Category Archives: Races

Last Thursday night was the Twin Cities 1 Mile.  Weekday race day, what?

Yes, I wore shorts.  Because as it stands right now, the 1 Mile is the only time of year that I’m willing to sacrifice function for fashion and run in shorts.

Yes, I wore a fleece-lined top.  Because even though last year it was something like sunny and 90, this year it was 50, overcast and windy.

But back to the race itself.  What’s the deal?  We are adults and not a high school track team.

The best way I can describe it to you is that (1) it’s an excuse to run down Nicollet Mall, (2) about 1,000 finishers get guaranteed entry into the 10 Mile in the fall which is a competitive lottery-only race (3) post-race everyone sets-up camp at one of the bars on the mall (Nicollet Mall is not a road that is open to regular traffic) so that you can watch pros run.

In short, it is very…festive.

And I was running why?  For the hell of it, really.

When I say that I had ZERO GOALS for this race, I am Not Kidding.  ended up DNS-ing the Get in Gear 10k a couple of weekends ago so I honest to God just wanted to run a pain-free mile.  Surprise-surprise, I’ve been battling tendinitis again.

The obvious inscription.

After running a bit of a warm-up with Dannon (we drove down together from Plymouth) we promptly ran into Carrisa, who was the mastermind behind this year’s Derby.

It was The Business.

And then proceeded to run into all of the other big names.  Like Kingsbury and his ultramarathoning running partner, Megan.  We’ve tweeted back and forth enough that it was really just…time.

Since some members of our little running party actually had race goals, about five minutes before race-time we wove to the front of the corral where we found quite a few members of the Minnesota R.E.D. running club (AKA Ben and His People) as well as Hannah.

We took a moment for a pre-race photo-op.

And then, as always, we were off.

The result?  7:41.3 for a PR! My old mile PR was from high school (!) and it was 7:43.  There was zero thinking and only doing.  I know that there are a lot of runners who eat that time for lunch on a daily basis, but all things considered, I am VERY proud.

Pretty much everyone we were running with shaved some serious time off, so it was fun to be able to celebrate afterward at Brit’s.  Like I said before, the post-race celebration is an essential part of this event.  I think we can all agree hoisin chicken wings and a pint are always the best recovery.

On our trek from the finish line we ran into Hannah again.

And Angie, who worked some cheering and drinking into her marathon training plan.  That’s commitment to the cause.

Once we arrived, we got down to business and settled in to watch the pros run.

And Ben engaged in some compulsive picture-ruining.  I like to think that the black and white filter made him look especially terrifying. 

A week later, it is still hard to believe that I finished Marathon de Paris.  That a four glasses of wine-deep impulse-registration ended with me standing in the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe.  That I coincidentally already had tickets to France when the marathon was being held.  That I am physically at a place where finishing another marathon is in part of life.

In the heat of the race every feeling, every emotion, and every thought is simply brighter.  And the moment you cross the finish line it is as if you have woken from a dream.  You have photos, times, a shirt, a medal to prove that you were there and that those hours actually happened.

And yet, though you were surrounded by thousands of people and watched by thousands of pairs of eyes, it is up to you alone to believe it. 

I hope that as I continue to run, I never lose this feeling of sheer awe and wonder.  That I never take 26.2 miles for granted.  I run because I can, but really I run because the process of training for and running the marathon is my willing journey into and through the refining fire.  I run to become the best version of myself.

When I dream at night, I dream of being a marathoner.

On April 7 I woke up at 5:00 AM, which is pretty much my Universal Race Wake-Up Time.

Getting ready for the trip, I had shoved all of my running gear into a backpack to carry on the plane and had packed a breakfast (oats, raisins, granola, pecans) for myself as well.  Since I have yet to stay in a hotel room when I am traveling the night before a race/long run that is equipped with a microwave, I’ve pretty much perfected the oats-soaking technique and worked off of that.  I also dumped about half a container of caramel yogurt into the lot that had been sitting on the windowsill overnight (AKA our white trash refrigerator) along with a cup of Starbucks that I had sourced the day before.  It’s impossible to overstate the wonders of drip coffee on race morning.

