The Marathon Marathon

In short, I did it! I ran (aka survived by any means possible) a marathon, and no one can ever take that away from me. I am so happy I did it, and so happy it's over. The day couldn't have been worse for a first marathon (or a third or fourth or nineteenth marathon), but we'll get to that in a second.

After dinner Saturday night, my nerves really reached a climax when I realized that the bad weather wasn't going to pass; the clouds were not going to part and the birds were not going to sing. Dallas was experiencing an unseasonable cold snap (~43 degrees), and there was an 80-90% chance of ran all day Sunday. Ponchos and warm clothes were not just an option but a necessity.

I'll have to do another post on the unbelievable bad luck that comes with being a Still. It's remarkable, really.

Anyways, Sunday morning, bright and early, I donned my bottom layer.

This was my first time wearing these last-minute-purchase arm warmers. Everything else about this ensem is what I've been training in for months and months.

Dee came to our hotel room around 6:45 and we prepared to leave, decked out in our cold weather duds.

Excited, nervous, both of knowing this was not the way our first marathons were supposed to start.

Fortunately we were only a few miles from the race and neither of us needed to do anything other than get in line, so we didn't leave the hotel until 7. By 7:50 we were in our corral, also known as the very end of the line.

Being at the back leaves a lot of time to take pictures and do some last minute freaking out strategizing.

That yellow sign 30 minutes down the way was our starting point.

We discovered wearing our hats over the poncho hood would keep us a little drier...

...and add a little panache to our overall ensembles.

Finally, finally - we got to the start. And then it immediately started raining.

It was really cold. There was wind. And the rain wasn't gentle or indecisive. After all my training, even just getting to five miles felt a lot harder than it should. I paced to conserve energy, but my body was working so hard just to keep me warm that my energy plummeted what seemed like way too early.

Still, I kept reminding myself that this was my first, and that if nothing else, I wanted to enjoy it and soak it all in. We fell in with the 5-hour-finisher group, and I stuck with them until mile 18.

I told myself that the balloons on that 5-hour-finisher sign meant we were at a party, we were having fun. I CHOSE to do this (even if I didn't choose the climate).

This was the last picture I took before weaving my way into the finish line. It took all my energy and resolve and dwindling willpower to keep going; I surprised myself by actually having to FORCE myself to finish. At one point, after my only portapotty stop, my body was so cold that I wasn't even sure if my pants were all the way up, and honestly, I didn't really even care. I just pulled my poncho back over me and kept going.

At mile 18, I had to start taking walk breaks. My spirit was broken and my knees, ankles, toes and balls of my feet hurt so bad. My arm was spasming - something that definitely never happened in training. I called my parents and told them to meet me at mile 20. This gave me a surge of energy that actually backfired because I made it to mile 20 before my parents could get there.

Mile 21, still no parents. I wanted to quit.

Mile 22, still nothing. I really, really just wanted to stop and hold a hot cup of something.

I don't know what compelled spectators to come out in weather like what we were experiencing, but every single time someone yelled, "Way to go, Amy!" or "Looking great, Amy!" or anything of that sort, my eyes welled up. It made me want to start going to races to cheer others on. It was huge.

Coming up on 23, I made out what looked to be the shape of my parents. I lifted a soaking, sleeved hand and waved, and my dad waved back. I started crying and used the remainder of my running energy to shuffle over to them. I cried harder. More than anything, I was just so cold. So, so cold and drenched. Those sleeves were so wet that they were making me colder by the minute. My parents were both talking at once and hugging me and I was totally disoriented. Finally my dad ripped off my water-logged running hat and pulled his huge, warm, dry hat all the way over my head. I could barely see, but I held up three frozen fingers: three more miles. They rotated me in the direction I needed to go, and off I went.

I straight-up speed walked those last three miles. My entire lower body hurt so bad that I tried to walk 10 steps, run 20, but even that didn't work. I knew I wanted to cross the finish line running anyway I could, so I power-walked and just prayed for it to be over.

After what seemed like an eternity, I passed the 26 mile marker. I mustered the last of my energy, fueled by what little pride I had left, and I trotted towards the finish line, keeping my eyes peeled for my parents. Right before the end, I heard my dad yell "Amy! Amy!" I looked over, beamed and pointed at him. I crossed, let a cute boy wrap me in a blanket and made my way to my parents.

