New York Marathon 2010

So I know it's been forever since I've updated my blog but this really is the only form of journaling I do and I can't miss a chance to journal about one of the top five moments in my life. Next to getting married and having children, this past weekend was one of the best experiences of my life. So, let's start from the beginning shall we? In April 2009 I visited New York with my incredible sister Emily and had the most fantastic time. I think the trip was life altering for the both of us, in our own way. For me, over the short 3 days that we were there, I fell in love with the city and the energy and the people of New York and I knew I had to run the marathon there. The trip reminded me that although my life's greatest work is being a wife to my husband and a mom to my 2 boys, there were many other things that I deserved to accomplish and experience. It reminded me that there is a huge world out there and it's ok to want to venture out there sometimes all on my own. I had been through a few rough years after moving to Southern Utah (and finally escaping the Utah County bubble) and really struggled to find my footing as an at-home mom of two incredible little boys. Being with my sister, who beyond all comprehension somehow sees me as this amazing person, helped me reconnect with myself in a profound way. I remember many conversations with her about motherhood and the strong pull and sometimes overwhelming responsibility we feel towards our children. So easily, this incredible love that I feel for my kids can completely consume my entire being, so much so that I easily neglect myself and my husband in the process. There is nothing that could ever compromise my love for my kids, but I realized on this trip that sometimes I needed to come up for air, so to speak, not just for my sake and my husband's sake, but for my kids as well. The more fullfilled I am as a person, the better able I am to uplift my children and inspire them to reach their full potential. For me, running is a huge part of this self-fullfillment. It has been since I discovered my passion for it during some pretty troublesome teenage years. I would run and release and find strength within myself to overcome my childhood trauma. To this day when I run, I know I am not running away from the little girl of my childhood, but rather running to show that little girl that she is strong and powerful and cannot be stopped.

So when registration for the 2010 New York marathon opened in November I knew I had to do it. I registered and hoped I would get in. Around that same time I also found out I was pregnant and due in July. I remember hoping that I would have enough time to recover from having the baby and train for the marathon in November. Sadly, the pregnancy didn't go as expected, and from early on I had a sinking feeling something wasn't right. My husband and I had been trying for a girl a I remember feeling like this was my girl and kept trying to ignore that sinking feeling. I'd had 2 friends who'd recently miscarried and tried to convince myself that my worry over the pregnancy was just because of that. We spent New Year's day with some friends at a cabin in Cedar City, and although they wanted us to stay through the weekend, my husband and I decided we'd better head home. That night, the miscarriage started and by January 2 I was in the ER. My body didn't handle the miscarriage well and I was hemorrhaging severely. Finally the OBGYN saw me and got me in for an emergency D & C. I want to say that I handled the miscarriage well, and to most of my friends and family, it probably seemed that way. Internally, though, I really struggled. I felt like I had lost my girl, and somehow knew that I would never have a daughter. We told ourselves we'd try again in a few months, but honestly, I was scared to try again, scared of another loss. Sometime in March I found out I got into the New York marthon, and honestly, instead of feeling excited it felt more like a consolation prize.

When it came time to start training for the marathon, I found myself filled with self-doubt and really unmotivated. Weeks passed and I essentially gave up hope on running the marathon. I convinced myself that I just didn't have the time to train, that training would take away too much time from my family, and that it was selfish of me to spend so much time on myself. Meanwhile, I watched two of the closest people to me, my husband and my sister, develop a love for running, something neither of them ever thought possible. As they ran, I told myself that maybe I wasn't a runner anymore, that maybe running didn't mean the same thing to me and couldn't help me through the pain like it had in the past. It's hard to admit, but I actually started to resent my husband for running and loving it, I can't really explain why, I just know the more he ran, the less supportive I became. I hated myself for feeling this way, especially since he has always supported me in everything I've set out to achieve. Thankfully, something shifted - some slight, almost unnoticable shift, and suddenly things felt different. In October during the Saint George Marathon, I watched a friend's hard work and determination crumble as he struggled through a grueling race. Finishing almost a half hour past his goal time and falling far short of qualifying for the Boston marathon, I saw the look of defeat and frustration in his eyes. My heart broke for my friend, but at the same time I remember thinking that it didn't matter how fast he ran the race, just that he ran it. It reminded me that so often in life, it's not how well we do something or how good we are at it, it's simply having the courage to do it in the first place. I knew I had that courage within me, I'd overcome so much else in my life, I couldn't let that slip away. And so I decided, right there and then, that no matter what it took, I was going to New York and I was running my race.

Now, I would never recommend running a marathon after only 6 weeks of training, but in my case it wasn't about a PR or a qualifying time, it was about finding myself as a runner again. The six weeks of training flew by but within the six weeks I rediscovered what many refer to as the Runner's High. For me, my high is knowing I am of sound mind and body and within me lies the power to push myself beyond physical barriers. To run through the pain and come out on the other side, stronger and more determined. I remember one run in particular, it was an especially cold morning, I could see my breath in the air and feel the tingle of cold in my hands, but no matter how cold my body felt, my mind felt strong. And I remember thinking to myself, "you are not running away from anything, not the abuse you experienced as a child, not the rejection you felt as a teenager, not the pain you experienced loosing your baby, not the self doubt you encounter everyday. You are running head strong into it and smashing it to pieces."