I have to say, this really was the best morning-of.  Between texting/chatting/tweeting/e-mailing with everyone back home who was about to tuck in and cruising the tweets and snaps via #ParisMarathon, I was just so…full.

I also did a bit of pre-race inscribing.  I don’t know what it is about distance racing that makes me want to put things on my body, but I’m done fighting with it.  Give me a permanent marker before the sun is up and let me be.

At about 7:45 AM, we decamped.  Dad walked me down to the St. Michel metro station, which was just a few blocks away, and I was off.  There were so many runners riding along with me that by the time we got to the stop at Charles de Gaulle-Etoile, the cars were absolutely packed, which I expected.  The mood was very festive, and yet everyone was silent.  I was thankful to have found a seat next to a lot that I think was from Denmark.

Which brings me to my next bit: we had great bibs because they had your nationality on them as well as your name. The vast majority of runners were French, but it was fascinating to see who hailed from where.

After getting off the metro, it took me about 15 minutes to get out of the station.  Charles de Gaulle-Etoile is a relatively large station to begin with, but it made even more sense when I emerged into the light to see this.

As I flipped back through the blog, I noticed that I never shared this tidbit with y’all.  About two and a half weeks before the race, my right foot was throwing a fit.  So I hopped on the bike for a week to rest it up, because the hardest work was already done.  Miraculously, while we were in Paris, my foot felt fine as did my runs through le Jardin du Luxemborg until April 5.  At which point, suddenly things were The Worst again.  So even though I was extremely calm, I was not terrifically confident.

So anyway, I got into the rose corral at the top of the road.  During registration, you had to select a corral and I chose 4h30.  Had I really thought that through, I would have bought myself a bit of extra time on the course and selected 4h00 or 4h15, but thankfully, I didn’t have any problems at the finish of the race.  All is well that ends well.

I would say that by the time I got there (8:10), the corral was 2/3 full so, I hopped into a line for one of the two potties in our corral knowing that there would be a serious wait.  I had read that the bathroom situation was abysmal for this race, but it’s hard to believe that a major marathon would only provide two porta-potties per corral until you see it with your own eyes.  By my math, I’m fairly certain that the ratio of bathrooms to runners for all corrals was 1:2200.

Thumbs up for that.

I found myself next to a Canadian expat living in London who immediately told me that she didn’t trust her training (what I didn’t tell her: If you don’t trust the work you put into a race, you probably are not going to finish) and asked me if it was true that they stopped giving out medals to the finishers after 5:00 (what I didn’t tell her: that was numero uno on the list of shit I had no intention of finding out ever).

We were then joined in line by trio of Texans, one whose sister-in-law actually lives in Plymouth.  Because home always finds you where you are.

Mid-conversation with this lot, It was at this point that I realized there was no french class role-play for what I was about to ask the women behind us.

Me: Parlez-vous anglais?

Ladies: Blank stares.

Me: Est-ce-que illegal pour urniation public ici?

Ladies: Uh..pee pee?  Ici?  C’est illegal. Mais (offers me her jogging poncho).

Me: (I refuse the poncho and smile)

The gun time for the race was 8:45, but since we were in the back corral, we didn’t get released to walk down to the start line until about 9:35.

As I was still standing in line for a bathroom at that point (it had been an hour with no end in sight), I walked over to the curb and popped a squat to log my first public urination ever on the Champs Elysees.

Blessedly, I had brought a wad of TP because I had assumed that if I ever did make it to a bathroom, it would be completely out.

Y’all know me.  Keeping it fancy.

And as soon as the other women caught on to what I was doing, I was joined by throngs of them.

I wish I could romanticize our walk down the Champs Elysees when they released us to the start line, but honestly, at some points we were walking over a 6″ bed of toss clothing and at other points we were dodging ponchos that runners had been shitting in.  So mostly it was a minefield and not so romantic at all, because we were all looking down instead of up.

