with me and we stayed on pace with my pace band.  This is my lucky pace band that I’ve used at all my marathons.  I picked it up at the marathon expo for Twin Cities last year.  On the front, it has even splits for finishing in 4:30, my goal for Twin Cities.  (I finished in 4:24.)  On the reverse side, I’d written the splits I’d need to finish in 3:40.  These were not even splits.  Rather, they were calculated by a program Coach Mitch and Bruce had sent me.  The idea is to ease into the marathon for 5 miles, hit cruise control for 15 miles, and add more time to the last 6 miles as the race gets unbearable.  I hit my pace exactly for the first mile and told Victor we were doing well.  He was feeling good, so he decided to take off ahead of me.  I opted to show some fucking discipline (a catchphrase in my run club) and stuck with my pace band. 

                Over the first half of the race, I saw everyone from my running club:  another 2 gals and a guy.  I stayed with them for a while, which was handy when I wanted to take my long sleeves off.  I needed someone to hold my gloves.  I had to reattach my bib to my singlet, which was entertainment for a mile.  It worked, though, and I was much more comfortable in my tank top, shorts, and gloves.

As the race went on, I targeted people to pace me.  For a long while between miles five and ten, I ran side-by-side with a woman in yellow shoes.  I never got her name, but I liked her a lot.  She called me the green machine because of my green top and my steady pace.  I eventually lost her at one of the water stops.  I’d hoped to see her again after the race, but never did.  That’s the thing about races, you don’t get to see people’s faces while you’re running.  I couldn’t have picked her out of a crowd if she wasn’t wearing her yellow shoes.

Me crossing the gorge where I saw Chris.  Did you find me?

                At some point in the first half, I realized I was feeling amazingly good.  This surprised me and it was the second best part of the day.  For every other race I have run, I hated it while I was running it.  Nothing but negative thoughts would fill my head.  But this day, I kept up with my pace band and even banked time.  It didn’t suck.  I told the guy from Running Club who held my gloves earlier I was going to try and qualify.  What does qualifying mean?  3:35 and not a second more would qualify me to run the Boston Marathon in April 2013.  When else was the weather going to be perfect AND when else was I going to feel this good in a marathon?  I didn’t really believe I could do it when I said it, but it still got me running a little bit faster.  Thinking about it distracted and encouraged me.  I slowly pulled away from everyone I knew and started cruising.  I paced off a short guy wearing blue running tights for a few miles.  Eventually, I caught him and panicked for a second.  Who was I going to pace off of now?  Everyone else was way up ahead, so onward I trucked.  It became a pattern to see a runner up ahead, catch him or her, and move on to the next target.  As I passed people, I would yell out some kind of encouragement.  “You’re looking good!”  They reciprocated with friendly words or, sometimes, grunts.  One man asked me what my pace was because he wanted to be sure he would get at least a 3:45.  I told him he was doing better than that. 

                I knew I was going to qualify at mile 15 or so.  The exertion was starting to wear on me.  My head was getting cloudy.  Up ahead, though, I could hear the pulse of techno music over fantastically loud speakers.  It was a beacon.  “What is love?  Baby don’t hurt me, Don’t hurt me, No more.”  The beat radiated through my body and lifted my spirits.  It was pure confidence.  It was elation.  That’s when I knew.   I didn’t come into this race with any intention of qualifying.  Qualifying was the plan for my spring marathon and I ended up with 3:55.  Jumping down by 20 minutes seemed like a stretch.  I’d taken it easy in Whistlestop training, only running 3 days a week instead of five.  I did all the workouts, but skipped the pickups on my long runs.  My heart wasn’t in it the way it was before.  I was just maintaining.  All of this proved to be helpful leading up to the race.  I wasn’t thinking “Boston” every minute of every day.  I still had a life.  There was no pressure.  My goal going into the race was to PR.  Yet, here I was, with the beat pulling me to Boston.  I ran on.  I caught up with Victor just after the dance party, at mile 16 or so.  I had a fleeting hope that he would stay with me and that we’d finish together, but he fell behind.  Like Bruce, I wouldn’t see Victor and his chili pepper socks again until the finish. 

                My plan was to keep steady until mile 20 then pick it up, but I was too impatient for that.  I accelerated at 19.  Almost all of my miles from that point on were sub-8 minutes.  I kept looking for Chris at the intersections to tell him I was going to qualify, but I didn’t see him.  When I finally did a few miles later, he was down in a gorge and I was up on a bridge.  There was no way I was going to waste energy yelling at him.  He’d have to wait.  I ran on. 

