One Step At A Time
The highway was completely closed to cars and as I walked along the road I thought how once in a lifetime this was. But, the moment of excitement was fleeting. I had five miles left in the Every Women’s Marathon, on the brink of a breakdown, and completely unsure if I could finish. Even the bathrooms on this hellish stretch of the Henry S. Truman Parkway felt too daunting to venture to with the closest one down an exit ramp — that meant I would need to hike back up it post-pee. That was out of the question.
When I signed up for the run — a goal that I thought would forever collect dust on my bucket list — I felt extremely nervous but also elated and empowered. I had always loved running and fitness so when I came across the marathon in my new city of Savannah focused on encouraging more women to run and women’s health I decided that I couldn’t pass up the chance. I clicked the sign-up button one morning in my small gray cubicle, paid my non-refundable deposit, and marked my calendar that hung just behind my desk chair. I was locked in and nine months to train was very doable, said the internet. As I began training I recalled the runs that I would take with my mom biking close behind through the Vermont backroads. I had never ran more than seven miles and recently I hadn’t really been running at all. Before moving to Savannah, I lived in Austin, Texas and would occasionally drag myself through a few sticky miles but that typically was the extent of it. For some runners, this is ideal training weather for “heat training,” which helps runners perform well in warm temperatures. Heat training can also increase cardiac output, plasma value, VO2 max (or the maximum amount of oxygen your body can take in and use during exercise), and lower your internal temperature. These benefits did not impress me while running in Texas between waves of dizziness and dehydration. Being from the Northeast it was difficult to acclimate to say the least, but it wasn’t all bad. I fell in love there, discovered new foods, and explored a part of the country I had never ventured anywhere near.
I quickly began studying different training regimens, nutrition, and strength exercises that I felt worked best for my body and lifestyle. I fell into a comfortable running path through historic Savannah that weaved through my neighborhood, down Forsyth Park, through beautiful homes, and peaked at the river. I bought new headphones and supposedly long-distance running sneakers, I was ready, but also I wasn’t at all. I continued to grip my heavy drinking nights and forceful, negative self-talk that stunted my progress just as it began. After a night of too many glasses of wine I dragged myself out of bed into my running outfit, head pounding and dehydrated. With each thump against the sidewalk my head reverberated deeper into agony and my mood sank along with it. That morning, after weeks of progress, felt devastating as I barely made it through four miles. Learning the hard way was always my path of choice I suppose.
One very important thread through all of this, and still continues to be, is my connection to yoga. Learning how to encourage myself positively and to listen to my body while speaking kindly to myself was crucial. You don’t run 26 miles without pain, but how you speak to yourself throughout that process will undoubtedly mold your outcome or at least how you feel about your outcome. These lessons combined with much needed stretching were critical to me becoming a better runner. Most can claw their way through five miles, but where will your mind go at mile 10 or 20? So, it became about health and happiness for me, that was my marathon goal. I wanted to reroute my brain from toxic bashing to uplifting optimism, one painful, yet triumphant step at a time.
I woke up early, unable to sleep, and stared at the red clock projecting on my ceiling. It was still dark but believe it or not I had to be up soon. I knew that I wasn’t as ready as I needed to be. I had struggled with hamstring tightness and maybe even a pulled muscle in my leg but stubbornly ignored it. I peeled myself out of bed and hopped into my outfit that I had laid out for myself the night before. After months of training I knew exactly what worked with my stomach which was an english muffin — half with peanut butter, half with butter — and a banana. I felt antsy as I climbed into the passenger seat checking my phone battery, playlist, and snacks tucked away in my Nathan brand pack. I jumped out of the car and jogged towards the crowd in downtown Savannah as the sun lazily rose. I lined up in the 11 minute pace group surrounded by encouraging women and reminded myself that this was for health. This was for me no matter the outcome. Another runner, a marathon veteran, pulled me warmly into her prayer circle having sensed my nerves. Arms all around each other, strangers, we hoped for a good run and reminded ourselves of how strong we all are. I’m not a religious woman but I mirrored their “amen” at the end of the prayer thinking I’ll probably need all of the good vibes that I can get. And if there is a God, could you please help me out today? After our prayer, I felt the buzzing energy of feminism and I felt uplifted. I was ready to run.
If you think you’re going to run a marathon and it’s going to be just like you trained for or perhaps you have thought of every issue you could encounter then you are, and I’m so sorry to say this, very wrong. Prepare to be uncomfortable and for the pain of course — that’s to be expected — but you can’t prepare for all of the stimulation and constant pulse of adrenaline. I certainly did not expect someone to trip, fall, and end her race before hitting mile one or an all-female motorcycle gang roaring us on or the multiple marching bands that matched the pounding in my chest. I felt great, excellent even, for the first half but come midday my feet and ankles were in such excruciating pain that I could barely walk. And that’s how I found myself, tears welling in my eyes, blue sky beaming above, and small dots of runners ahead of me on the highway. Reaching 26 miles felt impossible. At that moment I knew I had probably injured my feet but I wasn’t sure — this discomfort was all part of it right? Another runner jogged next to me to chat. I discovered that chatting with your fellow running neighbors was not only normal but extremely comforting. She reminded me to just take it one step at a time. A small but powerful gesture right when I needed it most. She puttered past me and I swallowed my emerging sobs as I hobbled forward towards the next exit. Another crucial lesson in marathon training: grit. When the going gets rough, you need to move forward. I saw the exit ramp that lead to the final leg of the marathon and called on my training runs and all of the positive, motivational language that I had learned the past few months. I drifted back to the early morning yoga sessions in my guest room and remembered to relax my shoulders, breath deeply, and take inventory of my body which felt battered but resilient and I knew that I had enough left to make it to the end.
I could now spin a tale of triumphant victory that saw me run enthusiastically through a metaphorical finish line ribbon, hands waving in glee. But lets be honest shall we? These last 8 miles or so were pure agony and I cursed every step. I had moments of light — like finally getting off that highway and accepting a handful of pretzels from a little girl cheering on runners — but that was quickly dashed with the searing jolts of pain. However, I did finish. I got the medal and it hangs proudly in my kitchen. I drank my post-run beer and barely left my bed for 48-hours afterwards but I did it. It’s been almost a year since I dragged myself, one foot in front of the other, down that highway but I still look at my medal and smile knowing we all have a little bit more grit than we give ourselves credit for.
