Once upon a time, was a girly-girl. A certified non-athlete. A girl apparently blessed with a fantastic metabolism, who could maintain an off-the-rack size 6 (in pants) on a diet of beer, cigarettes, and whatever her waitressing job du-jour featured on their menu at employee prices. Throw in a bag of chips and a full-sugar Dr. Pepper for breakfast, and you have the makings of a champion!
Then girl met boy, and fell in love. As her love grew, her metabolism shrunk. Boy married girl, and suddenly there were 2 boys! :) Four kids later, the girl was an overblown version of her former self.
So, one day the girl (who you might guess is ME!) looked in the mirror and said, "Enough is enough" and joined the Y. Sixty-plus pounds later, she (I!) had uncovered her figure (albeit rearranged) and discovered a new hobby: Running.
That love of running and an innate insanity led to the first marathon in Disney in January of 2005. At the conclusion of the marathon in 2005, our heroine decided that there would never, ever, ever be a marathon in her future. Period. End of story. By definition, one completed marathon = a marathoner. Deed done. Movin' on.
Which brings us to - I don't know. I guess the same point that brings a mother who swears in the R (recovery) room of the LDR that she will never again birth a child but yet brings herself to give that child siblings. Eventually the pain fades away and nothing remains but the accomplishment, the happiness, the glory, the reward.
So I did - I went back for more. I set my sights on the Country Music Marathon. In that I am a long-time country music fan and had converted my husband to love the music too, to me it seemed natural. When my sister and her husband moved to TN, it was inevitable....
I "announced" I was running the thing long before I signed up... and then I signed up. And then I talked like I really was going to do it - really, really! And then - I started training. I trained alone, I trained with my local running club, I trained in my head, and sometimes I skipped training altogether. I created a schedule for myself and tried to stick to it... I beat myself up when I didn't, and puffed up when I did.
I added a new regimen to my workouts - a full-body, two-time-a-week weight training class. It is based on a similar routine as Bill Philips'; which is to say, you work each major muscle group to fatigue. I do believe that this was as beneficial to my training as my crack-o'dawn Saturday morning long runs.
As happens, life moved along quickly, and suddenly it was April 21, 2007. One week before the Nashville Country Music Marathon. Ready or not, here we come... trained or not trained! At one week out, there was not one thing more I could do to be prepared. And believe me, I was sure I was under-prepared.
We left our younger children with my in-laws and headed out with the twins in the dark to TN, to my sister's home to spend our weekend. After a fun Thursday catching up and introducing our dogs to each other, we retired fairly early. My poor brother-in-law: Knowing that Thursday night's sleep was essential to Saturday, he slept fitfully. :( I was more fortunate - the bed assigned to us was absolutely PERFECT and I was out before my head hit the pillow.
Friday was the Expo, which we always love. The CMM Expo was far too small for the crowd of 30,000+ participants and caused the Expo to be a disappointment. Mission accomplished, though: We gathered our race bibs and goodie bags and a bit of information that would become essential the following day ... the low-down on the course drink, Accelerade.
At an info clinic, the leader asked how many of us had trained with Accelerade, and a paltry few raised their hands. He then announced that it was a 4:1 carb:protein mix and to be careful with it. He advised that it be diluted if not avoided, and suggested we carry what we'd trained with on the route. We took careful note.
The next morning found us staring out the car window at a sea of red tail-lights. Despite our early departure time, we were dangerously close to missing the start altogether. It took us an hour from my sister's home to get to the exit for Nashville; another hour to get to the parking lot where the shuttles awaited frantic participants to bring them to the starting line. Our driver - Chuck - dropped us off and we headed straight to a shuttle (fortunate to be able to sit down) and were dropped at a scenic park, lined with far too few Porta-lets. FAR TOO FEW. Our efforts to hydrate well were met with 40-minute+ lines to use over-used porta potties with no toilet paper and intolerable conditions. Though we were corralled in 12 and 13, by the time we joined the start waves, we were among those coralled in 22. Fortunately our nervous energy was spent with the stress of the traffic and bathroom lines. Arriving at the starting line brought on more relief than anxiety...
Our wave started, 42 minutes into the race. We started our descent into the Music City and wondered at the crowds before us and behind us. I called Chuck to tell him we were just starting and he told me he'd see me around mile 1.5. He was a welcome sight as I dropped off an annoying water bottle as he was our mobile provisions unit. (The night before the race, we used window-chalk to label our van windows with our names and destination. His read, "Professional Spectator" and he is, underpaid though he might be. He has the race spectator/support person/pack horse thing DOWN. He rocks, and he was a lifesaver.)
