Oh, what will this year bring?

Historic run

Gretchen — Thu, 22 May 2008 01:45:33 +0000

When I ran the Marine 10K last October, I caught marathon fever. I knew I wanted to run the Marine Marathon in 2008 and I knew I could do it if I worked up to it. I decided that a good interim goal to the marathon would be to run a half-marathon mid year and, as luck would have it, the Marines were sponsoring their first half-marathon in May. I decided to run the trifecta of Marine races: 10K, half-marathon, then marathon.

I followed a training plan from Runners World and set about logging miles, building strength and endurance. My long runs got longer, my short runs got faster, as I slowly prepared for the half-marathon. When I started running in 2006, three miles felt like the definition of impossible. As I pushed the definition to six miles, three miles felt like just a warm-up. It was hard to imagine that running more than six would be possible, but as I added mile upon mile, the new standard was 8, then 10, and when 11 didn’t feel any different from 10, I knew I could do 13.1. I was ready for the Marine Corps Historic Half in Fredericksburg, Virginia.

When I’m training, I run alone. And, since I’m not very fast and I’m logging 25-30 miles a week, that’s a lot of time running alone. So it’s a thrill to line up with 5000 other runners, all who are excited to run a 13-mile loop. It was a chilly morning and we huddled together. An older man and young woman behind me struck up a conversation. His son was in training for deployment, she was in Air Force Reserves. I turned to tell them that my son had just returned home from Iraq a week ago on Mother’s Day. I could see the worry on the man’s face over his son and I could only hope that running would see him through the months ahead as it has for me during my son’s two deployments.

When the starting gun fired, the crowd around me didn’t move although we knew that the elite runners who lined up at the starting line had taken off. In every race there are a handful who want to win, but most of us are there to follow our own definitions of winning: to finish. A small cheer went up when we started to shuffle forward, then a sigh of disappointment as we slowed to walk, then excitement as we picked up speed and crossed the timing mat. We were on our way.

It’s fun to run in a surge like that. Most of the runners are faster than I am and I feel carried along in their wake. I run faster than I would when alone. I know not to start too fast, that I’ll tire myself and “bonk” at the end — – I read that in Runners World — I’ve never actually had the experience because I’m too naturally cautious. But I like dashing ahead with the crowd so I settle into a pace that’s a little faster than what I normally run.

By mile 3, we’ve settled into pockets of runners. We’ve found a pace we like, although some fall off on the rise of a hill, others zoom ahead on the downhill, so the make-up of the group changes as the terrain. I’m running behind two tall 60-something men. They’ve having a good time. They call out “Good morning!” to the spectators and thank them for coming out. Where the Marines guard the intersections, they holler “Ooh rah!” and the Marines answer the same back. In the residential section of the route, an old man in a bathrobe stands in the front door of his stately home, picks up the newspaper from the step and sips coffee from a teacup. He’s not the least bit embarrassed to watch us run past, his pasty legs a bit bowed, his feet flat in his worn slippers. “Got enough coffee for us?” the pair of old guy runners call out to him. The old man lifts his cup and smiles. The crowd around me laughs as we run on.

A drum circle plays along the route. A church choir sings. A harpist plays. Around mile 9, a guy with a guitar plays rock tunes.

“Hurts so good,” he sings. “Come on, baby, make it hurt so good.”

It’s a funny choice to play for runners slogging through the streets of Fredericksburg. Running is not without its pain, but for me, the pain fades the farther I run. I have to run through the painful miles to get to the painless ones.

“Sometimes love don’t feel like it should, hurts so good,” I sing along with the rocker as I run.

The course was very pretty, both old village streets, residential roads where children sat bundled in blankets to watch us run. We passed churches and a confederate cemetery, then a long stretch by the river. There were some gentle rolling hills but I knew that the real hill was ahead — a long, steep climb between miles 10 and 11.

The beauty of running on a treadmill or to Podrunner tunes is that it forces you to run a very steady pace. Keep to the turning of the treadmill mat, or keep to the rhythm of the beats per minute of the music. My stride may shorten but the timing of my feet on the pavement never does. I knew I could take that hill.

At a third of the way up, a few runners dropped to walking. I kept plowing ahead but as we climbed, more walked. My stride was now not much more than a heel to toe length, but it was steady, left, right, don’t stop. More slowed to walk, I passed a man breathing heavily, another held her side. I ran on but I admit it was hard. I knew I wouldn’t walk up the hill but I wasn’t so sure what I would do when I reached the top. I hoped I wouldn’t fall to a recovery walk then, but I wasn’t so sure.

