Let’s get the details out of the way. Right now.
5:58:16, a 13:40 pace
121/212, 57%
I’ve started to write this report a dozen times. I’m not sure that I can capture exactly what this race has been for me.
PRE-RACE: It all starts Friday, when my Mom and sister come up to be my cheer squad, and to take my sons to San Francisco for the race. We are up late…my sister helping me pack and re-pack. Getting everything laid out, then put back in.
Saturday morning comes bright and early. I wake with a stomach ache. *that kind*…I get up at 4am, go back to sleep, get up…all marathoners must know this drill. Sleep, wake, look at clock.
At 6am, I am finally packed, have my bowl of oatmeal and am driving to San Francisco, about 80 minutes away. It’s dark. I had planned on taking the BART, but switched at the last minute, and am so happy that I did. Can’t even imagine dragging luggage today.
I check into my hotel, and decide to walk over to the Expotique. 
I decide that Nike is a machine, it’s all a racket, am very cynical. I get some oxygen…I look like I’m sick here, but whatever. 
I even stand in line for an hour to get a free manicure. I look up. The poster that would inspire me the rest of the weekend. Two girls. Happy finishers.
And…the Mother Ship. NikeTown.

I’m sitting doing the manicure, and get a tweet from @anotorias, aka Jennifer, who is…in the building. We have chatted on Twitter, but we go to Macy’s to get a coffee, and spend a lot of time talking about nothing at all…racing, running, folks.

My children ride spin bikes to make a smoothie. (what?)

Just as soon as I’ve decided that it’s all a big racket, I see a crowd in front of NikeTown. I think they are all in line to go in the store. People are taking pictures. We stroll over there, and see that it’s a wall. A wall of names of people who raised money for TNT. Suddenly, I realize I’m on that wall.

And, I almost cry.
This is where it gets really boring…everyone does this…lay out their gear, the food, the stuff that goes in the fuel belt…and oddly, I’m not nervous. We go to the TNT Inspiration Dinner, which is a whole other post. I will cry. I will. We go to meet the team, and CharlieBob gives us our last instructions. He’s dead serious. One of the girls is slightly tipsy, and he seems irritated, because he has said…no alcohol! We are told to be in the lobby at 6am sharp.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
RACE DAY: I wake up at 2am. At 3:30, I’m still awake. I put on my relaxation music. It just wakes me up more. I figure, what the heck. Might as well get up. Next thing I know I wake in a sweat, and it’s 4:45am. I take a shower. 3 Alarms go off…and, it’s on.

I meet CharlieBob downstairs.