I ran with my brother-in-law a bit, until nature called for more respectable porta-potties. He ran on, and we each ran alone from that point, though I was happy to encounter him along the course a couple of times later. I had decided that I was going to split the race into several parts - 13.1 (a half, which I do fairly easily and quite comfortably), then to mile 18 (which I had spotted on our there-and-back course) and then the 10k of mile 20 to mile 26.2 (I'd turn that into a 5k at mile 23). At 13.1, I checked my watch and miscalculated my time as 2:20. I was happy with that (I was wrong; I was 2:30 in). Miles 13.1 - 17 went easily - but then I took some Accelerade. My system revolted, and miles 17, 18, and 19 became the Job Johnny Tour. Chuck and the boys saw Happy Kathryn until mile 19.something, when her growling, hissing counterpart limped up one of the city's MOUNTAINS and demanded her own sports drink from the bag o'provisions.
The course then led from the prettiest parts of the city into the dregs, where cars actually drove ONTO the route if an officer so much as turned his head a degree or two. !!! It became fairly treacherous, and it would seem that the approaching Shelby park would be a welcome sight for we pedestrians. And it would be, if it were not morale-busting. On approach to the park, I saw mile marker 25 - yee haw - the end is near!! Yet, I was only approaching 21 myself. The ease by which the initial miles clicked by was not with me now - my mile-by-mile approach had dwindled down to block-by-block, tree-by-tree, foot-by-foot. 25 miles was too much of an effort away, and yet still 1.2 long, hateful miles to the finish and blessed end of the torture. Morale, meet toilet. I was done.
So I rang up my number-one cheerleader, and said, "I am at mile 23, I am miserable, my morale is gone, please help me." He said, "You are a 5k from the finish, you are strong, you could walk in and make good time, you can do it." Initially, it didn't work, and I must've had such a scowl that it brought a medical worker running toward me asking if I were okay. I was not - not mentally, anyway. There was something about that park - something about the long loop that encircled a beautiful pond but allowed a participant to see where she was going - so, so far away, so out of reach, so discouraging. And then I thought what I think during a race: The faster you run, the sooner the hell ends, MOVE IT.
And so I did - ran, ran, walked. Ran, ran, walked. The water stop at 23.5 miles also offered beer by the Harriers ("the drinking club with a running problem") and I was damn near obliged to partake being that I was wearing my "will run for beer" singlet. (I hustled through this water-stop - apparently my kick was there when beer was in sight).
Again, I ran with the "just get to that hydrant", "just to that mailbox", "just to that sign" mentality and in my haze stumbled onto the Citgo guys, who now I :HEART:. They were offering water (which was really unnecessary) but the words they said were like a salve to my tired, burning mind and body:
GO AROUND THE CORNER, AND YOU WILL SEE THE FINISH.
I rounded the corner and they were not lying - it really was the finish. Mile 26 (once again I choked, once again I feared hyperventilating) and then .2 miles to done. .2 miles where my legs found lost speed, my face found a lost smile, and my heart remembered why I had started this journey in the first place: TO FINISH.
(Hey, and I broke 5 hours! :) Official time: 4:59:55, LOL).
Am I happy with my time? No, not really. I'd hoped for a 4-4:30 marathon, and thought on some level I was capable of it. Truth be told, I didn't train properly for that finish, and I underestimated the hills of good ol' Nashville, TN. I felt somewhat vindicated when the winner said on TV (for all to hear!), "That was a tough course!" :) It is what it is, and time is important on a lot of levels, but finishing is even more important. There is something to be said for landing a spot as a Boston Qualifier (a dream I have myself!) but there is something also to be said for running for 5+ hours straight. It's not an easy thing to accomplish - the ability to persevere through pain, discomfort, or discouragement. To set a goal and work long-term - and then short-term - to achieve it. We may not all be winners, but there is happiness to be found among the mid-packers and the back-packers... anyone who crosses that finish line, who sets that goal and achieves it, and who perseveres despite hardship, or loss of morale, or whatever life throws in the way may not even be close to winning, but in our hearts, that medal is a badge of honor, a testament to fortitude, and a life-changing experience.
Will I do this again? I can say without hesitation, YES, because the Empire that is the Diz has already grasped my entry fee for the Goofy "Race and a Half". Will I do Nashville again? Chuck says yes, cheerfully yelling, "See ya next year!" as we pull out of my sister's and brother-in-law's driveway barely 24 hours past the race start (as I protest that I'll be there as a spectator -- only).