At the three-quarter mark, a big Marine stood by the side of the road. He had that big call of a drill instructor, a voice that really carried. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until I was almost to him.

“That hill doesn’t know you!” he shouted. “It doesn’t know your strength! It doesn’t know your tenacity! It doesn’t know what you can do!”

He thrust out his hand and I gave him a slap as I picked up speed to complete the hill. It may sound silly now out of context but it was incredibly inspiring, exactly what I needed to hear. He was right. That hill didn’t know me, it didn’t see my running miles and miles on the canal path, getting sunburned on the hills of my neighborhood, or, when I’m working in Florida, running laps in a parking lot in the hours before dawn, 6, 8, 10 miles, then go to work. That hill didn’t know that I had not just survived but thrived through my older son’s service in the Marine Corps and his two deployments to Iraq. It didn’t know that I had stood by my younger son no matter what, even when I wanted to give up, and now, against the odds, he was about to graduate from high school. It didn’t know that I had endured 20 years of a difficult marriage, and now had a life of my own design that had been worth the wait and the work. That hill didn’t know me, it wouldn’t own me, not after all the months and miles I had trained, the life I have lived. I’ve taken on bigger challenges that that hill. I could take it, I could conquer it. And so I did.

I grabbed a cup of water at the top of the hill. It helped to cool me just a bit so I could start the flat ridge I had reached. After a hundred yards, I felt good, just two miles from the finish and I knew I would make it. I trotted along, happy to be heading to the finish without having had to walk any of the 13 miles.

I saw a young woman walking, about my size, cap pulled down. She was walking but she shouldn’t have been. The hill had taken it out of her and she couldn’t get going again. I jogged up beside her. “Come on,” I said, “let’s go get our medals.” She picked up her pace and ran with me.

I thought of my cousin Joni who ran the Marine 10K with me. She runs with a group and marveled over how I could train alone while I, so accustomed to setting my own distance and pace, puzzled over how she could run with someone else. I knew there must be something to Joni’s experience and so I ran with a complete stranger just as Joni runs with her friends.

We passed the 12-mile mark, coming into the crowded retail district where a radio station blasted music. Shoppers stood by their cars in the parking lots and cheered us on. The woman and I ran on together at exactly the same speed. I pointed to the traffic light that wasn’t far from the finish line.

“When we get to the light, we’re going to pick it up,” I said. “We’re going to finish big.”

“I’m not very fast,” she said.

“Neither am I, but we’re strong to the end.” She told me she’d do what she could, but that I shouldn’t wait for her.

At the traffic light, I took off. To anyone else, it might not look so fast but for me, it was flying. I was running hard for the finish. But the finish was a little further off than I thought and I started to lose steam. I could feel the ache start entering my legs and I wanted to stay fast but I was growing sluggish. I pushed myself, pushed, and pushed, and then, from behind I hear another runner thundering up behind me. I saw it was another woman I had passed a mile or so back. She was running full out and, in a rare competitive moment, I knew I could not let her beat me. I picked up the pace and ran in fast. I think she caught me in the last second but it didn’t matter. She had given me the push I needed.

As we cooled down in the walk, a Marine handed me my finisher’s medal.

“My son is a Marine,” I told him as I put the medal around my neck. I held onto the heavy metal with the Historic Half logo. “And I can out run him.” The Marine laughed and I did too.

I stood in line to have my commemorative picture taken. I recognized the woman ahead of me as the one I had run the last couple of miles with. She thanked me and said I had inspired her to finish. “I knew you could do it. You just needed someone to run with. You had it all along!” I gave her a quick hug.

I felt good. It was a good run. I needed to stretch and drink some water but I felt good.

Good enough to run a marathon come October.

And now I’m a half-marathoner

Gretchen — Mon, 19 May 2008 00:18:49 +0000

Just a brief post to say that the Marine Corps Historic Half-Marathon is over and I, not only completed it, but feel like I ran it as well as I possibly could have. I ran the entire thing, the only slowdowns were the water stops (just haven’t learned how to slurp on the run yet). The last hill was a killer but I got through it with a little help from a Marine. But I’ll tell story tomorrow.

I’m waiting for the times to be posted on the Results page (bib 3342) – not that it matters (the goal was to finish) but I’d still like to know.