I was so weary, delirious, cold and emotional that I walked away without my medal. Damn. But I still don't really even care. The medal is nothing compared to this feeling in my head and heart (plus I'm going to have the medal shipped to me, haha).

2011 Dallas White Rock Marathon-from-Hell Finisher!!

So much pain but so much satisfaction. :)

 

The big warm hat was my saving grace. I'm pretty sure I would have died if I hadn't seen my parents at mile 23.

What a day! My parents and I celebrated with some Chuy's that night. I drank two Sangrias with my meal.

My heroes! They saved me!

All in all, I wish the circumstances had been different, but I'm so happy the day I've been dreaming of and training for has come and gone, and I made it to the other side in one piece. I think my time was between 5:15 and 5:30. Maybe a sub 5 is in my future, but I accomplished what I wanted for my first marathon: I finished and absorbed every moment and sensation. Praise the Lord!

My cheerleading squad was really glad the whole thing was over. It was apparently a very exhausting responsibility.

Cheerleading. Not for the faint of heart.

Pure Life!

Usually as I'm guzzling down 20 ounces of straight up vegetable juice, I mumble between gags, "I'm drinking pure life. Pure life. Puuure life." Knowing I'm drinking vegetables in their purest, rawest form helps with the taste. A little. By the last ounce or two, I'm usually totally disgusted with pure life and swear it off forever, or at least until the next day.  

I will say, my vegetable juice never looks like this:

Aww so pretty and uniformly colored...

Mine has a more distinct look (and taste, I'm sure):

What's wrong with yo' juice, gurl?

A 20 ounce glass of this pure life concoction contains the following:

Huge beefsteak tomato, couple carrots, 2 huge celery stalks, a bell pepper, and cucumber. (I randomly forgot to get spinach at the store, but there's usually a big handful of those guys in there as well.)

Really, the best way to handle the pure life beast is just to dump it in a pretty glass and bottoms up.

Chug. Chug. Chug. Puuuuuuuure life.

Being that I am not a huge vegetable eater - unless they are swimming in Ranch - this is the best way for me to get those delicious vitmains and minerals that come wrapped in not-so-delicious veggie packages. I have been downing extra large doses this week hoping it will somehow make the impending pain of the marathon less terrible.

...Have I mentioned it's supposed to be 40 degrees with a 40% chance of rain on Sunday in Dallas? Go ahead and graduate my "excited nerves" to full on "anxiety ulcers." Two more days!

The Ones I Love

Thanksgiving, after all, is a word of action. W.J. Cameron



Yes, my mom always looks like this in pictures. No, she's not drunk (not that we knew of).

The Iguana Grill in Austin was amazing! So chill - a perfect place for a family Thanksgiving.

Reveries

This summer, in Colorado, Travis, Nessa and I went to Coldstone Creamery every weekend, and usually I went at least once during the week too. There weren’t chain restaurants up there, except for fast food and Coldstone.

Ice cream has always been my Achilles’ heel, my greatest weakness, and from May to September I completely surrendered to its power. What a glorious defeat!

One night, towards the end of my time there, we were going into Coldstone, and I slammed – crushed – my thumb in the car door. It wasn’t flat against the car, either; it was perpendicular, meaning my nail was being flattened from the back cuticle to the front end, not side to side, if that makes any sense. Painful, just imagine very, very painful.

Travis and Nessa had already gone ahead inside, so I was standing there, trying to yank my squashed thumb out of the door, not realizing for too long that the door was locked. By the time I had unlocked the door, I was in fainting territory.
I hobbled into Coldstone, got some cold water, plopped my throbbing thumb in and tried to stay conscious. It was the worst digit pain I’ve ever felt in my life!

Needless to say the thing turned purple and rather than release the pressure that night, I went to bed as best I could. The next morning, I let someone heat up a needle till it was screaming-hot and puncture my nail bed to release the blood and ooze. One word for the moment of contact: geyser. Yuck!

My point is this: six months later my poor thumb nail is not back to normal. It’s been through all different colors, shapes and sizes, and it’s almost there, but I fear it will never quite be the same. All that ice cream caught up to me and has finally made its permanent mark. Blast you, Coldstone, and your delicious Cheesecake Fantasy temptations!

Final thought: I am always thinking about food. Tonight is my parent's ritualistic Thursday night Mexican food night. Since I'm living with them now, they have to invite me. I LOVE MEXICAN FOOD! Therefore, Thursday night is one of the most anticipated nights of the week for me! Yummmm.