Jenny did a great job. Her attitude throughout the run never wavered, not for a moment, and that's impressive. Plus, please take note, she thinks I'm a saint. Don't laugh. "She thinks I'm a steed!"
Here is her marathon, in her words:
7 months ago I started out on this ridiculous adventure. I hoped to make some new friends and get in shape by joining a running group which eventually turned into training for a marathon. As each 7am Saturday morning came and went I got one week closer to the marathon. I still don't think it ever truly registered what I was going to do - I just went through the motions each week.
This past Saturday quickly approached and I stood in a room surrounded by 10 people I never knew existed 7 months ago. Everyone was still asleep considering it was 5:30 in the morning, but the nervous energy of the marathon starting in an hour and a half was starting to wake us up. We drove to the start line and stood around for an hour and then we heard it - the gun starting the race. They let each corral go and as we got closer and closer I head comments like "Well, there's no turning back now." It was true - there was no turning back. All the events and the training of the last 7 months came down to the next 5 hours and this moment of stepping over the start line.
I knew there were people waiting at mile 4 so the first 40 minutes was spent enjoying the scenery and taking the experience all in. Watching the people around me, reading their shirts, wondering why they were running and who they were running for. I thought about whether it was their first marathon or if they had run many before. We were keeping up with our desired pace and my 3 running friends were all feeling pretty good. At mile 3 one girl fell back that was having knee problems - she was planning on running the half. Then I saw them! My friends, my husband, my family all at mile 4. I started jumping around like an idiot, screaming their names and waving my arms. My sister's friend Jason (who I now consider a Saint) joined me and ran the next 3 miles with us.
We ran the next few miles and we looped around so that I saw everyone again at 7. Yet again, I looked like a moron screaming their names, but it really didn't matter. I had been running for over an hour and I have 19.2 miles to go. Not too much happened over the next 8 miles. My body was still waking up and adjusting. I was feeling the normal aches and pains in my knees and was keeping a careful monitor of Energy Gel as to not run out too soon. The split between the marathon and half marathon reared it's ugly head at mile 11. A man standing in an Elvis costume instructed, "All you half marathoners to my left, all you complete morons running 26.2 stay to my right." I looked over to the mass crowd of people running the half and then back to my side - it was very lonely. I still had my girls though - the 3 of us were feeling good and cruising right along.
The other side of the road consisted of full runners that were coming back around the loop and they were between miles 17 and 18. I wanted to be there….or at least wanted to know how I would feel at that point. I saw my parents at mile 13 and Jeremy and my friend, David, at mile 14. We started running toward the loop I had been warned about. I believe my coaches words were, "You feel like God has forsaken you. It's lonely, there aren't many people watching, it's bad." Mile 15 I lost my running partners. One girl had a foot injury that was flaring up and our mentor stayed back with her. I was off and alone and knew it was going to be mile 20 before I saw anyone again. How am I going to get through the next 5?
I turned the corner at 16 and up ahead I saw a gentleman in a wheel chair. He was just about completely paralyzed but he moved enough to reach his hand out. He was by himself and incapable of speaking or moving, yet he was out there to support us. Every person ran by and grabbed his hand - thanking him for coming out and supporting the runners. Talk about a moment of perspective and clarity. I kept on trucking through 17 and was surprise to see my parents, sister and her friend Jason waiting at 17. It was at the top of a hill and I was hurting. My reception of them was significantly different than at mile 7. No screaming or jumping around - just forward motion. I got another surprise at 18 seeing my friend's Kate and Henry - Kate decided to run some with me. I don't remember the conversation, but I am sure it wasn't very exciting.
Miles 18 through 20 were the worst - hands down no doubt. I was running along and I started to see people give up. Stopping to walk, sitting on the side of the road, bodies just giving up. I passed over a bridge and looked over to see the finish line - but I had 7 more miles. I climbed another hill and crossed over 20 and saw my family again. This time I started to cry. 6 more miles. Jason joined my to finish the last 6 miles and the wind started to kick into gear. It was bad and straight in our face.
The last part of my run consisted of frustration, confusion, exhaustion, wonder, numbness, tightening of every part of my body, inspiration, emotion of every kind, beer drinking at the 24 mile mark Hash Station!! and awe. Each mile brought a new sight and a new obstacle to overcome. Each mile felt significantly longer than the last. The wind started to get much stronger and my legs weighed about 70 pounds each. Then I saw the 26 mile mark. I turned the next corner only to see the finish line. I started to look around so that I could remember every last detail and get ready for my picture as I crossed the finish line. But it was inevitable....the tears started to stream. People I had never met were screaming my name. At one point I heard someone yell (although it sounded very faint at the time), "I know Jenny, you're almost there." It was someone I had never met before and will never see again, yet those words will always stick with me.
My family waited for me at the finish. I saw Jeremy and hugged him and started to cry. I was done. No more weekly runs, no more getting up before sun rise on Saturday morning, no more getting into bed at 9 on Friday AND Saturday nights. It was done and I will never do it again! Well that's my story - it was a very long one, but I know that I am a better person for taking on this challenge. I love everyone that was involved in supporting me and am very thankful for you.
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