I've always been irritated by the type of runner who
constantly claims to be at a level higher than their performance indicates. As
an athlete, I am good as the performances I am able to bring to the road, track
or trail. With that in mind, I am now a 2:44 marathoner. It saddens me to even
type those numbers, but that is, to date, my best and most serious attempt at
26.2. As you read this, you may be rolling your eyes, tsk tsking my bitterness
at a marathon time that is still good enough to get me to the Olympic trials.
Perhaps you've never broken 5 hours, or perhaps you've ran faster than I have.
Regardless, haven't you ever fallen short of your own expectations and felt like
you let down yourself and everyone who believed in you? Have you ever given
everything you had only to find out that it simply wasn't enough? Fortunately,
the marathon is unique from other road races in it's inevitable compilation of
both good and bad moments for everyone who attempts it. After the race I decided
to sit down and scratch out a "pro's and con's" list regarding my experience. My
finishing time was the first "con" I wrote down but then I realized that 2:44
was just the tip of the iceberg, and that there was so much more below the
surface, so many challenges, so much strength, and through it all, the
indomitable will of the human spirit. I'd like to share this list with
you.

Cons:

- Both races I've been invited to by
the wonderful people of the New York Road Runner's have been lackluster
performances. I desperately want to prove to these people and myself that I
belong in fields with the most elite women in the world. I want to feel like I
deserve everything they have so generously given me.

-I was very
frustrated with the interruption in my fluid intake schedule. At the first elite
fluid station, I grabbed my bottle only to find that my energy gel had been ripped off of the side where I
had taped it. At the second station, three miles later, my entire bottle was
missing. At the third station, almost 10 miles into the race, again, no bottle,
so I simply grabbed one of the bottles that had been left behind and swallowed
someone's bizarre orange concoction in a squeezable bag. I'm still not exactly
sure what it was...

(I decided to distinguish my bottles from those of
the other elites by adorning them with faces, hair and on one bottle,
affectionately named Dolly Parton, a suggestive pair of fuzzy pom-poms. The only
one of my bottles that I actually got to use during the race was Eduardo at 25K,
a handlebar-moustachioed bottle that I had chosen to set apart with pipe-cleaner
frown rather than a smile. Ironically, the pain in my quads had started at about
23K and when I rounded the corner to find Eduardo grimacing at me, I grimaced
back, chugged him down and threw him to the side of the road.)

-I never
thought I would run about 22 miles of the New York City Marathon completely
alone. For some reason I imagined that I would be surrounded by bodies running
my pace the way you see it in pictures, or in movies. This was not the case. For
the vast majority of the race I was about 2 minutes behind the girl in front of
me and about 2 minutes ahead of the woman behind me.

-I don't know what
went wrong. I went out on pace, was just slightly off at the half when my quads
seized up to the point that every step of the last ten miles was met with
screaming resistance from several of the most important running muscles in my
body. I felt my pace slowing with every step in the latter half of the race and
felt powerless to do anything about it. I counted my steps to 600, telling
myself that I would feel good by the time I reached that number... only I
didn't. I focused on my upper body, telling myself that if I pumped my arms fast
enough than my legs would follow... only they didn't. 5:55 became 6:00, became
6:20, became 6:50. I watched it happen as though I was watching someone else
fight this battle, feeling sorry for
them.

Pros:

-Several points of distress that I
feared pre-race never came to fruition. As I so graciously put it in an
interview, I was terrified I might poop. I didn't. My stomach felt terrific for
the full duration of the race with the exception of a side stitch that lasted
about 2 miles.

- The people of New York City are an incredibly supportive
group of people, apart from the few smart-asses sporting signs like, "This is
the WORST parade I've ever seen!" as the marathoners pass. The sight of one
little girl holding a sign that read "You inspire me" was honestly what got me
through those 2 miles of side-stitching. The brash vulgarity that many people
expect of New Yorkers surfaced in the best way possible during the first 14
miles in Brooklyn, where I lost track of how many times I heard F-bombs dropped
in the form of enthusiastic spectation (You're F*#@ing tough!, Don't you F*#@ing
quit! You're doing F*#@ing great!, etc...).

-Like an unlikely green bud
that finds it's way through inches of concrete to uncurl it's leaves for the
sun's warmth, I somehow found a way to finish. It's interesting how well the
human body knows it's task. I honestly don't know if I could have ran another
hundred yards. I made it to the finish line, somehow, then wobbled to my knees
with both hands on the pavement. Someone scooped me up, and wrapped me in one of
the finishing "blankets" that always make me feel like a baked potato wrapped in
tin foil. Someone else draped a finishing medal around my neck and thrust a
Gatorade bottle into my hand. I stared dazedly at a blurry face that was
speaking to me. It was Pete, telling me good job and that the most important
thing is that I finished.

- About ten minutes after I finished, Pete
lifted me into a chair and I looked him right in the eyes and told him I want to
run another marathon. Immediately after the worst agony I'd ever endured I told
him it was worth it, and that I want to try again. I want to run it smarter,
faster, and with a little more experience. The fact that I could say that to him
at that moment means infinitely more than if I called him now, 24 hours later
and said the same thing, because I was still in the physical and emotional havoc
of the race.

-The emotional journey I took during those final few miles
taught me a little bit about myself. I remember my mom telling me that one
mental tactic she used to keep her mind off the pain of a marathon was to pray
for someone different each mile. So I prayed. I prayed for my family, I prayed
for my Fiance and at one point I locked eyes with a stranger on the sidewalk and
prayed for him. The last two miles, however, I simply prayed that I would make
it without my legs buckling beneath me, that God would grant me the courage to
keep putting one foot in front of the other when I had no fight left in me. I
think I might find it a lot harder to finish a marathon if I didn't believe in
God.


Right now I am sitting in the airport waiting for my flight home
to the simple golden autumn days at ZAP that pass by like pearls slipping slowly
from a broken string. I miss Michael, and I'm so grateful for the seclusion and
beauty of Blowing Rock after a week in New York.
I simply don't have enough
energy to live in a city. In the 5 days leading up to the marathon I saw
Broadway's "Chicago", solved two murder cases at the city's new CSI hands-on
exhibit, watched the "naked cowboy" pick up my grandmother and carry her around
Times Square and spent way too much money on food. To end the adventure with a
26 mile race wraps up what was quite possibly, the most delightfully exhaustive
week of my life.

My cup runneth over, and I've reached the conclusion
that "the wall" does not exist to stop a runner in their tracks. The wall exists
so that we may learn how to climb it, each in our own way. Without struggle,
there would be no triumph, for as the Olympic Creed states, "The essential thing
is not to have conquered, but to have fought well."