One quick story: Around mile 8, a woman near me said to her two friends as they ran, “Boy, a marathon sure sounds like a bad idea about now, doesn’t it? This is enough! Running a marathon would be crazy!”

Crazy, you say? Nah, at that point, it seemed doable. Still does. Even sounds like fun. I can’t wait for the Marine Marathon in October. Bring it on, baby!

Yep, I’m that crazy.

UPDATE: The results have been posted. My time was 2 hours, 24 minutes, and 55 seconds. I wanted to be under 2 hours 30 minutes so I’m happy with that. Also, my pace was 30 seconds a mile faster than when I ran the 10K last October so not only did I run farther, I ran faster. Gotta be good with that!

Always Extraordinary

Gretchen — Wed, 07 May 2008 01:43:05 +0000

Have you seen me running?

I’m the one trudging along the path, eyes straight ahead, moving slowly but steadily.

Have you seen me running?

I’m running on the shoulder of the road, watching you driving towards me, then feeling the rush of wind as you pass me.

Have you seen me running?

I’m jogging on the sidewalk, left and right on the streets of town, up and down the hills.

Have you seen me running?

I bet you have. But you don’t remember me. I’m too ordinary to recall.

But last October when I ran the Marine 10K in Washington, I saw a runner I’ll never forget.

We were about a mile into the race and the runners had spread out as we settled into our paces. I plodded along, as I always do, when I found myself running behind and to the left of a tall runner. He had a lopsided gait as he worked his arms to keep his balance. I don’t think he’d had his curved running leg for long. He ran as if he was worried that he might take a misstep, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t stop, he kept going. A Marine always, now running 6.2 miles on one leg of muscle and bone and one leg of metal.

I don’t know how that young Marine lost his leg, or when or what his life was like before his injury. Chances are, he was just an ordinary guy living an ordinary life. When he lost his leg, he ceased to look like the other Marines, or like the boys he graduated from high school with, or like most of us. He would never be the same.

When we take an unchosen path, we have two choices: hide from the new life we’re presented with, or embrace it and make the best of the situation. When that young Marine left his leg behind, he left the ordinary behind too. He laced up his running shoe, strapped on a metal blade where his leg had been, and became extraordinary.

That runner wore a singlet for the Semper Fi Fund and when I got home, I looked them up on the web. They have a program, Team Semper Fi, that provides coaches, specialized sporting equipment, entry fees, and travel expenses for the wounded team members. I decided that I would run the Marine Half-Marathon (on May 18) and the Marine Marathon (on October 26) to raise funds to support this (and other) programs.

So I’ve been trudging the paths of my town, running the road’s shoulder, and sidewalk jogging in training for the half-marathon. Don’t worry that you don’t notice me. I’m ordinary. But I’m running mile after mile so others can be extraordinary. If you’re ordinary like I am and want to help, please make a donation.

I promise I’ll run extraordinarily hard for you. And for Team Semper Fi.

UPDATE: Thanks so much to everyone who has so kindly donated to the Semper Fi Fund. I am truly impressed and touched by your generosity.

I had my last long run on Sunday (11 miles) and it went well. I’m not fast but I get where I’m going! I just have short maintenance runs this week that are really feeling like fun. I’m leaving soon for Virginia and can’t wait to run on Sunday. You can check my time at http://www.marinecorpshistorichalf.com/site7.aspx. My bib is #3342.

UPDATE: May 16, 2008. I arrived in Virginia yesterday to spend a few days with Tom before we head to Fredricksburg on Saturday/Sunday. I had my last run today (about 6 miles) and Tom said I really look like a runner. It felt fantastic and left me wanting to do it again so I’ll save up that eagerness for Sunday. I’m ready to run!

Six weeks

Gretchen — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 02:30:10 +0000

I’m just six weeks away from running the Historic Half, the inaugural Marine half-marathon. It’s time to get serious.

It’s not that I haven’t been working out and training. I have been, but not all of it has been running. Frankly, it’s a lot easier to run when I’m in FL and can run outdoors than when I’m home and have to run on the treadmill. No matter how good the music or book is on my iPod or how fascinating the televisions are above the treadmill, it just gets boring after awhile.