Pro: Even though it was a bit chilly at the start, we had a cloudless sky and a forecast of 50 with winds at 4 MPH.  It was honest-to-God perfect race weather.

I was on the left side of the corral (it split in half) as we approached the start line, and they released us first.  I crossed the line, started my watch and said the Shehecheyanu.

I was following the 5:00 pace group at this point because I really had no gauge on how my legs were going to feel after hiking around the city for a week, or you know, because I did nearly all of my training for this race on a treadmill.  After looking at my training log, I can tell you that I logged a grand total of 10 runs outside.  Also, I’m really glad that my training strategy worked, but seriously, don’t be me.

The first few miles were a blur – running past the obelisk, the Tuileries, the Louvre.  It was beautiful and I was busy being my own worst enemy.  You know those runs where you can’t escape yourself and a mountain of self-doubt?  Yes.  That.

Until Mile 2, where I saw massive yellow sign on the course that had quite a bit of enthusiastic German written on it and a depiction of a giant snail.  I will never know if that sign was pro-or anti-snail, but to me it was a sign from God, since there were probably only about a hundred signs on the course total.  So I threw my iPod on, said a prayer that the battery would last longer than 4 hours and got going.

At the 10k-ish mark, we entered Bois de Vincennes, which was at one point the royal hunting grounds before the construction of Versailles.

We ran through the trees, past the lakes and in front of the palace there.

This also the point where I broke away from the 5:00 pacer.  It didn’t feel terrifically slow, but my legs were feeling just a bit better than that, so it was time to bid Monsieur Lapin adieu.

Shortly after one of the water stops in le bois, I had a nice conversation with a couple of ladies from New Zealand as we ran past the (closed) zoo, which involved all of us speaking a bit of broken French before we realized we parlez-vous-ed anglais.

Emerging from the park, we found ourselves at some sort of high point and were able to enjoy a nice downhill for a spell as well as a great view of the city.

At Mile 10 or so, I pulled off my pink top – I am positive that the temperatures were above 50 at that point because I felt like I was roasting.

I also took a number of snaps of the blue line (and my shadow with it!) as I ran, which is an incredibly cool Marathon de Paris tradition.  So what is the blue line?  The blue line is how they mark the marathon course throughout the city the day before the race and it remains until it is washed away or worn off by traffic.

Shortly after the half-marathon point, I found Kristen who was one of my Texan friends from the start line.

She and I ended up sticking together for the next five miles or so as we ran back towards and along the Seine.

Oh look, Place de la Bastille in the distance.

Notre Dame.  In the distance.

This is also the point on the course where we started running under bridges and through tunnels, which gave us a decent amount of shade and a bit of an elevation change.  The Marathon de Paris course is relatively flat, so a bit of terrain here and there was welcome.

And, best, The Eiffel Tower.

Kristen and I ended up separating (she got struck with a cramp) shortly before the Mile 18 water stop, which was also the point at which I found my parents, Sally and Vicki.

Dad insisted on taking some snaps and I ditched my pink top with them.

I was feeling just massively gleeful and exuberant at this point.  Probably because I felt good.  Probably because I had just spent the last hour running past the Bastille, Notre Dame (I finally saw the flying buttresses!), past Musee d’ Orsay, the Tuileries again and with a nice view of the Eiffel Tower for ~2 miles.  It is so truly impossible to explain how painfully beautiful this course is and how incredibly distracting all of it was.

The course started to narrow here, partially because spectators were crowding the course  (I think we were down to about half of the road) and partially because as we came up to the 32km point, we were starting to move into a massively residential area and in the direction of the Bois de Boulogne, which is the woods/park/garden on the west side of the city.

There was also a lot of traffic here because there were just loads of walkers from earlier corrals who had (bluntly) awful races and were waging a war of attrition with the idea of finishing.

What I can say about Mile 20: I did not hit the wall.  After having so many truly wonderful long runs during this training cycle and such a great 20 mile run leading into the race, I was legitimately terrified that my luck would run out during this race and that I would be in a physical or mental situation that was untenable.

