My Marathon Story

by Tennille

The day began at an early 3:00 am when David's alarm went off in the Chicago South Loop hotel room on West 26th Street.  David got up to start his getting-ready-for-a-long-run morning routine.  I tried to fall back asleep, waiting for my alarm to wake me in another hour and twenty minutes.  A few moments later I checked the clock.  Fifteen minutes had passed.  I tried to snuggle with my feather pillow for just a while longer but my mind was already up and getting dressed.  I fought another thirty minutes then decided I might as well join it.

The next moments were calm and methodical. Get dressed. Pin my hair back. Sunscreen. Makeup.  Did I have everything?

Watch, check.

Sunglasses, check.

MP3 player, check.

Goo, check.

Cliff blocks, check.

Chapstick, check.

Breakfast time.  The breakfast of champions:  can of V8, peanut butter CLIF bar, banana, sip of overnight-soaked chia seeds.

Am I ready?

Okay, I'm ready.

We left the hotel at 5:15 am and hopped in the cab a hotel attendant whistled down.  We were off to Grant Park, Chicago.

There we met Ron and Lynda du Preez who had kindly picked up our registration packets for us the Friday previous.  We chatted at their parked SUV while David and I pinned our numbers on and circled our time chips around our shoe laces.  Were we ready?  Ready or not, it was time to begin walking towards the starting corrals.  But not without a pit stop at the port-a-potties along the way.

We found our places in the "regular people" corral.  There were corrals ahead of us for the elite runners who would begin the race. Within our non-elite corral, David stayed back with the 9-minute pacers while Ron, Lynda and I wove our way through the crowd to get as close as we could to the front.  Since we would be walking, and because there was a (non-enforced, we found out later) 6:30 time limit on the marathon, we wanted to ensure we were as close to the start line as possible.

It was 7:00 am. The race would begin in thirty minutes.

We downed a pack of goo. 

I drank the remaining swallow of my gatorade.

The national anthem played.

The gun sounded.

And we started forward.  Seven minutes later, we reached and crossed the start line.

And the rest of the marathon went something like this:

Mile 1:  Jogged under a bridge.  Was aghast at the numerous male runners lined up against the wall to relieve themselves.  Wishing I was free to join them. I was regretting that last chug of gatorade. Feeling great physically.  Can't believe I've hit a mile already.  

Mile 2:  Almost ran into the Starbucks along the course to use the bathroom.  Saw a line of runners already there.  Nevermind. 

Mile 3:  Obsessing about a port-a-potty.  Sent Ron to go scouting.  Came back with the news it would only be .25 miles until the first official potty-stop along the route.  Used it, got behind approximately 4 minutes but feeling like a new person.

Mile 4:  Noticed we were keeping up with the man in a polar bear outfit.

Mile 5:  Obsessing over gaining back my lost time is helping ease my nerves. The time and miles seem to be going by fast.

Mile 6:  Read "toenails are over-rated" on a spectator sign.  Truly loving the cheers.

Mile 7: Saw a man running with a fake leg. Was inspired.

Mile 8:  Walked/jogged through a park where Ron saw women runners squatting behind small bushes that didn't hide them very well.

Mile 9:  Said a sad goodbye to Ron and Lynda, who sent me on ahead of them as Lynda's leg was beginning to hurt.  (They did go on to finish!)

Mile 10:  Was serenaded by Elvis Presley.

Mile 11:  Feeling really good.  Thinking about how I am in the CHICAGO marathon!  Wow! This just might be one of my favorite days of my life.

Mile 12:  Only twelve?  Come on, where is that halfway mark?

Mile 13:  Aaah... Halfway!  Wait... HALFWAY! Mercy...

Mile 14:  Legs and feet are starting to hurt more than just slightly and the temperature is getting up there. I put on my MP3 player. Ate a CLIF block.

Mile 15: I am doubting.  Then talk myself out of it.  Come on, I've walked 16 miles in training.  I can at least make it to 16 again.

Mile 16:  Overwhelmed with the idea of another 10 miles.  Where is Ron and Lynda?  I need them.  I don't know if I can do this anymore.  20.  I can make it to 20 miles.  At least 20 miles. 

Mile 17:  This stinks.  It's hot.  I'm achy. I'm hungry.  I down half a CLIF bar.

Mile 18:  My legs hurt from hips to toes.  Passed a woman limping.  I wanted to tell her "It's not worth it.  Don't worry.  You can quit. It's not worth it."  Decided I had better not.