[True (stupid) story: I was waiting with another woman for yoga class to start, so we got to talking about other workouts. “What do you think of the treadmill?” she asked. “Oh,” I replied, “it’s OK for the first hour but the second hour is pretty tough.” It was out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. I quickly explained that I’m training for a half-marathon. No one in their right mind would spend more than an hour on the treadmill (right?). ]

So, in addition to running on the treadmill, I mix it up a bit with cycling classes or the elliptical or yoga. It all helps, it all works, and the variety has been good. But now it’s time to focus on running.

I have a training plan that I generated at RunnersWorld.com. Since I train by myself, it’s the only guidance I’ve got (besides my Running for Women book). (Eventually, when the weather is good and I’m not otherwise engaged on a Saturday morning, there’s a local group I’d like to run with, but I’ve been saying that since December.)

Sunday is my day for a long run. This week was 9 miles. I’ve run 10 before so I knew I could do it. I just had to figure out where. I discovered MapMyRun.com which has a great tool for drawing a route which it automatically calculates the mileage. Plus, I can use maps that other people created. I searched through and found this one:

http://www.mapmyrun.com/run/united-states/ny/fairport/210933415

I love running on the canal path and I knew this route, it was sunny and warming up in the 50s — perfect!

I planted a water bottle laced with Gatorade at a point a third of the way from the start, then I drove to the village and parked. I tucked a wad of tissues in the pocket on the back of my shirt: when my legs run, my nose runs. I plugged in my headphones and took off.

I was pretty slow but I plodded along. Sure enough, a mile or so in, my nose was running like a faucet. I reached in the back pocket and pulled out the tissues. I cleaned out my nose, returned the dirty one to my back pocket and put the clean ones in the front pocket of my jacket for easy access. I kept running until I reached the water bottle, had a few sips, and felt in my pocket for the tissues to clear my nose again but they were gone. My whole pile of tissues gone and I still had over 6 miles to run. I forged ahead, snot nose and all.

Sorry to be gross but I had to keep sniffling the entire way otherwise I was going to have an even more disgusting mess on my face. And I was not about to put one finger on a nostril to close it off and field-blow the other one. I was raised better than that. So I sniffed and snorted the miles away. Here’s the really gross part: eventually some of the snot dried in the wind. And not demurely up into my nostrils. By the time I finished the run, I pulled off my fleece hat to reveal damp hair either matted to my head or standing up on end. Sweat had dried in salty white patches on my face. And I had caked boogerpalooza going in my nose. And, of course, no tissues in the car.

But in spite of my less than cover girl appearance, I felt triumphant. I have to admit it was a terrible run, very slow and I just plodded along. At times I thought I must be nuts for trying the half-marathon, even crazier for considering the marathon in the fall, but in the end, even though it wasn’t pretty, I finished it. And that’s really what running these races is all about for me. It’s not really a race of winning times for me, it’s certainly not a beauty contest, it’s just an expression of the will to do what I say I know I can do. Snot nose and all.

Week beginning 3/31: Total miles 21.67

Why I’m Running a Marathon

Gretchen — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 02:01:42 +0000

The simple answer to why I’m running a marathon is because I can.

I can, and no one is more surprised than I am.

I wasn’t an athlete growing up. I blame this on the lack of invention of the sports bra but I suppose I’d have to mention that, back then, girls weren’t allowed on Little League teams or to play football and although it was the time of Billie Jean King beating loudmouth Bobbie Riggs at tennis, sports were not as mainstream for girls as they are today. Some of my friends played field hockey but mostly we played support roles to boys’ sports. We kept stats for the track team, we held the finish line string in place, we jumped up and down when the boys won. We never went out for the team, but we did go out with the team.

In college, I ran from time to time when I was trying to lose weight. It hurt and there was a lot of floppage and when I would reach my goal weight, I’d stop. After graduation, I got my first professional job and spent 50-70 hours a week trying to prove myself and then would flop exhausted into bed. My weight skyrocketed with my unhappiness, the heaviest I’ve ever been, the most stressed. When I quit that job and became a technical writer, I started going to a high impact aerobics class. I lost weight, got into the best shape of my life, and got pregnant. The next few years were a blur as my body changed over and over: that pregnancy followed by months of nursing, an irregular schedule, then another pregnancy, and that difficult first year with a sick baby. I didn’t exercise at all, didn’t have the time, didn’t have the energy, all went to caring for the children and just trying to get through each day.

