Marathon: Part 1

Dear Children,

I am documenting this day in much detail so that someday when I am a little white-haired old woman and I am trying to recount this day to my great-grandchildren you can keep me on track and remind me that it wasn’t all uphill and I wasn’t barefoot.

Love,

Mom

I never really got too nervous about the marathon.  I never really got too excited either.  I prayed hard and tried not to think too much about it.  I just wanted to treat it like any other run, except for the fact that I denied myself my very lifeblood – diet coke - for the entire week leading up to it.

I loved running the first 10 miles because they were so exciting and my adrenalin was pumping.  I pretended like every sign I saw was just for me. 

When a group of family members held up a huge banner that said, “We love you, Emily.”  I just said to myself, “Thanks, I love you too.” 

I was drunk on my own awesomeness. 

Miles 13 through 18 were a little lonely and my awesomeness was fading fast. There weren’t very many people on the lake and my knees started to feel like there were daggers going through them.  I threw back four advil and asked God to make the pain bearable.

 Miles 19 trough 23 were better and worse.  The pain in the lower half of my body was a little worse but I refocused myself mentally. 

I started looking up to the sky and praying, “Lord, give me another two minutes….Lord, thank you for giving me the strength to take this step….Lord, thank you for making this weather perfect...Lord, thank-you for allowing me this opportunity...Lord, keep me focused...” 

For a while I tried to pretend that the race was labor and that each two-minute run was a contraction. 

“Just get through the contraction and then you can rest for a minute before the next one starts,” I would tell myself. 

Then I remembered I had two scheduled c-sections and I didn’t have the first clue about labor.

At mile 23 I called Andy and I could hear the announcer and the music and the excitement at the finish line.  I knew he and the kids were there.  That’s all I needed to hear. 

“I’ll be there in 30 minutes,” I told him, sounding confident.  

Until it hit me that thirty minutes is a long time.  

I can prepare an entire meal in less than 30 minutes.  I can shower and get somewhat presentable in less than 30 minutes.  I brought two children into the world in less than 30 minutes and those same children can destroy my entire house in less than thirty minutes. 

All of the sudden thirty minutes felt like an eternity.