Mile 19:  This is the worst day of my entire life. Ate another CLIF block.

Mile 20:  I can do six more.  Just two more loops on the route around my house.  Two more 3-mile loops.

Mile 21:  Passed a woman crying.  Man had his arm around her.  He told her "you can do this.  You are almost there."  Another woman pitched in "you're almost there, don't quit now." Part of me wanted to encourage her too, and part of me said "almost there?  There's five more miles of this torture!!"  I kept quiet.

Mile 22:  My legs ache.  My feet ache.  It's all I can do to keep a 15 minute mile pace. It must be at least 100 degrees out here! Ate another CLIF block.

Mile 23:  Now I'm feeling like I'm almost there.  Until I see a sign that says, "Only another 5k!"  Mercy... that doesn't help. Downed a goo pack.

Mile 24:  Pain, pain, pain.  Start obsessing over my finish time.  Am cutting it too close.

Mile 25:  I gotta push through the pain if I'm going to make it under 6:30.  I grit my teeth and start jogging.  It feels good to use different muscles but the heat and energy-exertion warms me to near heat-stroke feeling levels.  Ouch! It hurt to go back to walking.

Mile 26:  Can it be!??!  I start running.  Nothing can stop me now.

Mile 26.01:  I stop.  Maybe I should wait a little longer before "sprinting" to the end.

Mile 26.1:  Nothing can stop me now!

Mile 26.2:  Oh sweet finish line!

I raise my hands as I cross, a big smile on my face.  6:28.

And then:  the most anti-climactic moment I could think of.

It was over.

I was on the other side of the finish line.

With a bunch of strangers.

And aching hips. thighs. calves. ankles. arches. toes.

Wondering, why did I just do that?

And (sorry), truthfully (really sorry), at that moment (really, really sorry to everyone who has run a marathon and found it to be wonderful and exciting, and everyone else who has imagined feelings of grandeur thinking about training and running your own marathon and crossing that beautiful finish line) I actually thought these exact words: "that was dumb."

My only consolation?  Meru.  At least I "ran" for Meru.

P.S. I have to say that in the days following, I look back and am glad. Glad that I finished the Chicago Marathon, one of the largest marathons in the world with arguably the best crowd of spectators in the world. 40,000 runners.  Blistering 90 degree heat.  And the "date to motivate" 10-10-10.  Did you know that I'm in the less than 1% of the population who has completed a marathon!?  Does it sound like I'm trying to talk myself into excitement? =)

Next year?  I'll be your cheerleader.

After I run the Leadville 100 that is. ;)

Kidding.

But, I am staying inspired by Born to Run.

This might, unfortunately, be addicting. 

Facing Fears

by Tennille


On July 11, 2010 I participated in my first triathlon. I was on a team with two other girls, and my portion was the swimming. I started the race with a half-mile swim; Judy Ramos followed with biking 12 miles, and Kimmy Shin finished by running 3.1 miles. We finished in one hour and forty-five minutes.David also participated in an Olympic distance triathlon at the same time, completing the biking portion of 24 miles. Israel Ramos, Judy’s husband, swam one mile, and John Yoon finished with a 6.2 mile run.



Although I first had the idea of doing a triathlon last December (my plan is to complete a full triathlon on my own next year), I’ve secretly been terrified of swimming in open water. This fear had its birth seven years ago when I witnessed a terrifying triathlon put on by Union College. It really wasn’t a complete failure; the biking and running courses were fine as far as I can remember. I volunteered at the water table and enjoyed the experience. But I have never rid myself of the images of the swim. No doubt my memory of it has been exaggerated over the years, but this is what is captured in my mind:



The course was simple; starting on the shore, the swimmers would run into the water and swim out 1/8 mile along a buoy line, then turn back for another 1/8 miles stretch to shore. But the water was choppy with high, white-capped waves. At the sound of the horn, the swimmers ran full speed ahead, lunging into the water. With the terrible waves and amidst the extra churning from kicks and strokes, handfuls of people started panicking and calling for help. Lifeguards ran out and help from kayakers lining the course was needed in seconds. I remember watching one particular teammate of a faculty team. We had swum alongside each other in the college pool many times. He made it about halfway down the first stretch when I noticed him struggling. He was gasping for air. He finally made it to the outside of the crowd of swimmers and raised his hand for help. A lifeguard threw him a flotation device and then slowly pulled him onto shore. He was gasping. He was ashamed. His teammates could not hide their frustration as the race was over for them now, too. And they weren’t the only ones.



