November 19th, 2017 was a day that will never be forgotten. It was the morning of the Philadelphia Marathon. The week leading up to this day was filled with nerves, dread, and a certainty that I’d never embark on this particular journey again….like ever!
Strong wind and rain. That’s what I heard most of the night prior to the marathon as I tossed and turned in bed. My worries then compounded. Would I have to complete this race in these less than desirable weather conditions?
I dressed. My hands trembled. I packed my running belt with the essentials (Chapstick®, tissues, 8 Gu® packs, & an iPod). Would this be enough?
Our all girl marathon crew, arrived to the entry gates about forty minutes prior to the start. That proved to be inadequate time to get through security and wait in line to use the bathroom. The wheelchair participants exited the starting gates while we waited in line to relieve our bladders, as did the elite runners. Nerves escalated.
We finally made it to our corral with a few minutes to spare before our wave was released onto the course. We shed our trash bag rain covers and sweatshirts. The rain had stopped, but the wind was still whipping. It was time… No normal normal nervous chatter. I was uncharacteristically quiet. I was in my head repeating the mantras that I had written on my arms that morning: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens ME!! Trust the training☺ 26.2 You got this!! I listened to the other ladies talk and joke. I was worried! What had I gotten myself into. Jenny turned to me and asked, “Do you want to punch me in the face for asking you to do this?” I tentatively shook my head and offered a weak smile. We inched forward. We each exchanged one final hug of encouragement before battle. I played gospel music on my iPod because I knew that I’d need God’s assistance to get through this one.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Bang! We jogged out past the starting flags. Trust the training. Trust the training. I chanted in my mind. I didn’t want to make the rookie mistake of starting off too quickly. We jogged out about a ½ mile before we settled into our “race walk” pace. We began with 13 minute miles. We weren’t setting any world records, but we weren’t lollygagging either.
Around mile 3 I was concerned with not finishing last. Just don’t be last. Please don’t be last I prayed. At one point, a young woman passed me. Her shirt read “If you can read this, I’m not last.” Ugh! I trotted on.
Around mile 8, I began to feel a dull aching in the balls of my feet. It was here that we began the upward climb through Fairmount Park. The wind pushed into my face, sending dry leaves swirling in front of me. This kinda sucks I thought.
Around mile 10, I realized it was my Ego that desired not to finish last. My thoughts shifted to simply finishing. Did it matter if I was the last person to cross that finish line? Wouldn’t it still be an amazing accomplishment to finish 26.2 miles, even if I was dead last? Hadn’t I still earned that medal? I can do all things through Christ who strengthens Me!
Approaching mile 15, I wondered if I should cut across the course cones and join the runners who were at mile 25 headed in the opposite direction toward the finish line. Do I really have to do this?
Around mile 18, I dropped a single tear. Could I do this? This definitely sucks I lamented.
At mile 20, we’d reached our longest training distance. We were well past the halfway point, but it seemed that there was still an infinite distance to still go.
Mile 21 marked my first, and only, bathroom break.
Mile 22 witnessed an emotional breakdown. This downpour of tears was triggered by a police officer smiling and giving me a thumbs up and a pair of angels from Black Girls Run screaming words of encouragement. Could I make it through these last miles? I could feel a huge blister on the bottom of my left foot. This was my wall. Physically, everything was sore. Emotionally, I was raw. Jenny could see that I was struggling to make it. She looked worried, for me. She began to randomly chat. I barely responded. I could only manage the constant whisper of I can do all things through Christ who strengthens ME!
The last mile marker I saw was at mile 24. The blister on my left foot burst and I felt a squishiness in my left sock. This was the first and only time I considered punching Jenny in the face. (I didn’t)
Our final ½ mile (or so) was awful. I began to sob uncontrollably. Jenny had to link arms with me and tow me along. She stayed on my left side. She easily could have gone ahead and left me (on MANY occasions), but she kept her word and stuck with me. This is the same place that she’d been throughout our training and this race. I wanted desperately to finish, but I couldn’t muster the energy to move any faster. I would have surely stopped for a break had she not pulled me along. Then, I caught sight of the finish line in the distance. I had almost made it. But again, my body felt as though it would fail me. Out of nowhere a woman came out of the stands (that were mostly deserted by this time). She wrapped her arm around my back and quietly whisper, “You can do it.” She and Jenny helped me to walk/trot/stumble to the end. The announcer called my name as I crossed that line and my tears slowed to a stop.
My family was nowhere in sight, but I’d done it. I grabbed a banana and a bottle of water and sank to the ground near the lost and found tent. At the same time, my phone died. After some time had passed, I realized that I would need to find my family if I desired to go home and pass out in the private. I found them on the other side of the tent I had been sitting in front of. I gave my little Liberty Bell a jingle. I had earned this! This was a once in a lifetime exploit. I could confidently say that I would never participate in a marathon again! I’d proven that I’m a warrior. I am Wonder Woman.
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5 Things I LOVED ♡
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4 Things I Could Have Done Without
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The day after…
Dominique anitra 