Marine Corps Marathon Part 2 of 4: Beating the Bridge

When we last left off, I had just seen the police cars and straggler buses. Read (or re-read) part 1 here.

RWD and I had planned a few places where he would try to meet me, and mile 10 was the next one. Moving slowly, I finally found RWD and his cowbell waiting patiently for me. I gave him this awesome photo opportunity. Thanks to him, you can all now see my belly.

Also, this pose looks remarkably like one I did around mile 17 in Chicago last year, so I guess it's marathon tradition now. There was definitely more belly this year, though.

I ran into RWD's arms, gave him a big hug, and didn't let go. I didn't care that he needed to leave to go get our team's pizzas so they could eat when they finished the race. Even though I knew it wouldn't help the problem, I wanted to curl up in a ball right there in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

"I saw the buses, and now I'm scared. I'm so tired. If I beat the bridge, I'm going to walk the last 6 miles."

Knowing I had been nervous about the race for several days, including waking up just before 2 am and reading all of the #runwiththemarines tweets from people who were also freaking out in the middle of the night, RWD knew he had to say just the right thing to me. He went with, "Then you have to keep going."

So I did.

Shortly after I left him, I started to play with my run/walk intervals. I switched to 2:00/1:30, then 1:30/2:00, and finally I settled for 0:20/1:00. I was desperate, and running for 20 seconds isn't that hard, especially with one minute in between. I had to keep moving, and if this was the only way...well okay.

One of my favorite parts of the race was the wear blue Mile, which is put on by an organization called wear blue: run to remember that honors the American military--the fallen, the fighting, and the families. On the wear blue Mile, the course is lined with photos of fallen soldiers, and later, volunteers hold flags representing a soldier. I feel horrible saying that I don't remember which mile this was, but what I can say is that I felt renewed as I ran/walked the wear blue Mile. What a privilege it is to honor these men and women; how could I do anything but keep going?

With my spirit renewed, I soon made it to the halfway point of the race. A spectator told me I was starting to tilt--never heard that one before--and reminded me to hydrate, so I started drinking much more water. Even with my small running intervals, I was keeping up with a group of other runners in my section of the race. Before I knew it, the sign for mile 14 was in the distance, and a group of boys (young men?) holding up a Notre Dame flag were screaming and cheering for me. (I was really glad I painted my name on my shirt in big white letters.) Feeling inspired and motivated, I ran more than 20 seconds for that interval and crossed into 14 mile territory.

The next few miles are unclear in my memory. The buses must not have been too close, because I am sure I turned around, but I don't remember seeing them again until around mile 17. I had been hanging pretty closely with a woman in an American flag skirt, and I turned around to see the buses. "Oh no," I said. "I know. We just have to keep moving," flag skirt lady told me.

For reference, here's where I was. I know what it looks like, as did the woman with a poster that had a printout of this section and said "JUST THE TIP!"

At the mile 18 sign, I stopped and asked a Marine if I'd be able to take to the sidewalk if the bus came to pass me. She wasn't sure, so instead, she told me there were only two miles to the bridge, and I could make it if I kept moving. (I was sensing a trend here...)

After the "tip," I could see the buses across the way meandering down toward mile 18. At water point 9, just after the 19 mile mark, the volunteers were folding up tables and preparing to go do something else. I watched a Marine dump out what was left of a gallon of water, and I slow-mo lunged at him, screaming "NOOOOOOOO!" like an action movie scene. Maybe it was nothing like that, but that's how I felt. Recognizing my distress, the Marine asked if I wanted some water, broke out a brand new gallon, and topped off my water bottle. Phew. I was almost to the bridge, and the 0:20/1:00 intervals were working.  I wasn't going to make the bridge by 1:15 pm, but I was definitely going to beat the bus to the bridge. The spectators knew what was happening and were telling the runners, "You're almost there!" 

At last, I heard the drums urging the runners forward to mile 20. I ran more than 20 seconds this time too. In fact, I ran all the way to a table of amazing people that I now know are members of the Red Felt Running Club [more on that later]. Some lady (saint) asked me "What do you need?" and I had my pick of Gatorade, pretzels, water, oranges, and more. I decided on oranges.

"Did I make it? Did I beat the bridge? Am I safe??" I asked hysterically.

They told me I did. I celebrated briefly and headed toward the bridge, doing exactly what I said I would do ten miles earlier: I started walking.

Read part 3 here.

