Marathon Monday

   When I was about 14 or 15 years old my dad's wife was a native Canadian, so even though we always made a summer trip up north this year we did it so she could renew her visa. It was a weekend in June, hotter than hell, and it was me, my sister, my dad, my step-mom, a yorkie, and a black lab piled into a Ford Expedition to make the 7 hour trip from Austin, MN to the Canadian border. We were about an hour and a half away from our goal when the car died. Like dead, dead, dead. Apparently there was an oil leak in the engine and the whole darn thing just seized up... great. An hour wait for a tow back to the closest town with a Ford dealership (Two Harbors) to get the darn thing fixed (hindsight this was way more stressful for my parents than myself). In the mean time we were given a loaner car (yeah, a 1978 Chevy Caprice with velvet interior, can you say classy??) for all 6 of us to boil in since there was no air conditioning.

Yeah, that would be the beast we were in.

   Needless to say we made it to Canada, but we were going to have to wait a day or two for the car to be fixed so we needed to get a hotel. Every. single. hotel. in. the. area. was. booked. My dad kept telling me that it was something about Grandma's Marathon weekend. Being from southern Minnesota I had no idea what the heck that was, nor did I care in my moody teen years, I just wanted to be some where that didn't involve four wheels for a few hours. We finally found a place that had a room. I remember my sister and I going to the pool and there were these long, lean, athletic looking people all over the place. Everyone seemed so excited and there was such a sense of comraderie amongst everyone that I distinctly remember at the time wanting to be apart of... even though I had absolutely no idea what was going on. This was my first marathon experience. If only 14 year old me knew where I would end up someday. When I turned 18 I moved 4 hours upstate to the Northshore of Lake Superior in Duluth and Grandma's Marathon became one of the best parts of my summers for the next 8 years.
   With Grandma's weekend and my third half marathon race coming up  I wanted to share how I got into running long distances and my experience with my first half.
   I completed my first race as an adult at age 22, it was the William A. Irvin 5k which is part of the Grandma's festivities. My friend Riley and I did it. I hadn't experienced a rush like that since playing sports in high school and I realized how much I had really missed that high. I love picking out someone in the crowd a little ways ahead of me and thinking "that bitch is next, I will beat them across the finish line". Okay... I may need to lay off the competitiveness, but I can't help it, I LOVE IT. Over the next few years I participated in several more 5ks and they started becoming a little too easy. I wanted a race that I needed to train for so I would force myself to workout on a regular basis. I was craving a challenge and had gone through some big life changes the year before and needed to change, recharge myself, and take better care of myself. So February 2012 I signed up for the lottery for the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon. Well, as it was I needed something more to motivate me to get my ass in gear and train. I did some casual runs, my longest one before the race being about 6 miles. The week of the race I was ready to back out, I didn't really have anyone to run it with and I was pretty terrified with my lack of training that I would even be able to complete the darn thing. I was talking to my same friend Riley, who had also been chosen to run the race that year, and he said he hadn't trained as much as he'd like to and was thinking about backing out too. Hearing him say that I got a spark of motivation, I mean if we had each other we could do it right?
   The night before the race I was a mess. I was forcing myself to eat even though I felt like vomiting. I kept going bi-polar from crying to excitement. I am pretty sure the boyfriend was wishing he had a horse tranquilizer for me at that point. It was real bad folks. To make matters worse he had friends who came to town that weekend and was going out to celebrate, leaving me home alone to agonize about how early I was getting up to run the most miserable 13.1 miles of my life.

The night before the race, trying out my duds.

   I woke up early, ate my breakfast, got myself dressed, and met up with Riley to walk the few blocks down to the shuttle to the starting line. It was a beautiful morning, I wish I had taken pictures but I was too worried about my, at the time, ghetto phone dying before I got to the finish line (which it did) the temperature was just right, it was sunny, and the slight breeze was at our backs. When we got to the starting line all the feeling that I remembered about running shorter races came rushing back, only it is way more intense. I love the energy, I love everyone who is so passionate about something so crazy, I love that it's not something every wants to or CAN do. Still having no idea what I was in store for we did our stretches, made our last bathroom stop (hey, who knew how long it was gonna be before we got to go again), and lined up to start.