I think the same mentality that brought us to be the happy parents of four wonderful children will bring us back to marathon starting lines over and over again... eventually the pain wanes and the glory remains, and it's worth it. It's hard, but it's worth it.
Then girl met boy, and fell in love. As her love grew, her metabolism shrunk. Boy married girl, and suddenly there were 2 boys! :) Four kids later, the girl was an overblown version of her former self.
So, one day the girl (who you might guess is ME!) looked in the mirror and said, "Enough is enough" and joined the Y. Sixty-plus pounds later, she (I!) had uncovered her figure (albeit rearranged) and discovered a new hobby: Running.
That love of running and an innate insanity led to the first marathon in Disney in January of 2005. At the conclusion of the marathon in 2005, our heroine decided that there would never, ever, ever be a marathon in her future. Period. End of story. By definition, one completed marathon = a marathoner. Deed done. Movin' on.
Which brings us to - I don't know. I guess the same point that brings a mother who swears in the R (recovery) room of the LDR that she will never again birth a child but yet brings herself to give that child siblings. Eventually the pain fades away and nothing remains but the accomplishment, the happiness, the glory, the reward.
So I did - I went back for more. I set my sights on the Country Music Marathon. In that I am a long-time country music fan and had converted my husband to love the music too, to me it seemed natural. When my sister and her husband moved to TN, it was inevitable....
I "announced" I was running the thing long before I signed up... and then I signed up. And then I talked like I really was going to do it - really, really! And then - I started training. I trained alone, I trained with my local running club, I trained in my head, and sometimes I skipped training altogether. I created a schedule for myself and tried to stick to it... I beat myself up when I didn't, and puffed up when I did.
I added a new regimen to my workouts - a full-body, two-time-a-week weight training class. It is based on a similar routine as Bill Philips'; which is to say, you work each major muscle group to fatigue. I do believe that this was as beneficial to my training as my crack-o'dawn Saturday morning long runs.
As happens, life moved along quickly, and suddenly it was April 21, 2007. One week before the Nashville Country Music Marathon. Ready or not, here we come... trained or not trained! At one week out, there was not one thing more I could do to be prepared. And believe me, I was sure I was under-prepared.
We left our younger children with my in-laws and headed out with the twins in the dark to TN, to my sister's home to spend our weekend. After a fun Thursday catching up and introducing our dogs to each other, we retired fairly early. My poor brother-in-law: Knowing that Thursday night's sleep was essential to Saturday, he slept fitfully. :( I was more fortunate - the bed assigned to us was absolutely PERFECT and I was out before my head hit the pillow.
Friday was the Expo, which we always love. The CMM Expo was far too small for the crowd of 30,000+ participants and caused the Expo to be a disappointment. Mission accomplished, though: We gathered our race bibs and goodie bags and a bit of information that would become essential the following day ... the low-down on the course drink, Accelerade.
At an info clinic, the leader asked how many of us had trained with Accelerade, and a paltry few raised their hands. He then announced that it was a 4:1 carb:protein mix and to be careful with it. He advised that it be diluted if not avoided, and suggested we carry what we'd trained with on the route. We took careful note.
The next morning found us staring out the car window at a sea of red tail-lights. Despite our early departure time, we were dangerously close to missing the start altogether. It took us an hour from my sister's home to get to the exit for Nashville; another hour to get to the parking lot where the shuttles awaited frantic participants to bring them to the starting line. Our driver - Chuck - dropped us off and we headed straight to a shuttle (fortunate to be able to sit down) and were dropped at a scenic park, lined with far too few Porta-lets. FAR TOO FEW. Our efforts to hydrate well were met with 40-minute+ lines to use over-used porta potties with no toilet paper and intolerable conditions. Though we were corralled in 12 and 13, by the time we joined the start waves, we were among those coralled in 22. Fortunately our nervous energy was spent with the stress of the traffic and bathroom lines. Arriving at the starting line brought on more relief than anxiety...
Our wave started, 42 minutes into the race. We started our descent into the Music City and wondered at the crowds before us and behind us. I called Chuck to tell him we were just starting and he told me he'd see me around mile 1.5. He was a welcome sight as I dropped off an annoying water bottle as he was our mobile provisions unit. (The night before the race, we used window-chalk to label our van windows with our names and destination. His read, "Professional Spectator" and he is, underpaid though he might be. He has the race spectator/support person/pack horse thing DOWN. He rocks, and he was a lifesaver.)