Instead I said The Lord’s Prayer, remembered the words, “Let us run with perseverance the race set before us,” and understood that I was going to finish the race running.  That I had already written my own story, and that it was up to me to claim the finish that I wanted and the finish that I deserved.

To feel so mentally strong and so confident at that part of the race made such a difference in how I ran the last 10k of the race.

At Mile 22, I would hit the wall running and realize that I still had two more Honey Stinger Chew packets attached to my person at that point than I should have.  #fuelingfail

Did it really matter?  Absolutely not.

Around this time, I realized that situating the last three-ish miles of a marathon in the middle of a wooded area makes it look more like a death march for most of the participants than a foot race.  See also: running on cobblestones this late in the game is massively painful.

From here on out, the race is somewhat of a blur.  Since they marked every kilometer AND every mile, that made the time pass a bit faster, but what really fueled me was running to Mile 24.  I knew that once I got there, I only needed to run one more mile before I could start celebrating.

So, at Mile 25, I gave the marathon medal being dangled over the course a kiss, took a sip of red wine and enjoyed the ride.

At 42.195k, I raised my arms into the air with the Arc d’Triomphe in front of me, said the Shehecheyanu again and stopped my watch.

Official Time: 4:54:06

There’s not much to be said about the finisher’s chute, beyond that it is massively long, and that instead of doling out heat sheets we received honest-to-God ponchos.  I ate a bit of banana, grabbed a couple of waters (all of the water on the course and the chute was bottled), and chatted with a woman from Finland and another from New York.

As Mom and I were walking to the metro station from the finish line, I mused over the irony that after bike-training all summer to recordings of the stages of the Tour de France, I ran through bits of the final stage.

Everything comes full-circle.

Including my participation in the French hot bath (recommended in the Marathon program!), because those people do not believe in ice.

Race of my life.

And when I dream at night, I dream of being a marathoner.

For much better course snaps, and the story from the 3:00 corral, click here.  Also, he captured The Clown That I Saw Chasing Another Runner, so it really is a worthwhile read.  And here is another.

Backstory: I was a sweetheart for Sigma Alpha Mu (Marcus’ fraternity) and Brian was my little bro in Sammys.

About a month or so ago, Brian and I made plans to go for a run on Thanksgiving.  He is studying to become a Rabbi and since he was home for break, we needed to make the time to get together.  Since we both like to run, multi-tasking a workout was the logical choice.

Otherwise he lets me practice my Jewish mothering and we force him over for dinner.  But Thanksgiving is really not the time for that.

So, anyway.  Thanksgiving morning rolled around, we didn’t actually make a plan beforehand (beyond…meet at 8:00) and we ended up at the 5k in my parents’ neighborhood.

It is not a deeply elaborate event, but it is well-organized.  The entry fee: Canned goods for Interfaith Outreach.

Somehow Billy managed to make it home before the race and ended up running with us too.  Because if you’re awake and home on Thanksgiving morning, you should probably commit to feats of strength.

For an idea of how far away this was from my parents’ house, we climbed the fence in the backyard and were at the starting line.  I don’t know how thrilled the neighbor whose fence we climbed was about that situation, but Mom thought that it was definitely the right way to go.

Brian, Me and Billy.

We set out at a “conversational” pace, which is to say that we just wanted to keep running.  My legs were cashed, Brian’s legs were cashed and Billy ran his first 5k in a blue moon a few weeks ago.

I don’t want to say that this was my favorite race ever, but it might be.  Because I can’t imagine a better way to spend a run than with two of my Most Important Humans.

Mom and Dad were totally set because they could just hang out on the front porch (it was a two-lap course) with the cowbell.

I don’t even think they had to put on real clothes.

Spectating can be so tasking sometimes.

The finish line.

Finish time: 35:38.

And because no Minnesota finish line is complete without it, the hosts graciously provided Caribou coffee.  I can’t say that I ever want coffee immediately after a race, but the other participants seemed to really appreciate it.

