I hope everyone had a spectacular 4th of July weekend. Thanks to those of you who sent birthday money. Every little bit helps! In January, I signed up for my first marathon. I thought it would be not only a memorable way to spend my 29th birthday, but also something amazing to participate in during my Peace Corps service.
I also thought I'd have plenty of time to train. What I did NOT take into consideration was the high altitude, the uneven terrain, the knee-breaking downhills which translate to killer uphills, the lack of nutrition in my diet, the onslaught of intestinal problems, the yellow-mucus flu I can't shake, the sports injuries without the aid of my local running store (there are no Fleet Feet's anywhere around), and spraining my ankle in May. That was the last time I ran. Two months ago. I hadn't gotten in the long runs that are critical in training for a marathon, since the mileage increases week by week. In essence, I had cut out the entire second half of training...the more important half. I had given up on the idea of the marathon, but still wanted to attend so I could support the other runners. Right before I left for the coast, I ran into someone who asked me how my training was going. I said non-existent. I wouldn't be running the marathon. He said I should just try because I can. He was in a bicycle accident a while back and is trying to regain the full use of his body. Okay, so try because I "can"? I laughed because at that point 3 days before the marathon, I couldn't run 1 mile without stopping. Let alone 26.2 miles. (42 kilometers)
I celebrated my birthday on Friday July 3rd with some friends. Perhaps there was too much "celebration" involved, but what did it matter if I wasn't going to run? Saturday I arrived in Pacasmayo and saw tons of other PC volunteers. Talking with three guys who were also signed up for the whole marathon, they claimed they were unable to properly train as well. Then I figured that even if it took me 9 hours of walking & jogging, I could eventually finish. Technically. We made bets amongst the four of us. Who would finish first, who would vomit, who would cry, and who would be pulled off the course for medical attention.
We sat through the race meeting, learning about the course terrain and aid stations. Then I heard horrible news. Course closes at 2:30pm. That meant 6 hour cut-off. Fear set in, and I wanted to add "First to be swept off the course for not finishing in time" to our runner's bet. At least I was feeling like I'd win for first to vomit. I have never felt so scared. This race was in the middle of the desert, with less than 40 marathoners. I pictured me and the sand. Nothing more.
Sunday arrives and my stomach is churning. We eat breakfast, get ready, and assemble at the race start. I see so many friends preparing for the 5k, 10k, or 21k. Yet there I was, only female amongst 3 male friends about to attempt 42 kilometers. What had I gotten myself into?
The race starts and within 20 minutes I am running alone. I can't keep up even though the coastal air is thick and the temperature cool. At each aid station, I am happy to see familiar faces handing out water and food. I was actually having fun! My iPod was blasting and I was taking it easy. Whenever a video camera was filming, I did something silly. "Marathons can be fun!" is what I was portraying.
Then I hit kilometer 11. So early in the race, yet I was thinking my legs couldn't go on. I passed all my friends who had finished their short races, and realized I still had 5 hours to go. Why was I doing this to myself? Running alone with wind and sand stinging me, when I could be chilling at the beach with my friends? Yet I was still having fun. Everyone was clapping and cheering as I shuffled by. I couldn't help but smile. Maybe I was a little insane at that point too.
At the half-marathon mark, the turn-around point, I finally saw some other runners coming back on the return leg. I hadn't seen other runners in hours! I kept going. And going. And going. Almost 6 hours since I started, I was heading towards the finish line, holding hands with one of my best friends, Tyler, and yelling simultaneously, "ANCA$H IS BETTER!!"
Without training, I finished ahead of other runners, and under the cut-off time. Thanks to Tyler for keeping me going. During the race, and during the last 10 months in Peru. His presence will be missed, but we know there are bigger and better things for him in the states. Thanks for your videos, your friendship, and the positive light you shone on everyone. This one's dedicated to Tyler Brown.
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