Riley and I at the start.

   The music was playing, the racers, were ready, I was pumped, and then the gun went off and we were off slowly but surely making our way along the shore of Lake Superior back to Duluth. If you are unfamiliar with the race course for Grandma's, it runs along the Scenic Highway 61 on the shore of Lake Superior. With the lake on one side and the woods on the other it was so peaceful. Riley and I kept steady at about an 11:30 minute per mile pace, both of us being capable of going faster but neither of us knowing how long we'd make it if we did.
   Around mile 6 you make it to the edge of town. I remember thinking "hey, this isn't so bad, I am almost halfway there". Once you are in town there are more people along the sides. I turned off my music and just listened, watched the spectators and other racers, and read all the great signs along the way. At this point Riley and I broke apart from eachother, he hung back a little while my adrenaline pushed me forward. I did my usual mental take down of the runners in front of me and even ended up running along with two girls for a while. Whoever those girls were they were amazing pacers for me, I wish I could thank them even though they probably wouldn't even remember who I was.
   And the crowds, marathon spectators are amazing. So many people out there at the buttcrack of dawn to cheer on friends, family, and strangers. There's no better feeling than passing thousands of people telling me I can do it. It may sound weird, but there were several times I just wanted to walk and I couldn't. I felt like I just couldn't disappoint all those strangers cheering for me.
   So on I went, getting closer to downtown Duluth watching the crowds and running along. In between mile 11 and 12 I hit my wall. I was dead. My legs were like giant anchors weighing me down. All I wanted to do was quit, I just wanted it to be over, I at least wanted to just walk. My legs never started cramping or anything they were just done working. The worst part is too at one part of the race you see where the finish line is and you have to make a loop around another mile-mile and a half to the finish line (if you have done this race before I am sure you can sympathize, as other racers had warned me of this before the race started). I just kept going. It was all I could do, I had to do it. I had to prove to myself that I could. When I finally came down the finishing straightaway I was sprinting. My mom was at home in Austin watching the fnish line streaming on her computer and said she could see my bright orange shoes hauling ass from a couple blocks away. I couldn't remember passing anyone, according to my mom I was passing anyone I could. I heard my high school soccer coach chanting in my head "finish strong, finish strong" and I was going to do just that. I ended up crossing the finish line in 2:44:16 chip time. I couldn't believe it, I walked through the finishing crowd to get my medal, tee shirt, snack and to find the boyfriend. I fighting back tears the entire time.

Crossing the finish line.

   Once I saw my boyfriend, I broke down in tears (like a fool. in front of everyone. womp womp). I had never been more proud of myself in my life. I never knew my body was capable of being that strong and after some of the things I had gone through in the past few years I needed to know I was strong. My goal was to simply finish the damn thing, I finished and I ran the whole thing. That was it. I was hooked. I loved it and couldn't wait to do another (once my muscles recovered anyway, I couldn't walk straight for a week). I also couldn't wait for a giant Bloody Mary either, but at least this time I had earned it.
   There you go, what finally turned me around and got me exercising on a regular basis and taking care of myself a lot better. Apparently I just need a little boost of self respect, because this past year I have been continuing to amaze myself. I have become a real runner (even going out there on freezing Minnesota mornings), a great healthy cook, I am on track to run 3 half marathons this year and a hand full of 5ks, and I even stuck to my goal of starting a blog this year. I love remembering I can do anything I put my mind to, sometimes the self doubt takes over. Everyone needs to take a minute to appreciate what they CAN do, not what they can't.

Hope my few loyal readers (hi mom) have enjoyed me pouring my heart out. Up tomorrow I will try and share my experience running my second half in Washington, D.C.
<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/8381019/?claim=9vt55vtssvp">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>