This is, literally, minutes before I am lost in the crowd. I don’t know where anyone is. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. I have my 12-14:09 orange bracelet, so I know I have to find orange. I can’t find my Mom, my sister, my kids. SpeedySasquatch, who at the 11th hour came in to coach me on my final moments last week, suggested I line up at the back of the corral. Great advice, but I can’t find the corral. Don’t even know what it looks like. Is it wood? Iron?
I turn and see my kids. The loudspeaker says something about the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society…and that Myeloma…and that’s all I hear. My mother looks at me, and says, “Did you hear that?” We weren’t sure if Myeloma was a blood cancer, supported by the LLS. My grandfather died of this in 1970. The only grandfather I will ever know, and I loved him so much. My sister got out her sharpie, and along with the other names on my arm, wrote, “Grandpa Eddy”. I will cry again, but instead, I will play this in remembrance of him. It’s a long story. Another post. (I’m the Silver Girl, in case you’re wondering)
I look to the left. There’s the corral. I have to hop in. I’m in the very front. I tell ya. It was the thrill of the day for me. The 5:30 pacer was right behind me. I didn’t even really know what a pacer did…exactly. I held signs, I snapped pictures. I watched as everyone started. Finally, 20 minutes later…we went.
RUNNING: It’s hard to describe that first mile. Overwhelmed. Crowded. Joyous. The pacer? I think to myself when she takes her first walk break…”No way. I am not walking in MILE ONE!”
At Mile Two, I joined her, and was with her until Mile Twelve. {*note: At mile 6, I knew I would finish. Jennifer ran up and with me around mile 9 or 10. (HOW COOL!) Then, the Half Marathoners split off to the side.*}
Let’s just say, my good senses overtook my pride, and I decided that if anyone could get me through this, the pacer could…and she took me to mile 12, until I had a very bad stomach ache…again. I had to use the porta-potty. So she stopped. Then, while I’m deciding what to do she yells, “5:30 pacer is leaving the bathrooms!” This just made me get OUT OF THERE.
And, I never saw her again. Just that little red sign going farther and farther away from me.
At Mile 13.1, we turn around in Golden Gate Park. I see other runners coming back, and I think…okay. This is hard now. The hills. I was prepared for the hills. I was not prepared to be alone, after running with *Deb*. She had a whole other group now, and I was lost.
I turn the corner, and out of the blue I hear, “Hey, Linda…can I run with you?” Her name is Michelle. She is from Houston. She is all supportive. SURE! I needed a partner right about then, and she was struggling…so I said, let’s do what the pacer does: Run 5 minutes, Walk 1. We did this the rest of the race…or a version of it.
We had rules: She said, I don’t run up hills. I said, I walk if I want to. Jockeying for position I guess. I had to go to the bathroom. In the woods. She says, “Go ahead, I’ll cover ya.” With this, she saved my life. Seriously. I would yell, “HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM”, which became our signal of distress.
At Mile 16, the Half Marathoners come in and Michelle says, whatever you do, don’t look right. There is my sister and my sons, and my youngest yelling…”It’s right here, you can stop RIGHT HERE!” To the right is the finish. We are at Mile 16, and have to go to the left.
I see my Mother, and want to cry…but I have no pain.
Here’s where it gets sketchy. We go out 3 miles. We go up to Lake Merced (who puts a lake by an ocean?). From mile 19-22, I am at the *Bite Me* miles. I know I will keep running, but I am having a hard time. My legs feel like lead. My stomach hurts, I’m cramping…I stop at Mile 22 and get Tylenol from the First Aid…which is exactly what I needed.
The best part of the day: Coming down from the lake, and running the last three miles. At this point, I had no music. I listened to the sound of feet, and the ocean. Beautiful. Zen.
Several times, people from TNT come out and run with me. Michelle waits, but then I tell her she needs to go. I need her to go. She has done a great service to me, and I want her to finish strong. I don’t even care how I do…but I look at my watch, and if I keep running, I can make 26.2 miles in under 6 hours.
I hear my sister yelling. My kids are running up with me on the sides. Taking pictures. I see my Mother. Again. I know she is proud of me.
I am so close. I start to sprint. I call up Granny in heaven, who doesn’t even need to give me that push again…but she does…and I thank her (again, another post). I am vaguely aware that Michelle has turned around to look at me and cheer me in.
I sprint. I remember the times in Jr. High when I ran with my dad. The times on the track team when I’m last, and my family is in the stands waiting for me. I remember my Dad yelling to sprint on our street. And, I am sprinting.
I look up at the clock. I make it under 6 hours. I get a blue box from a man in a tuxedo, which seriously was fabulous, but I couldn’t see a thing. I take the box, and I cannot move. People are hugging. I don’t even know what to do.
Michelle comes up to me. I hug her and say “Thanks Michelle!” She says, “that’s not my name…I have a really hard name, so it’s easier to say Michelle.” This makes me laugh, and then I cry like a baby. A total stranger. Who ran with me over half of the race. Who pulled me when I wanted to stop.
Her name is Najat.
I cry. I’ve done it…but not alone.
More to come later…when I can process what this means to me…but I think I’ve found my race. It’s the Marathon. It is.
Like this:
Be the first to like this post.