Wednesday, July 15, 2009

The Pain is Temporary, the Pride is Forever

The time had come, finally, after months of preparation. Doing the twenty mile runs on Sundays, and weekly long runs, all building up to the moment of truth- the Marathon. Could I do it? Would I be mentally and physically strong enough? These were the questions running through my mind.

My run buddies had anxiety, and nervousness about the race. For me, I was ready to measure my stamina. Anxiety was purely excitement.

That morning we awoke at 4:30am to a slight drizzle. We dressed in our cute runners apparel, and packed our goo belts with the essentials. The highway was packed on a Sunday at 5 am, all runners trying to find their way into the massive parking lot at the airport for the Rock n Roll Marathon.

We shuttled to the start camp at Balboa Park, and stood in line for 45 minutes just to use the port-a-potty. Apparently, everybody needed to go. With only seconds to spare, wearing trash bags as temporary jackets, we ran up to the start line to join
the 20,000, and some racers. The start gun had already gone off, so we jumped into what we thought was the appropriate corral, and elbowed our way into our own three foot section.

The tight proximity of runners began to disperse as we all moved down the road together. Men dressed as cheerleaders, stuffed boobs and all, yelled and screamed on the sides of the road. We laughed, and cheered with them. Shortly thereafter we ran with Elvis for a time. Then next to a man wearing only a little red speedo. No shoes, just his bare feet, and holding the American Flag.

With ease we found ourselves at mile 13, making our way through the Fashion Valley area of San Diego. There were thousands of families, friends and onlookers lining the streets. Their energy was important to us as we yelled and screamed along with them.

Mile 17 was a welcome surprise. As we ran through a San Diego Bay Park neighborhood, an entire family was in the street in front of their home handing out orange slices to all the runners. I have never tasted an orange slice so magnificently juicy, and good. You could compare the moment to a person lost in the desert, and stumbling upon an oasis.

Screaming "You
got this!", cheering on our fellow runners, we hit the twenty's feeling strong. Excitingly we met up with a small cheer squad of our own. Two friends on the side of the highway finally spotted us, and were there to show support, and yell loudly.

Mile 24 was now upon us. My partner and I have temporarily been separated. There are people running all around me. Some are looking distraught, and in pain. I pass a gentlemen to my right that is receiving assistance from a stranger that is now his friend. The man puts his arm around the gentlemen consoling him, and says "Hi, I'm Jack, I'll be with you the rest of the way." The camaraderie was heart warming.

Those last two miles were surreal. It felt as though I had to muster up strength from somewhere deep inside of me. Strength I didn't even know I had. My body was physically being pushed to a point I had never known. But I had trained, and prepared. Even though I was tired, and feeling as though my legs were running unconsciously, I felt strangely strong and determined.

A silence fell upon me, and for awhile I was completely in my own head. Thoughts of old life experiences were popping in my head unannounced. Old self doubt, and disappointment in past decisions. I started to get teary. Not because I was breaking down, but because I was overcoming those lifelong hurts. Literally. I chose to leave any shred of self doubt, and experiences of the past on the road that day. They should be somewhere around Sea World Boulevard, and I won't be going back to get them.

The finish line was an overwhelmingly joyful moment. With thousands of people in bleachers and along the barriers, I cheered my way across that line. I knew I did something great for myself on that day. For my soul, my spirit. I will never forget my first Marathon.

No comments:

Post a Comment