Images of this poor man and the terrible, frothy water kept floating through my mind as I imagined myself doing a 1/2-mile swim. What had I gotten myself into now? Thoughts of bailing on my teammates surfaced. But I was the one that talked them into it! I tried to bury my fear under thoughts of this being a good opportunity to conquer them. This is good for me. This is good for me.



The night before the race my stomach churned. What was the weather going to be like? Was there wind in the forecast? What was the course like? Will they cancel the swim portion if the water is choppy? What if I can’t finish? What if I get kicked in the head? What if some water beast grabs me and pulls me under? Okay, I know I got a little carried away, but my fear was becoming more and more irrational.



Sunday morning arrived and we awoke at 4:45am. We got to the registration table by 6:45, the race was about to begin at 7:30. I had no time to sit around and worry now. I got suited up with an Xterra wetsuit and we oriented ourselves to the transition areas. The swimmers were given color coordinated swim caps depending on their age and gender, and I soon realized that I was the only green capped woman not yet in the water and waiting by the start line, located a number of yards out from the shoreline in the water. Suddenly, I heard the announcer behind me “sprint distance females, 30 seconds!” That was me!



With no time to psych myself up, or out, I scrambled into the water and rushed to the start line, just as the horn sounded. Oh no! But wait, my time chip was strapped around my left ankle, and I felt it becoming loose in the water. I was the last green cap in line so I knew I had a second or two before crossing the start line. Worried the time chip would slip off while I swam, I attempted a standing split trying to get my ankle high enough out of the water for me to tighten it. I must have been a sight. After a couple attempts of balancing on one leg in the open water, I finally got it tightened. The last green caps were crossing the line, and I plunged forward behind them.



I didn’t make it very far, maybe a few strokes, before I realized I couldn’t get enough air. I was frazzled. I was anxious. I was exerting needless, extra energy in my frantic state. Luckily for me, the water was only about four feet deep, so I just stopped and stood up! Thankfully that was allowed. Alright Tennille. I got to get a hold of myself. As I walked forward and peered out at the distant buoy that marked the halfway point, I had a conversation with myself that went something like this:



I don’t think I can do this!



But I have to, I can’t let my teammates down. I can’t honestly turn around and give up!



Maybe I could just walk the whole way. After all, the lady swimming next to me is hardly going any faster than I am walking!



Oh please, I’m not going to walk the whole way! Seriously!



Okay, well, I just have to get back under and start swimming whether I want to or not.



I dive forward.



Okay, pretend I’m alone. This isn’t really a race. This is fun, right? I’m doing this for fun. I’m relaxed. Stroke, glide, kick, stroke, glide, breathe. Okay, I’m doing alright. I can handle this. Stroke, glide, kick, breathe, sight for the buoy. Oh my, I haven’t made any progress. Just ignore how far away it is. This is fun, I’m doing this for fun. Keep going. Okay, I think I passed someone, that’s good. Stroke, glide, kick, okay, I can do this.



And so it went. I finally reached half-way and turned around to come back. Stroking, gliding, kicking, breathing and sighting, I finally made it to the last buoy and turned towards shore. Ahh, the sweet shoreline. I jumped out from the water, running to Judy who was waiting for me with her bike. David was there also, waiting for his teammate who had to do what I did twice! David exclaimed that I had made it in personal record time. What? That’s impossible. Sure enough, despite my delayed start and frazzled state of mind early on, I had finished it four minutes faster than my record for swimming that distance in the structure and calmness of a pool. A half-mile in 22 minutes.



Well, I was really just thankful it was over. Now I could calm down and cheer for Judy, Kimmy and the guys.



But, I learned some valuable lessons that day. Some might compare it to the Christian journey: by focusing on the finish line, you find the strength and endurance to push you through present drama. Or you might conclude that the lesson is to learn to find joy and peace in the present circumstance, and before you know it, you’ve reached the end having lived a good life. But for me, the lesson most profound was that I can’t let fears keep me from the life goals in front of me. By conquering one fear at a time, God will bring me closer and closer to reaching my potential. And by God’s grace, I’ve conquered a fear. And it feels good.



Next?



Conquering the fear of death by way of the Chicago Marathon, October 10, 2010.



What did I get myself into now?