I Finished :)

...in about 6 1/2 hours. I walked the last 6 miles. But holy crap, I finished a marathon! 26.2 miles in one day!

I ran the first 13 and only stopped at the water stations to walk. I made pretty good time compared to my long training runs. But my hips and ankles were hurting and from my experience on my 16-mile training run I just knew I had to take some meds or my body was gonna give out on me. The next 7 miles I alternated walking and running. By mile 20 my feet were way too sore to run anymore and I just walked.

"Hey little lady! We're gonna finish this!" At mile 20, in steps my marathon angel sporting a fedora and harmonica. That's my kind of angel! For the next 6.2 miles I was able to take my mind off my exhaustion (my body was absolutely spent and I was going solely on will power). John, my marathon angel, peppered his colorful stories with some blues songs. He told me about hunting, about his music, and about his other races. He knew exactly what I needed--distraction--and he filled it shamelessly.

I slowed down throughout the race but I never "hit the wall." I never got desperate or discouraged. I smiled and ran. I thought I was free and clear, especially with John by my side making me laugh and asking nothing in return other than that I just keep going. Then we hit mile 24.

The Quad Cities Marathon is a fantastic event, well-organized and suited for beginners as well as top athletes. It's location is stunning and makes for a lovely run. I would recommend it for anyone.

However, there is something cruel lurking in this race. That something is an out and back.

Out and back? That doesn't sound so bad, right? Half my training runs were out and backs. This out and back had something special attached to it. It was at the very end of the race. And it started near the finish line--you could see the finish, hear the other finishers cheering--and then took you out a few miles before you were allowed to turn around and head back. Cruel!

At 24 miles I hit the wall. My chest was pounding, my head felt light, every muscle and joint ached (I mean EVERY--my toes, my shoulders, and the muscles behind my knees to name a few) and water no longer solved any of these complaints. I needed to stop. With only 2.2 miles to go I was sure my body wouldn't make it, I was sure I would collapse. I slowed my pace, tried to catch my breathe, and stuck some Skittles in my mouth.

"You OK, kiddo? You're slowing down on me!" And so I kept up what felt like a merciless pace. I kept smiling, barely. And kept walking, somehow.

And it is here that I would like to take a moment and thank Japan for helping my get across that finish line. I didn't realize it until I was out there running, but my time in Japan gave me all the confidence and all the mental fortitude I'd need to finish that race. In Japan, everyday was a marathon mentally. Everyday I had to reassure myself that I was going to be OK, that I could get through another lonely winter night or another difficult class. And so, on marathon day, I just ran one mile at a time. No matter how tired I was I knew I could get through a mile. In Japan, no matter how lonely or frustrated I got I knew I could be a good teacher for one day. I could smile when I wanted to cry. And in doing so I was able to relish the small joys that came my way.

During the marathon there were Elvis impersonators, peppy high school cheerleaders, community members in lawn chairs on their driveways, and ever-cheerful water station volunteers. If I only focused on the 26.2 miles ahead of me, or the aches in my body, I would have missed these smalls moments of joy, these bursts of togetherness amid the long, lonely stretches.

I'll probably run another marathon someday. Until then, I'll keep running. Because I like to.