My racing shoes?  Officially put away for the year.

I was going to write this really long post recapping my 5th half-marathon.  But it’s 9:20, and there’s not really that much to say, beyond the fact that if you take a potty stop, the time off of the course will kill you dead.  I think we lost about eight minutes to the cause (I stopped my watch while we were in line). Because my final time was 2:44:27 and my watch time was in the neighborhood of 2:36.

The takeaway: Pee your pants, find a tree or squat on the curb.  Just like open containers are cool on a race course (the takeaway from Grandma’s 2012), public urination is a-ok.

I registered for the Monster Dash because Lis (a sorority sister of mine) told me back in August that she was running it as her first half-marathon and I told her that I would run with her.

Period.

I was also secretly hoping I would get injured during Twin Cities so that once I crossed that finish line I could be done for the season, but we all know that just didn’t happen.

The beat goes on.

Once we got to Saint Paul, Lis informed me that JoAnn (another sorority sister) would be running with us as well.  That was a really fun surprise.

And, for some casual foreshadowing, Amy and I.

Courtesy of the lady herself!

Little did we know how the rest of the morning would unfold.

We also saw Jen and her sister Heidi, but I am a terrible conversationalist on race mornings and we completely failed at doing any sort of snap-ing.

Anyway, we started with the 2:30 pace group and the first six miles were a breeze.  I saw Sue (my mother-in-law), Mom, Dad, Billy and Brady.

Me at the Mile 8 potty stop.  #notimpressed

And me after the potty stop care of Angie.  She was watching with Ann and Jay.

It was a jazzy sort of moment.  Somehow we managed to miss Marcus and Katie in all of this, but you can’t win them all.

At Mile 11.8-ish, Lis and I found Amy again (we had run together on and off during the first six-ish miles of the race).  Lis went ahead and Amy and I ran the last mile or so together.  The last time Amy and I ran together was at the marathon when she found me at Mile 23.  So being able to cross the finish line with her was a really big deal.

Post-race: Lis, JoAnn, Me and Amy.

How do I really feel?  Incredibly privileged to have shared Lis’ first half-marathon with her.   Lucky to have been able to cross the finish line with Amy knowing that she showed up to run with me when it mattered the most.  Overwhelmed with gratitude for the body I have.

There was a day when running a 5k seemed like climbing Mount Everest.

Being able to go out and run a half-marathon three weeks after The Tendonitis Marathon without a care in the world?

Very humbling.

This October God has given me so much more than I could possibly deserve.

Something I realized last week is that for me, it’s not really fall unless the cathedral is coming out of the trees on Summit Avenue and I am standing at the top of the hill looking down.  It is a once a year view, and one that you cannot pay for.

So, how was October 7, 2012 AKA The Most Perfect Day?

SPECTACULAR.

I woke up and did all of the boring nonsense that runners do.

I self-portraited.  Because how else is anyone supposed to recognize you if it doesn’t get Instagrammed?

I inscribed.

For a full explanation of what it means to be The Ariel and why that needed to go on my body, click here (it’s the second comment on the post).

When I got to the dome I saw SO MANY of my people.  Carissa and I met-up right away.  And workshopped our races AKA the kick-off of The World’s Most Epic Comeback Tour.

Photo from the lady herself!

Caitlin, a life-long friend from infancy ended up walking straight into us over there.

I ran into Jen heading over to the gate where I was supposed to meet Katie and a few others.  She came with, and we ran into my sorority sister Mollie.  Katie showed up about 20 minutes later and shortly thereafter Julia appeared.  Usually I like doing my own thing before races, but yesterday, seeing all of these ladies was perfect.  The only “zone” I needed to get into was a joyful one.

Race-wise, it was a bit chilly at the start (Translation: actually freezing), but nothing particularly unmanageable.  I decided to ditch my headphones for the beginning of the race because even though basically the entire course is a raucous party, but the first seven miles are WILD.  I knew I’d have plenty of time to pop them in once we got away from the lakes.

