a good question

It's been a little over a week since my 18th St. George Marathon and 35th marathon overall. My quads are finally settling down from the normal aches they felt after what some might consider torture - 26.2 miles of up and down in the desert of Southern Utah - the beautiful desert I might add. I am losing a little of the afterglow one gets from post marathon endorphins but with that, comes plans on how I can improve my performance...not necessarily the finishing time, but my preparation. My quads have voted on some strength training and I have to say I agree with them. They called me a lot of names the last 6 miles - and after all I have done for them.

 

This marathon was a solo experience despite the thousands of people I ran alongside. My good running buddy Suzanne tore a muscle and was sad not to be there...but she was in spirit, I am sure. Other running friends had commitments or other marathons to complete. Some had to give up marathon running altogether an inevitable outcome for all of us - but not this day for me.

I boarded the bus at about 4:45 AM to the start, near Enterprise Utah. I sat with a silent younger guy, who was tuned into his IPOD, which many people were on this bus. It was strangely a silent ride except for the bus driver, who quipped "We could turn here and go to Vegas instead - make up your mind, quick before it's too late!"

It used to be that during the bus ride to the start, one could hear comments on training (or lack of) advice to the newcomers “It's not as flat as they advertise it to be” and “start out slow...you will need everything you got at the end” or just gossip about this and that. Now everyone seemed to be deep in thought, texting, or tuned into their IPODS. "How many first timers?" someone asked? The young silent guy next to me raised his hand. I wished him luck as we got off the bus. I looked again to be sure I had my race number with me even though I was sure I did.he starting line was much noisier with people lining up for the porta potty - only to go in, and get back in line. You don't want to have to go on the run....although there are porta potties on the route. Guys with their convenient equipment, can just pull over anywhere, and pull “it” out (I am reminded of an old Seinfeld episode).

Bonfires were blazing and music was playing on a loudspeaker “I want to go to the YMCA”. A woman in line behind me asked what age group I was in - she was sizing up her competition as it turned out she was the same age as me. She didn't seem to be having fun and was more concerned about whether she could beat me or not.  Below is a picture of the starting area....but on the day after.

I sat on the ground for a while and got up and went back into the line. This time a young girl from Idaho struck up a conversation that went something like this:

"Is this your first St. George?"
"Nope" I say.
"How many have you done?"
"18"

I don't usually like to brag because I don't usually brag. About anything. Sometimes I think I should toot my own horn more - something I didn't do much of in my job which probably cost me.

“Well why do you keep doing it?” she asked, almost like she thought it was a dumb idea that I keep doing it.

"Because I love this marathon" is all she got from me.

" I admire women of your age who keep running. It is inspiring. And it keeps you beautiful".

Women my age? I pondered that as I headed in for my last pee and then ran over to deliver my extra clothes to the truck that would take them to the finish line - my faded blue sweatshirt that I have worn for 18 years and my warm up pants from the Ojibway Casino in Baraga.  Funny how I feel so much younger inside than my chronological years. I liked how she added the “beautiful” part although that is not a term I have ever used to describe myself even if I tooted my own horn more.  "Stubby" is probably what I would say.  I thought how I was glad I no longer had a uterus to bounce around on top of my bladder to make me have to pee during the run.  One good advantage of being without some of my girl parts.

I got in line with the other starters somewhere just after the starting gun sounded and we were on our way – 26.2 miles into St. George where I could look forward to laying on the grass and later drinking a beer.  Bruce would go get me a nice fat sandwich and I would lay around and call people and tell them how I did.

We started off in the dark, trying to dodge the discarded clothing, gloves, and garbage bags people used to keep warm. I pulled a crumpled card from my running shorts pocket - my list of mile dedications. I was running for 43 people and dogs- each assigned to a specific mile...and yes some were doubled or even tripled up on a mile but that was okay. There are even some people who would be surprised to see that they are still given a mile. People who have been less than kind but I have forgiven and only wish them well and this is one way I know how to do it - to let some things go.

Many of the people I was dedicating miles to are no longer "with us".  Mile one always goes to my mom and dad because when they were alive, I could imagine them having coffee and listening to the today show or the "Jan Tucker show on the radio. After they both died, I imagined them, and my grandparents, sitting around a big screen TV watching my progress.  My mom would say,

"She is getting too old to do this!".
My dad would just smile that blue eyed smile.  He would  be proud even if he didn't say so.
My grandma would say "Let her go.  I wish I would have done that".
 Siggie would start singing a Finnish song and Jack the dog would wish he was with me.  When I think of Jack I automatically reach my hand down to pet him like I used to do when we ran.  He would lick my hand as if to say thank you.
This year several other people, new to heaven,  gathered around to watch. This was the first time they ever saw me do this and would not have ever when they were living....my father in law Bill, Siggie, Jack my sweet running buddy dog,  Swift ,Joe, and Hairsy, who would be enjoying a beer even though it was early in the morning, and Enid, my neighbor, to name a few.
I smiled in the dark as I thought of them.

