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May 11, 2006
My First Marathon
I decided I wanted to run a marathon when I was 18. My mother was strictly against it, "You're still growing! You're going to break yourself in half! You could die!" None of us knew anything about marathoning, including me. However, I knew that I wasn't going to die, though, so I decided to do it. My mother refused to come to the marathon, because she was too scared to watch me run. So, my dad made the 8 hour road trip alone from Minnesota to Illinois to watch me race.
He and I came up with a plan for him to see me 3 times along the course and at the finish line. My dad was never stellar at driving in unfamiliar places and following maps, so I thought it was a distinct possibility that he would get lost and I wouldn't see him along the course at all. I asked him to have 3 things ready for me each time I saw him along the course: 1) chapstick, 2) orange slices, and 3) kleenex (Over the years, we laughed about my item choices because that was back when I refused to wear running shorts with little pockets that could hold things like chapstick, and when I still cared about whether my nose was running when I was racing. By the way, orange slices are still the bomb.).
I ended up seeing my dad along the course and at the finish line, as we had planned. I still have a vision in my head of my dad standing on the side of the road, holding out my various requests, talking on a big, primitive version of a cell phone to my mother, assuring her that I hadn't yet died, and smiling widely and proudly.
On this course, I experienced crashing-and-burning for the first time, starting out way too fast and shuffling the last several miles. Somewhere around mile 21, my dad had parked himself in a low spot, where he could see me come down one hill and go up the next. As I ran down the hill, I could see both my dad at the bottom and the next hill ahead. I recall thinking that I could not walk up the next hill, even though I wanted to so badly, because I wanted my dad to be proud. I gritted my teeth and smiled at him when I went by, and then continued painfully up the hill.
You should see the finish line picture of me. It's ridiculously funny. I sprinted from the point at which I could see the finish line all the way through. I don't know how far it was, but it felt like an eternity of oxygen deprivation and leg pain. When I finally finished, I felt like death had warmed over me. Apparently, I looked like it, too, judging by the photo. I had wanted to finish fast and strong, so that my dad would be proud.
In the end, he was proud. He also called me out on all of my misjudgements in that race, to help me learn from the experience. He scolded me for running too fast in the beginning miles. He told me he knew how pained I was when I went I went by at mile 21, but how he thought I was tough for gutting it out. He laughed with me about my final anaerobic sprint to the finish, and asked me if I was ever going to do that again in a marathon (I said maybe.). But, he also praised me up and down for finishing and for doing my best, given that I had run a race I knew nothing about.
I won a very silly looking engraved beer pint glass-type thing for finishing first in my age group. At 18, I only had a vague idea of what one would use this glass for, and so the accompanying stuff was much more meaningful to me. Even though it was kind of silly, I saved the glass, but packed it away in a box. In my recent moves, I rediscovered the glass, and put it in a kitchen cabinet. I returned home to Yellowstone yesterday evening. When I got home, I put the glass in the freezer and went out for a short run through a beautiful Yellowstone spring evening. After I finished, I drank a beer out of my frosty pint glass and thought about my dad. This may seem a little strange and counterintuitive to run and drink in straight succession, but I didn't much care. It made me smile about my dad.
Posted by Meghan at May 11, 2006 10:45 AM
Comments
That's a really nice post Meghan.
Posted by: Audrey at May 11, 2006 1:36 PM
Awesome story.
I'm still trying to figure out why you would need chapstick during a marathon...unless you were going to rub it on body parts other than your lips to prevent chafing...
Posted by: Alison at May 11, 2006 1:41 PM
I'm a chapstick addict. I apply chapstick at least once an hour. People who know me in person laugh at this obsession, but I don't care. I just pull out my chapstick and reapply it as they laugh. Thus, how could I run a marathon without chapstick? :)
Posted by: Meghan at May 11, 2006 2:24 PM
Thanks for sharing that story. What a nice memory of your Dad.
Posted by: Caitlin at May 11, 2006 4:04 PM
I really enjoyed your story Meghan! I like the part about the big, primitive cell phone. I can just picture it... :) Hope you have a great day!
Posted by: Beth at May 12, 2006 6:00 AM
Bottoms up! And to your health!
PS. there is an international group of very social "wilderness" runners called the Hash House Harriers (especially popular in Far East and Australia) which make it a point to have buckets of ice cold beer (and soft drinks) waiting for them at the end of their run...
Posted by: corrado giambalvo at May 12, 2006 7:18 AM
What a wonderful story!
I love to have a cold beer after running on a hot evening. It tastes so good then!
Blondie
Posted by: Blondie at May 13, 2006 12:20 PM