As we crossed the start line, I said the Shehecheyanu, which is a Jewish prayer you say on special/unique occasions.  If running a marathon doesn’t qualify as an appropriate occasion, I do not know what does.

I don’t remember the first mile at all, but once we were through that we could hear the bells at the basilica (they ring all of them on race day for the runners – it is the coolest sound) saw Emily standing on the bridge by the sculpture garden and spotted Cousin Larry standing outside of the Walker Art Center.

Katie and I ran together for the first three miles and then she disappeared behind me.  I had basically just planned to listen to my body and adjust my pace accordingly with the full knowledge that I would hit a wall much earlier than any of the other runners.

The first five miles evaporated and I got to see Marcus, Lindsey, Galina, Jenn and Bengt at Mile 7.5.  Then by some lucky twist of fate, around Mile 9 or so I saw Allison.  I had no idea she was going to be spectating so that was a great surprise.

By Mile 10 my feet felt like hamburger (I suspected this would be the case) and by Mile 13, even though I was definitely dropping off the pace, I knew I could keep moving and that beyond that, nothing else really mattered.

I reminded myself that even though I was hurting, it really wouldn’t hurt any more than that.  Which is purely the truth.  I owe Angie big time for that dose of sagery.

I saw Amy at Mile 14.  Or maybe she saw me.  I know for a fact that Mile 14 is where Mike, one of Marcus’ fraternity brothers spotted me – he was running his first marathon and we probably did a quarter of a mile together and chatted about how the race was going before he and his running partner continued down the course.

Mile 14 is also the point where I started telling myself that I Was The Favorite Amongst All Of The Snails.

WTH, right?

The story: Earlier this year, my mother described watching races as being something akin to watching snails race because it was so boring.  I can’t blame her – there’s a certain amount of encouragement to be drawn from the other runners passing by you, but when you spectate, mostly you camp out for an hour to see your runner for 10 seconds and then you move on.  What she texted me the night before the race is that I was her favorite snail.

I completely forgot about it.

Until I looked at all of the runners surrounding me and thought, I Am The Favorite Snail.  Which continued every few minutes through the end of the race, because I am in my heart of hearts absolutely positive that no other runners were anyone else’s favorite snail yesterday morning or ever, really.

Good luck finding me a snail necklace, Mom.

Ann and Jay are in some sort of pseudo-competition to be the best marathon spectators in the history of earth (coming off of their Finish Maybe? signs at Grandma’s) and kitted themselves out as Dancing Robots.  Watch the video and slay yourself because this was actually happening.  For two and a half hours.

But mostly I just got to appreciate Jay’s bot-ing because Ann tore off her costume and started to run with me at Mile 16.  And it was the greatest to tell her that I had spent most of my run thanking God for such a great day and a pain-free run, and that I knew I was going to finish.

You know, since last time we ran together I told her I couldn’t finish.  And since I got on the bus at Mile 16 at Grandma’s.  It was a BFD.

I saw Marcus, Lindsey, Galina, Jenn, Bengt and Carrie again at Mile 18.  I hugged everyone except for Carrie because I was confused.  Really.  Look.

My mental state after anything over 16 miles is best described as Hot Mess.

I managed to keep a pretty good pace (and by that I mean I was still running and not walking) until Mile 20 when I really kicked into walk when it’s faster than running-mode.

I saw Amy again somewhere around Mile 22-23.  She ran with me for about a block, which was just phenomenally motivating because I was just…exhausted.  We’ve only met in the wild (AKA IRL) a few times and that she would cheer me on and run with me during the race was really touching, actually.

At Mile 23, a man appeared holding a box of Kleenex.  I can only imagine that seeing him was sort of like what it might feel like to be a part of the second coming, since I had spent the entirety of the race farmer blowing (I never totally eradicated the cold) and wiping my nose on my sleeves.   I grabbed a handful and stuffed them in my sleeves.

