26.too many

If I could rename this post, I'd call it 1.too many, because running is one of my least favorite activities (right there with dentist appointments). My feelings toward running stem from only two experiences in high school. Running the mile in gym class was always a very mediocre task. One year my school organized a "Fun Run," a deceitfully named event to pledge money every lap a student ran. I don't think I ran much more than a mile or so, but I still felt as if my lungs would burst, I would vomit, or something tragic would happen. I decided right then and there that running was simply not my thing.

Fast forward 10 years after my spinal fusion, and my lung capacity has improved. Friends and I would participate in the fun races where you dress up in costumes or get glow-in-the-dark powder thrown in your eyes. 5K's and 10K's are doable with little to no training. Suddenly running became my passion. I simply can't get enough of it. (That's where you thought this post was going. But truthfully, I don't hate it any less.)

Then my life changed one day as I sat on my bed looking through a pre-written bucket list book from my friend. Skydiving, done. Hot air balloon, done. Parasailing, done. Be in a musical, done. Ref certification, done. A bunch of other random things, done. Then there it was: "run a marathon." If I was going to complete this book, I determined that I wasn't getting any younger, so this was the year. And just like that, I was signed up to run the Chicago marathon! 

The situation was perfect (other than the running part). I joined the Ronald McDonald House Charities team, easily raised the required $1,750 ($2,400 to be exact!), and was treated like royalty for the race. 

What I didn't consider, however, was the training. It was daunting after barely finishing a couple mile run to think about completing an entire marathon. There were days when I was so busy after a day of teaching and coaching and a 12-mile run waited for me. There were days when I didn't feel well, or the rain was pouring, the sun was blazing, or the wind was pushing against me. It was so hard. The day I ran the 20-miler, I began at 4am and ended up vomiting blood and almost passing out afterwards. There were several runs, short and long, that I got sick after. One dark evening, my 12-mile run outside ended with by tripping over the uneven sidewalk and scraping my hands and knees. I had 1/4 of a mile left. But I finished. 

There were also days when I unexpectedly met fellow RMHC runners along the way or saw some of my students in the forest preserve. Days that I felt so accomplished afterwards for a decent time or simply that I completed the run without stopping. Days when the improvement in my running almost seemed worth the effort. 

Then the big day came. I dreaded every second of it. It was wonderful having so much support from friends and family who came to watch, those who texted to cheer me on, and those who donated. My goal was to run at least 21 without stopping. I had done 20, so I knew I could. And if I could do 21, there was a chance I could do most or all of it. 

The experience was amazing. The RMHC tent was basically a party, which helped calm my fears. The people who stood along the streets cheering on complete strangers brought so much distraction and entertainment. (Some of the signs were hilarious.) The ambiance easily brought me to 9 miles and I was still feeling fantastic. Once I reached the halfway point, the run got much more difficult. Chinatown is one of my favorite places in Chicago, except when you've been running roughly 18 miles or so and the smell is completely nauseating. 

Unfortunately, I didn't make my goal. I felt so defeated and completely disappointed in myself. But I finished. I had to walk on and off for the last bit. Extreme pain in my feet, hips, back (and strangely, my arm??) brought tears to my eyes many times during the last stretch. When my running app told me I was around mile 18, I was discouraged to pass the 16-mile marker. But thanks to my friends along the way and the strangers who looked me in the eye and said "YOU got this! YOU can do it," I finished the 26.2. I felt so sick afterwards, but I didn't throw up this time! 

Do I regret it? Not a chance. I learned patience like I have never experienced before. I learned not to get ahead of myself and literally take it one step at a time. I learned that when I feel like I cannot push any farther, my body is capable of going on. I learned consistency, and getting out there when you don't want to. I learned to keep a flash light on me when it's dark outside. I learned that running makes your legs bigger. I learned not to run my 20-miler before Sunday morning church because I’ll be throwing up blood and passing out. I re-learned that running is not for me. And I learned how far an encouraging look, text, hug, or simply the presence and support of friends/family can carry you through some rough patches. 

Would I do it again? Never.