When the boys were school age, I grew tired of breathing hard just to go up a flight of stairs, tired of feeling tired, and was much too young to feel so damn old. Early one morning, I walked half a mile to the high school, then ran a quarter-mile lap on the track. My lungs burned, my legs shook, and my heart pounded in my chest. I walked a lap, then forced myself to run another lap, walked a final lap, then walked home. I was exhausted and wanted to fall into bed but the boys were getting up and it was time to start the day. I didn’t give up. I ran the next day and the next day and kept running each morning until I could run two laps in a row. And I kept going after that until I could run three laps, then four. I worked up to three miles and then I entered a local 5K. I came in second to last and I still consider it one of my proudest achievements.

I ran for another year, then switched to step aerobics for several years when that came into vogue. I returned to running, not for the joy of it but because it was the most efficient way for me to manage my weight. Running burned the most calories which meant I could still indulge in cookies without much impact. When Nick started to train before going to boot camp, I bought him a CD of Marine cadences and I ran to them far longer than he did. At age 43, I could run 4 miles in the 41 minutes it took for the drill instructor to call the cadences. I kept running during Nick’s first year in the Corps but something changed in his second year. My body changed and running started to hurt. My knees ached, my hips cramped, and my back complained loudly. I felt lightheaded and sluggish and I slowed down to walking. Because I felt bad, I started comforting myself with food and when Nick announced that he would be deploying to Iraq, I ate cookies without limits. The weeks before his departure closed in and I ate more cookies but no matter how many I ate, he still shipped out to Iraq.

In September 2006, I decided to change. I weighed in and started a food journal, tracking every bite, every calorie. I walked and I started to lift weights. After 10 days, I had not lost any weight and I visited with my doctor who recommended I increase my cardio to 30-40 minutes five times a week to jumpstart my metabolism. I knew that meant it would be best if I started running again but I was afraid — afraid I couldn’t do it, afraid it would hurt. Just as I had proven to myself that massive consumption of cookies couldn’t keep my son out of Iraq, I knew that running would burn calories better than anything else. What I didn’t know was that running would be different this time. I would start running and it wouldn’t hurt –it felt good, a physical challenge, a mental occupation in which I could relieve my worries (at least for 30-40 minutes a day) about Nick. I easily worked up to running three miles, far more easily than ever before. I then pushed to four, then five wasn’t so hard, and six was a challenge but really, not so different from four or five.

Because I wanted to make sure I’d have no trouble finishing, I was running 30 miles a week by the time I went to Washington to run the Marine 10K in October 2007. In talking with some of the marathoners, that’s how much they were running, some more, some less. Suddenly I realized that they weren’t doing anything different from what I was doing, they were just doing it for farther and longer.

I thought back to that first day when I walked to the high school track and struggled through a quarter mile. I had started that run at a low point in my life, when I felt trapped by my love for the boys in a difficult marriage and wanted to run away, not run in circles. I pledged that I would keep the family together until the boys were out of high school, I would give them that. I trudged through the days, making the best of the situation, marking each day like a mile. I knew how to disappear into my mind, to ignore pain, to keep going even when I wanted to stop, when I wanted to fall apart. I knew endurance, how to go on when there was no way to go on. I lasted for 20 years, one foot in front of the other, running a marathon of a marriage.

Running a marathon didn’t seem so different to me. I had made it through those years in the same way that I had coached myself into running 6 miles a day: start small and build one step at a time. I knew I had the mental toughness to get through a marathon. What surprised me was that my body could do it too. For the first time in my physical history, I was running for me, simply because I wanted to be a person who ran, not because I wanted to lose weight, look better, or feel better. I wanted to be a different person from who I had been. I wanted to wear a physique that matched my mind, both brain and body that was strong enough to get through anything. I had already come so far and now, I’m training to go further.

26.2 miles to be exact.

Spirit of the Marathon

Gretchen — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 16:37:08 +0000

I went to a movie last night. That probably doesn’t sound that unusual but it’s the first time I’ve seen a movie in the theater since 2006 and that year I only saw 3 (Xmen, Matrix 3, and I Walk the Line — you can guess which one was my choice which ones were Paul’s). It must really be something to lure me away from home and into the theater.

I saw Spirit of the Marathon. Alone. Paul didn’t want to go with me (although he said he would if I really wanted him to) because he knew I’d cry. He was remembering when I made him watch Nova’s Marathon Challenge with me and I cried at the end. And that was the 2nd time I’d seen it. Watching people, especially ordinary people, cross the finish line gets me every time.

I am going to be one of those ordinary people who crosses the finish line. In October, I am running my first marathon, the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington DC.