Marathon moring came and although I was less prepared for this race than I'd ever been for any previous races, I knew what it would take for me to finish. I knew exactly how I needed to run and exactly what pace I could maintain for the 26.2 miles. With all the hype and anticipation of a race of that size, it's so easy to get psyched out mentally. And believe me, that self doubt crept in but I had to fight it off with every ounce of mental strength I had and all this before I'd even started the race. It was a cold, cold morning and I had at least 2 hours of standing around in the cold before the race started. I found the warmest spot I could in the sun and closed my eyes and prayed. I asked God to keep me strong, to keep my body free from pain and fatigue and my mind free from doubt and defeat. I asked God for the same for all the runners, that all of us, all 45,000 of us, would be able to stay strong and achieve our goal. Finally, it came time to start the slow walk out of the staging corrals towards the start line. I found myself in the midst of mostly men and some pretty intimidating runners since I had anticipated being more prepared for the race and estimated a much faster finish time than what I knew was now possible. I looked around at my fellow runner's with all their gear, gu, watches, compression socks, body glide and so on and had to remind myself that at the end of the day, all we were doing was running. Putting one foot in front of the other over and over again and doing so for a really long time. The gun went off and the elite men took off across the start line. Then the rest of us slowly made our way around then bend towards the start and our pace turned from a walk to a jog to a run. I forced myself to start slow over the first bridge mostly trying to get my body to warm up as we were on the bottom level of the bridge over the water and the wind ripped through me like ice. I tried very hard to ignore the flocks of people racing past me, put my head down and held strong to my pace.

Finally over the bridge we dropped down onto the streets of Brooklyn and to the masses of cheering fans. It literally felt as though the entire city had come out to support us. My previous marathon experiences were very different, with most of the course being on an isolated highway in Southern Utah. This was much different. It literally felt as though there was a general forward momentum, and if I could just keep myself within that momentum, I would be fine, I would finish. For the first half of the race I enjoyed the cheering fans, giving high fives to the children along the sideline, laughing with them at hot dog man and thanking them for their support and encouragement. I reminded myself to look up and take in the moment, enjoy the scenery and the city and appreciate the magnitude of the event. I knew my supporters would get updates as I progressed throughout the course and each time I passed a mile marker I felt their support. My strategy was simple - run each mile, walk the water station for about 30 seconds, just enough time to drink and then run again. Hold your pace, take it easy on the uphill and take advantage of the downhill. A few times I felt a surge of energy and a desire to push faster but I knew what my body was capable of, and I knew what my goal was. It wasn't to run under 4 hours, it wasn't to PR and it wasn't to qualify for Boston - it was to finish. To do that, I knew I had to keep it slow and steady. I knew my friend Aimee would be waiting for me around mile sixteen, just after the Queensboro bridge and that kept me motivated. At mile 14 I told myself that I just had 10 miles left and convinced myself that I could make it another 10. Then at mile sixteen I realized I suck at math. By mile 17, along the long treck up 1st Avenue, I struggled and my pace slowed. 1st Avenue was rolling hills and my legs were fatigued. I kept thinking just make it to Central Park and you'll be fine. Make it to Central Park and you're home free.

It took FOREVER to make it to Central Park and the miles seemed to drag on. Finally we rounded the bend and headed down along Central Park and eventually turned the corner into the park itself. Fans cheered and the scenery changed from tall buildings to colorful yellow and orange trees. By mile 22 I knew I would finish, I knew I had enough left in my legs to make it to the end and I knew I could stay strong for the last four miles. I saw Aimee around mile 24, stopped for a quick picture and fought off the tears. I knew I had to stay strong for 2 more miles and that I did. I saw the finish line and made the final push up the hill for the last .2 mile. I did a cartwheel accross the finish line, raised my arms in victory and then nearly collapsed. An official had to grab my arm to support me up and then the all the emotion of the moment came bursting out my eyeballs. I sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes, tried to pose for a picture and hobbled through the finish area wiping away the tears. I wondered if people thought I was in pain, or dissappointed in a slow finish time, but I wanted to scream "I did it, I did it, I did it!" My tears were tears of joy and pride, tears of self-belief and love. Tears of gratitude for my husband, for his support and encouragement. I wanted nothing more than to hear his voice and the voice of my boys. To hug them and kiss them.

In the two days that have followed the race, I've seen friends and co-workers and have been asked, "How did you do? What was your time?" My response is simple, I did amazing. I finished. For me, time didn't matter. For me, the New York Marathon was a 26.2 mile journey back to myself, back to the runner I discovered at age sixteen. It was a journey through the pain and hearbreak we all experience in this life and all have the power to overcome. Of all the signs along the course I saw that day the one that stood out the most read, "Pain is temporary, pride is forever." On November 7, 2010 I ran into the heart of New York City, but I also ran deep into my own heart and found it still beating strong, perhaps stronger than ever.