I listened to the chatter of people around me. I was surprised and happy at the number of people who did not have IPODS.

"I don't want to hear any more about her snotty nosed kid" one girl commented to another. I immediately judged her  mean spirited even though maybe she wasn't and maybe it was I who was judging.
"People ask me why I do this" commented one guy. " And I usually want to answer, because I can and you can't, you lard ass" he added. I should note that there were probably a lot of those “lard asses” he was talking about out there running  ahead of us and would stay ahead of us. One of the reason I like running is that the size of your ass or any other part of your body is not indicative of your finishing time. Nor is the amount of money you spent on your cute running clothes. All that is required is the desire to better yourself and push through the pain...wearing clothes that don't chafe and shoes that fit well enough to not cause you to loose several toe nails.

"I can't believe Eric is walking already. How old is he?" the girl next to me said to someone – probably Eric's mother.

We approached mile 7 and the first hill at Veyo.
"I wish I could feel this good the entire marathon" a girl said.
"Let's just make up our minds to feel this good the entire way, me, the eternal optimist said."Let's run the shit out of this hill". I never saw her again but she did say she liked the way I thought before I passed her.

Veyo hill...the day after.  This is about mile 7

On and on and on we ran through the beautiful scenery of Dammeron Valley, Snow Canyon and several other spots. The tail wind we enjoyed left but was replaced by nice sunshine. I didn't have to poop – runners talk a lot about their bowels just like old people do. Last year I had to stop 3 times to poop so I was happy to not have to this year. I thought about people on my list. I drank gatorade and ate oranges that were offered at the aid stations by many great volunteers,  and jelly beans that I carried with me. At mile 18 I asked myself "So why is it that you think you need to do this?" I decided this would be my last marathon and I would stick to 1/2 marathons. Maybe my mom was right...I am getting too old.

Somewhere between mile 16 and 20...there's an unspoken rule that you have to look like you are enjoying yourself even if you aren't:)

At mile 23 you could see the city.  I looked forward to seeing my friend Alice at mile 24 but didn't find her. I was talking myself into not slowing down for the last two miles (2.2 miles actually) and to not punch the people on the sidelines who kept saying “you are almost there! Only two more miles!” The last few miles of a marathon are like giving birth and what is called transition – when the cervix is completely dilated and you just want to get the baby out and people are saying “I can see the head – keep pushing – you are almost done”. Ha easy for them to say. So I guess the last two miles are like the pushing one does at the end of labor – you sweat and your face turns red and you hurt everywhere below the waist and you want to scream at anyone who touches you.

Suddenly I hear a voice say “What up, D?” I look up and see my son's friend Ty, a lanky 30 year old guy who looks as fresh as when the race started.  He didn't even seem to be sweating.  I was happy to see him and it was no longer a solo run and just when I needed one, a friend showed up.

“We have this one”, I say.
“Let's do this”, he answers.
We run along not stopping any more for water or gatorade. My stubby little legs are going as fast as they can to keep up with his younger, longer ones. I encourage him to go on but am glad when he doesn't.

almost there!

We cross the finish line and my finish time is 4:03 and his is 3:56. The difference is a result of us crossing the start line at different times – me more in front of the pack and he more behind. But a computer chip in our race number records the actual time we start. My time was 9 minutes faster (due in part to not having to poop) than last years. Ty also bettered his previous marathon time.

The reward is at the end. You get a medal and some chocolate milk and a lot of other foods if you want them – like ice cream drum sticks and bread slathered in honey and butter. You lay on the grass and look up at the sun and are thankful that you can do this. And like most things in life, you get by with a little help from your friends when you least expect it and need it the most. Then you plan for how you will do better next year.  You forget that you were never going to do it again.  Just like childbirth.

A few days ago I got an email from an elderly friend. I had told her about the marathon and she wrote back with the following question, raised by her husband Henry:

“Henry doesn't understand why you run so much. I told him that is what you like to do. He just doesn't understand all the purposes there are in running”.

Every year, I ask myself this same question "Why am I doing this?" I know the answer but it is hard to put into words. It is mostly because I can and running makes me appreciate my body and my good health and it is a competition with myself to keep doing it better.  I also run for many people who cannot and send them good vibes when I am out there. It is a sport that anyone without physical limitations can do with practice any time of the year and anywhere. I like how I feel when I am done and I like running with my friends on a cold winter morning or a warm day. Running has helped me with a lot of problems....grief over losses of friends and family and even my career. Running has helped me to forgive myself for my humanness and to feel less invisible. It helps me to remember not to give up on myself even if others sometimes did.

I know someday I won't be able to do it anymore but for now I will keep on running.   I can look forward to next year and prepare for some great winter runs.

PS:  I had tons of problems with the formatting of this post....so if you saw it in google reader it probably looked a lot different than the final one.