I ran with my brother-in-law a bit, until nature called for more respectable porta-potties. He ran on, and we each ran alone from that point, though I was happy to encounter him along the course a couple of times later. I had decided that I was going to split the race into several parts - 13.1 (a half, which I do fairly easily and quite comfortably), then to mile 18 (which I had spotted on our there-and-back course) and then the 10k of mile 20 to mile 26.2 (I'd turn that into a 5k at mile 23). At 13.1, I checked my watch and miscalculated my time as 2:20. I was happy with that (I was wrong; I was 2:30 in). Miles 13.1 - 17 went easily - but then I took some Accelerade. My system revolted, and miles 17, 18, and 19 became the Job Johnny Tour. Chuck and the boys saw Happy Kathryn until mile 19.something, when her growling, hissing counterpart limped up one of the city's MOUNTAINS and demanded her own sports drink from the bag o'provisions.
The course then led from the prettiest parts of the city into the dregs, where cars actually drove ONTO the route if an officer so much as turned his head a degree or two. !!! It became fairly treacherous, and it would seem that the approaching Shelby park would be a welcome sight for we pedestrians. And it would be, if it were not morale-busting. On approach to the park, I saw mile marker 25 - yee haw - the end is near!! Yet, I was only approaching 21 myself. The ease by which the initial miles clicked by was not with me now - my mile-by-mile approach had dwindled down to block-by-block, tree-by-tree, foot-by-foot. 25 miles was too much of an effort away, and yet still 1.2 long, hateful miles to the finish and blessed end of the torture. Morale, meet toilet. I was done.
So I rang up my number-one cheerleader, and said, "I am at mile 23, I am miserable, my morale is gone, please help me." He said, "You are a 5k from the finish, you are strong, you could walk in and make good time, you can do it." Initially, it didn't work, and I must've had such a scowl that it brought a medical worker running toward me asking if I were okay. I was not - not mentally, anyway. There was something about that park - something about the long loop that encircled a beautiful pond but allowed a participant to see where she was going - so, so far away, so out of reach, so discouraging. And then I thought what I think during a race: The faster you run, the sooner the hell ends, MOVE IT.
And so I did - ran, ran, walked. Ran, ran, walked. The water stop at 23.5 miles also offered beer by the Harriers ("the drinking club with a running problem") and I was damn near obliged to partake being that I was wearing my "will run for beer" singlet. (I hustled through this water-stop - apparently my kick was there when beer was in sight).
Again, I ran with the "just get to that hydrant", "just to that mailbox", "just to that sign" mentality and in my haze stumbled onto the Citgo guys, who now I :HEART:. They were offering water (which was really unnecessary) but the words they said were like a salve to my tired, burning mind and body:
GO AROUND THE CORNER, AND YOU WILL SEE THE FINISH.
I rounded the corner and they were not lying - it really was the finish. Mile 26 (once again I choked, once again I feared hyperventilating) and then .2 miles to done. .2 miles where my legs found lost speed, my face found a lost smile, and my heart remembered why I had started this journey in the first place: TO FINISH.
(Hey, and I broke 5 hours! :) Official time: 4:59:55, LOL).
Am I happy with my time? No, not really. I'd hoped for a 4-4:30 marathon, and thought on some level I was capable of it. Truth be told, I didn't train properly for that finish, and I underestimated the hills of good ol' Nashville, TN. I felt somewhat vindicated when the winner said on TV (for all to hear!), "That was a tough course!" :) It is what it is, and time is important on a lot of levels, but finishing is even more important. There is something to be said for landing a spot as a Boston Qualifier (a dream I have myself!) but there is something also to be said for running for 5+ hours straight. It's not an easy thing to accomplish - the ability to persevere through pain, discomfort, or discouragement. To set a goal and work long-term - and then short-term - to achieve it. We may not all be winners, but there is happiness to be found among the mid-packers and the back-packers... anyone who crosses that finish line, who sets that goal and achieves it, and who perseveres despite hardship, or loss of morale, or whatever life throws in the way may not even be close to winning, but in our hearts, that medal is a badge of honor, a testament to fortitude, and a life-changing experience.
Will I do this again? I can say without hesitation, YES, because the Empire that is the Diz has already grasped my entry fee for the Goofy "Race and a Half". Will I do Nashville again? Chuck says yes, cheerfully yelling, "See ya next year!" as we pull out of my sister's and brother-in-law's driveway barely 24 hours past the race start (as I protest that I'll be there as a spectator -- only).
I think the same mentality that brought us to be the happy parents of four wonderful children will bring us back to marathon starting lines over and over again... eventually the pain wanes and the glory remains, and it's worth it. It's hard, but it's worth it.
posted by Sarah Kathryn at 4/29/2007 11:26:00 PM
5 comments
