Enduring to the end. (warning long post)

Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of myself at the marathon. They are on other people's cameras (hear that other peoples? I need pics). But I wanted to post about my experience because well I need to write about it.
When I started training, I could barely do three miles. I would sprint and then burn myself out. For several months, I ran the same route always coming home discouraged. I felt overwhelmed at the idea of the marathon (even though I'd already signed up for it). Three miles to twenty-six? Impossible. Injuries also played a role in my feeling defeated. First, wicked shin splints, then knee pain, then foot pain. It seemed that everytime I ran I hurt in different places. I would take breaks and then start again. After Christmas, last year, I really didn't believe I could do it. I felt weak and unprepared, daunted and pathetic.

But I kept going.

I kept running. I kept putting on my shoes and putting one foot in front of the other. Even when I was tired, even when I had papers to grade and dinners to cook and people to serve. I kept running. Even in the days leading up to the race I found myself having to cajole the defeatist. "Mimi, you can do this." Then that voice would respond, "no, you can't. You are hurt. Its Utah and the hills are steep. You are not prepared." I felt many times that I had not done enough. I had gotten sick. I had skipped work outs.

As I got on the bus to ride up the mountain, I almost turned and ran back to the car. My sister Rachel pushed me toward the van and said good-bye and I was stuck. In the van, several of the other runners were talking about how they qualified for the Boston Marathon. How they had run other races earlier this year. How fast they were. Even the guy next to me said he was so slow. He was going to try to get in at four hours. Four hours? I was prepared to be ecstatic at six. Six hours was my goal. I knew I couldn't finish faster than that. I didn't know anyone in the throng of people at the top of the mountain. We all stood around in the dark, waiting to use the restroom, eating our fuel and trying to huddle near the fire pits. I felt so isolated up there. It was beautiful and terrifying. The sun peeked up behind the mountains in the east and I headed to the start. I was in a surge of people as they began to move but in a very short time, I was running alone.

I watched people pass me. Move beyond my measley pace and head around bends and corners. I passed horses in fields who watched me run by and I thought they were probably wondering at my snails pace. I listened to my music and just settled in to my routine. Two minutes of running and a thirty second walk break. Over and over again I stayed on my break schedule. Run...walk...run....walk. I felt really good as I approached half way. I had seen people on the side of the road throwing up and I was proud that I felt so good.

At mile 14 a woman came up and started a conversation with me. Jeanette was running her second marathon. It was her birthday. She reached out to me, said she was feeling discouraged and wanted to stay with me on my pace. By mile 18 I hadn't even noticed the time. I was ready for the wall. The point at which you believe you cannot take another step. But we passed mile 18 chatting and sharing our lives with each other. Jeanette made me feel connected to someone else. She anchored me to the goal--helped me keep going. We both wanted to make it in by 6 hours. We kept up our pace. We smiled and laughed and even shared our testimonies.

Then, at mile 21 my next miracle. Todd stood by the aid station smiling at me. He bounced around from foot to foot waiting for us to approach. He fell in step with us and asked me questions. I was beginning to get tired and talking with Todd made me feel connected again. Todd, Rachel and David had stayed up the entire night before the race volunteering. They helped set up the finish line, cut fruit and directed the runners to their transportation. Todd jogged along beside me encouraging me and patting my back even though he hadn't slept in 24 hours.

At mile 23, Rachel was stretching. Getting ready to fall in step alongside us. Todd was supposed to duck out but he said he felt good and the two of them took each flank. They said I didn't have to talk if I was tired. And I was. So. freaking. tired. Jeanette had pulled away a little and was quiet. She was focusing on the finish. I started to cry. "I'm just so tired," I choked out.
Todd said, "You see that tall building over there. That's right by the finish line. You are almost there. You can see it."

I started half giggling, half crying, half hysterical. I could see it. I was so close but I was so tired. At mile 25, my next support team arrived. Erin and my dad stood on the side of the street. Erin, in her flip flops with her camera. Dad with a big smile and an encouraging hug. They ran with me. As I picked up my feet and made them move, made them run. We ran together toward that goal and we made it--together.

When I started this I didn't really know what it meant. I didn't know why I felt compelled to run a marathon. It seems crazy. Most women run the half or at least run some other races before signing up for a marathon. Why did I need this so much? The reason is because I needed to learn an important lesson:

In order to endure to the end, you must let people love you.

I've spent most of my life running away from people. Running from their love, their service, their friendship. I avoid intimacy. I avoid those obligations that tie you down to people. But that isn't why we are here. It isn't why we are placed in families, why we are called to serve others. We need each other. And the greatest blessing and lesson of my life thus far is realizing how much I need my family. How grateful I am for their support and their love and how much I long for us to endure together so that we can be an eternal family.