Finally at Mile 23.5 or so, I could feel my right glute cramping, and I took a walk break that lasted through Mile 25.  Some of you might be thinking, Kat, really?  But honestly, that was the point where I knew I was getting what I came for (a finish) and that I had successfully managed to avoid injury in the process.

When I started the race, I was feeling really good about the idea of finishing but I honestly had no real concept of what that finish would look like or if it would involve another crippling injury.  So truly, I got what I came for.

I saw Annie at Mile 24.  Homegirl volunteered for the water stop and was honest-to-goodness the very last person at the stop.  I was SO EXCITED to see her because after scanning the first twenty or so people, I was terrified that maybe she was on a break or something and that I wouldn’t see her after all!  Especially since I had been looking forward to seeing her for the entire race, but really since Mile 20.

And then out of nowhere at Mile 25 Katie came up from behind me and told me we were running to the finish.  So I got back on the horse and we got running.

When I saw the cathedral come out of the trees this year, I think I shrieked something to the extent of We’re Finally Here!  Except I was far less interested in the cathedral than trying to figure out where Brady’s run club, Minnesota RED was stationed.  They set up camp at Mile 26 and cheer from the time the first 10 Mile runner comes down the hill until the SAG wagons come through at the end of the race.

It’s hardcore inspirational.

Anyway we had made plans that she would run me down to the finish line and then meet me on the other side.  I couldn’t really see her, but I did yell her name as loud as I could (Lord only knows how loud that actually was) because I figured that even if she didn’t hear me, one of her teammates would.  But she heard, and started running with us along the sidewalk.

Thank goodness for that because Angie was camped out on the other side of the road and I didn’t see her either, but apparently Brady’s scamper got her attention so then she hollered at me and order was restored to the world.  I was so happy to see her face because I didn’t get to see her at all when we were both up at Grandma’s.

Julia, Ann and Jay were waiting in the chute as were Marcus, Lindsey, Bengt, Jenn and the entirety of Katie’s family.  We crossed the line at the exact same time.  5:14:27.  The only way I can think to explain the fact that we started off together, ran totally separate races and then finished together is that it was just how it was supposed to be.

Finishing was…

…Well I did a few tears.  And then Katie and I did our business taking post-race photos, collecting our medals and shirts and grabbing the odd bit of food.  Truth be told, as soon as the finisher’s shirt was in my hands, the tags were off and it was on my body.  Partially because it was crispy outside and I was soaked in sweat and partially because once you don’t have it, you want it on you NOW.

After escaping the finisher’s area, Brady and Ann appeared out of nowhere and I ugly cried on both of them.  It was extremely emotional and exactly like I had imagined it.

After escaping the Capitol Grounds, we battled epic traffic to get home so that I could do a more formal portrait.

And an ice bath.  It was pretty much the greatest thing.  Besides all of the shivering.

I have no idea why last year I decided to take off my other top and put a tankini on.  This year I just threw on some swim bottoms and got in with the rest of it.  It’s not like I was wearing a dry shirt or something.

But that’s really here nor there.  No one taking a post-marathon ice bath is ever really in an A+ frame of mind.

There are so many feelings that this recap doesn’t even begin to touch on.  Like relief.  Release.   Renewal.

What I can put into words right now is that this marathon was a gift.

There is a reason you don’t read about tons of people on the internet who run marathons training on a stationary bike in their parents’ basement.

Fun Fact About Posterior Tibial Tendonitis: The restricted blood flow to your tendons makes them a notoriously hard heal.

There are so many reasons why none of this should have worked.  The bike training, the recovery I have enjoyed so far, the race, all of it.  And for the last three months I have been so blessed to be surrounded by people who have kept the faith with me.  People who never once told me that I was crazy, that this was insane or that it wasn’t going to happen.

That maybe I should think about next year.

Instead, tonight I will go to sleep thinking about next year and not what could have been, but yet another chance to cross over the hill on a beautiful fall morning.

Today has changed me in ways I don’t know how to fully put into words.  It wasn’t a perfect day.  It was The Perfect Day.

Katie and I in the Finishing Chute.

Finish Time: 5:14:27.