I never thought I could run a marathon, never even considered it because it seemed like something that athletes did and I was no jock. When I decided to run the Marine 10K in 2007, my neighbor Laura told me that I should think about a marathon. I could never do that, I remember telling her, but when she told me that she had and would like to again, I had the first inkling that maybe it was something that regular people did. I was running 30 miles a week in preparation for the 10K and had felt no difference when I increased my distance from 4 to 5, then to 6 miles. I never thought I’d be easily running 6 miles a day, so maybe there was more that I could but didn’t know I could do. But it wasn’t until I went to Washington and stood amidst thousands of people that I caught marathon fever. I saw the marathoners and I saw me and I didn’t see much difference between us.

The movie, Spirit of the Marathon, chronicles the thoughts and preparation of elite marathoners, first time marathoners, and chronic marathoners (those who’ve caught the fever and just keep doing it over and over). I saw myself amidst the first timers, could see myself becoming chronic, and marveled at the elite. I laughed when one woman who trained as part of a group that supported each other said that she thought there must be something wrong with people who run alone. (And yes, I cried when she crossed the finish line.)

I run alone. When I started running in September 2006, I did it to burn calories. I set up my music to run for 3 minutes, then walk for 1 minute for a total of 3 miles. Gradually, I changed the playlist to run for 6 minutes, walk for 1, then run for 9 and walk for 1. It was during Nick’s first deployment and I was deep in worry and I found that 30-40 minutes of running helped to keep me reasonably calm.

That fall I looked longingly at running the Marine 10K. I knew that it was too soon, that I wouldn’t be ready, and I didn’t want to fail because it was so important to me. In 2007, I registered but I didn’t tell anyone until my cousin Joni emailed the family telling of her improved time in the annual 10K she runs and that her mother (my Aunt Carrol) had walked it and came in first in her age group. I emailed them congratulations and came out of the closet with my plan to run in Washington. Joni immediately emailed me back, “Can I come run with you?”

I thought about it for 3 days before responding to her. I’ve never run with anyone. It’s my time, my way of doing something useful with my body while I ponder what needs pondering in order to keep my mind clear. I was going to run with the Marines to feel closer to Nick who would be back in Iraq after a summer stateside. Even though Nick hates to run, it’s the one part of being a Marine that I can connect to. I can’t carry a gun, I’d be no good on manuevers, I’d let the enemy shoot me before I’d shoot them, but I could do the physical training just as I had watched the recruits do on Parris Island. I was going to Washington to run for me and to run for my son: I wanted him to be as proud of me as I am proud of him. I thought long and hard about whether I wanted someone, even my cousin/childhood friend, to be there with me. I wanted absolutely nothing to mar my experience. I re-read her email where she said she wanted to do this to support me and Nick and all the troops. I emailed her back and said it would be really fun if she would come.

Joni started running several years ago to combat a sudden weight gain. She runs with a group, got started that way, trains together and, just as I can’t imagine running with others, she can’t imagine hours of training alone. She knows a lot more about running than I do. I know left foot, right foot, repeat. She knew what to do with the timing chip (I didn’t even know what it was, let alone how to secure it to my sneaker). She already felt like a runner. I felt like someone who had sneaked in the back door and was hoping that no one would notice that I wasn’t really one of them.

But something happened when we went to the Wellness Expo the day before the race. We picked up our packets containing our numbers, instructions, and timing chips. I looked around the exhibition hall and noticed that everyone there were people like us. Some of them were in better shape, some were in worse, but all of us knew one thing: tomorrow we were going to achieve a goal that we had set for ourselves and worked hard at. None of us were elite runners, none of us hoped to win prize money (there is none for the Marine Marathon ), but all of us had committed to completing 6.2 or 26.2 miles, then we had worked and worked and worked, logging miles, building muscles, increasing our endurance, in preparation for the race. Some were running to improve their times over previous races but a lot of us just wanted to finish. It’s not a race, but a celebration of accomplishment. That day I discovered that I was in the midst of thousands of other people who were just as goal-oriented as I am. Regardless of the distance we were going to run the next day, we all had that trait of setting a difficult goal and working towards it with no desire for recognition other than our own personal pleasure at having achieved it. These were my people, and I was one of them.

More to come: Running the Marine 10K

[NOTE: This is the first in a series about my quest to run the Marine half-marathon in May and the full marathon in October.]