I was invincible.  Nothing was going to stop me from Boston.  Until mile 21.  My knee started hurting BAD.  I kept on, but limped more than ran.  I made deals with myself to get through the short term. “Okay.  Run to the sign and then you can walk for a bit.”  I kept running.  “Okay.  When you get to the water stop, you can walk for a bit.”  I ran through the water stop.  I’m not sure how, but after just one mile, this terrible pain went away, as if nothing ever happened.  This was the third best part of the day.  It was time to finish this.  I ran on.

Mile 25, Out of the woods

                At mile 24, I saw a couple girls from running club who raced the half marathon that morning.  They had hunkered down flat on the grass to keep warm.  It was still windy and cold if you weren’t moving.  They popped up to cheer when they saw me coming.  It was awesome.  Then I saw Chris and finally told him, “I’m going to qualify!”  He said he knew.  It was after this that I finally switched modes on my Garmin.  Up until this point, I had only looked at my mile splits.  Now it was time to see if I was really going to qualify.  At mile 25 it said 3:24.  It was actually true.  I could do this, but I’d have to go as hard as I could.  So I did.  The route left the woods and entered the city of Ashland.  We were now running up and down curb ramps and this was painful for me.  There must have been eight or ten pairs of these.  They did nothing to help my race.  Finally, I saw mile 26 just after a left hand turn in a city park.  I glanced at my watch and noticed my window was shrinking.  I powered on.  I was outside myself.  My body was flying through Ashland and my mind was along for the ride.  I could hear the finish.  I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it.  It had to be close.  There were endless turns in those last .2 miles.  The grand finish is adjacent to an enormous steam engine on display in the town.  Just before I saw the engine I looked down at my watch.  It ticked past 3:35.  I was still running.  I didn’t make it. 

Without missing a beat, I told myself how awesome I was doing.  The elusive, elite Boston Marathon was no longer out of the realm of possibility.  I ran Boston-fast that day.  It just didn’t work out in the end.  I knew I could do it and I knew I’d try again someday.  My official time was 3:35:27.  I missed Boston by 27 seconds.  Huge bummer!  Regardless, I was thrilled to be done.  I’d never run so hard in my life.  I’d never done anything so hard in my life.  (Had I not had a C-section, maybe I’d put childbirth up there, but C-sections don’t require much mental toughness.)

                I was ecstatic about my time.  I didn’t know I had it in me.  What a thrill!  In a year, I cut 49 minutes off of my marathon time.  Unbelievable!  And I’m still improving. 

A race volunteer covered me in a silver blanket and it was cozy warm.  Another gave me a medal.  Oh yeah!  I’d forgotten I get one of those.  I found Chris within a minute of finishing and it was a good thing.  I was not well.  I started getting REALLY cold and lightheaded.  He helped me hobble into the post-race tent where the finisher shirts were.  I got one and carried it with me.  I didn’t have the energy to put it on.  Then we shuffled back to the finish to look for the other guys.  We saw Victor sitting on the curb across the street.  He finished a few minutes after me.  We watched Bruce come in a little bit later, but he didn’t look happy.  He didn’t hear us cheering for him. We found out later that he was hurting throughout the whole race.  He didn’t have a good day. 

                The four of us found each other and made our way back to the tent.  I still was not well.  Nausea and constant shivering kept me leaning on Chris.  Victor brought me a printout of my race results for me.  I didn’t have the strength to get one myself.  Chris pointed out, “All you needed was one second per mile.”  I was so close. 

The printout of my race results

We walked over to the ice arena/race headquarters and sat a while.  Victor left to take a shower.  Bruce ventured out to his truck to change clothes.  I sat on the bleachers with Chris and continued to feel ill.  He gave me his coat and that helped quite a bit.  Together, we decided I needed to eat something, so he left me there while he ran back to the tent.  In that moment when I was alone, I panicked.  I was still light-headed and nauseas and didn’t have my phone.  With a great effort, I moved myself from the bleacher to the adjacent step because I expected to pass out.  I wanted to be closer to the ground if I did.  Thankfully, it never happened.  With tremendous effort, I started digging through my sweats check bag, which, by the way, made it safe and sound to the finish, and started piling on the layers.  The warmth brought instant relief.  From then on, I was happy.  And so very proud of myself.  

We finished.

                I love marathon days.  They are emotional and they are hard work, but in the end, it’s a celebration.  Once the finish line is crossed, it’s time to relax.  Months worth of training and a high intensity race warrant, at the very least, an afternoon of indulgence.   On marathon days, I feel invincible.  There is no guilt.  There is only pride and introspection.  Chris wanted to know why I do this.  I do it because it makes me happy.  It challenges me, both physically and strategically.  I do it for the friendships.

                Having the guys there made this race very meaningful to me.  Their experience, support, and companionship were invaluable.  We may not ever run the same race again, but we’ll always be bonded in Whistlestop.