Marine Corps Marathon Part 1 of 4: DWYSYWD

As a person who loves sleeping late, the early morning part of races is not easy for me. With the help of my fiance, RWD, I was up and at 'em at 5:30 am on the morning of the Marine Corps Marathon, which was 4:30 am in the central time zone where I live. In other words, way early. We met up with the other members of the Ability Experience, took team photos,and headed to the start line. The Ability Experience believes in the abilities of all people and works to improve the lives of people with disabilities, and one of the coolest things members of my team did was lead the race at 7:40 am when the hand cycles and wheel chairs commenced their journey of 26.2 miles. I should have started with this part of the race [more on that later], but I crossed the starting line from the 6:00-7:00 corral with another of my teammates at 8:17 am.

I made my way down the road, and under the first bridge I passed some buses. I didn't think anything of it, but now I know what they were: the straggler buses that were only minutes away from starting up and following the race course behind my people, the back of the pack.

Fortunately, I had a plan: 14 minute miles as long as possible. Since I am a run/walker, I set my timer for intervals of 2:30 running and 1:00 walking. The big thing I had to do was "Beat the Bridge" by 1:15 pm --that is, I had to make it to the bridge into Crystal City by 1:15 pm. That was about 20 miles into the race. Crossing the start line at 8:17, that gave me just five hours to Beat the Bridge. My pace could drop to 15 minutes per mile and I'd still be safe. I just had to Beat the Bridge.

Shortly before mile 1, I saw RWD on the sidewalk ringing a cowbell and cheering for the runners as they passed. I'd purchased a shrug that I could easily discard when I warmed up from running, but I wasn't ready yet. I gave him a kiss and kept going. After 13:46, I finished my first mile. Slow down a bit, I told myself.

RWD and me at the starting line

At mile 2, I hit the worst hill I've ever run in my life. That's probably not true, but it felt like it. For any readers from my hometown of Rome, Georgia, it felt like running up Clocktower Hill. I knew this hill was coming, but I had no idea it was going to hurt as much as it did. I thought there was no way I would get up it in 14 minutes. Fortunately, the spectators were aware of the evils of this hill, and there were plenty of people cheering on the runners and offering encouragement. in 14:14, I finished the hill as well as the second mile.

As I was feeding myself a chocolate raspberry GU at mile 4, I spotted RWD, still ringing the cowbell. For my non-runner friends,  GU is like a mini Go-Gurt tube but full of pudding. Very thick pudding. Like any appreciative fiance, I smeared some on my lips and gave him a kiss. Of all of the exciting moments at the race, surely this was his favorite. I also gave him my shrug and kept going.

Somewhere shortly before mile 6, I realized that this race was going to hurt the rest of the way. I had averaged the 14 minute miles I was aiming for, but I wasn't sure how much longer it would last. Even with the band playing "Love Shack" at mile 5--which pumped me up more than I should probably be comfortable admitting--my pace was dropping, and fast. My self-talk favorites of "Just keep moving" and "My [sore body part] hurts, but it doesn't matter" were keeping me moving, but that was about it. I had to change my thinking.

In college, I was given a basic definition of what it means to lead with integrity that I still use today: DWYSYWD, or Do What You Say You Will Do. DWYSYWD became my new mantra for this marathon. I was running for my team and to celebrate the abilities of all people. I started the race, and as long as I didn't incur any injuries, I would finish like I said I would.

DWYSYWD. Do what you say you will do. DWYSYWD. DWYSYWD.

Miles 5.5-9.5 were on an out-and-back loop, and I pushed really hard to make it through those miles. At mile 8, however, I saw something I couldn't unsee: the police cars and straggler buses. I am not sure how the race might have gone if this had not happened, but this was a terrifying moment.

Still, I used my DWYSYWD mantra to keep pushing.

(Read Marine Corps Marathon Part 2 of 4: Beating the Bridge here)

Rise Up and Run Again

My name is Kim, and I am a runner. I'm not a fast runner, but I run with heart. I run with a reason, and often, I try to make it a reason outside of myself. 

In 2013, despite having a long run record of 6.2 miles, I committed to running the Bank of America Chicago Marathon with the American Brain Tumor Association. I trained for and finished the race in 6:27:12 and wanted to keep doing marathons.

On October 26, 2014, I ran over 21 miles of the 39th Marine Corps Marathon with the Ability Experience (formerly Push America) and had my first ever DNF -- Did Not Finish -- in a race. I was crushed. As I am writing this, fewer than 30 hours after a Marine told me I had no choice but to get on the straggler bus, I am still crushed. I cried in the airport this morning as I saw people wearing their medals and finisher gear as they headed home. My heart is still heavy, and I know it's going to take some time to heal. 

Yet I also know I have to rise up and run again.  That's why I started this blog.

When I signed up to run Chicago, I started a Tumblr page with the username "kimrunsamarathon" to connect with other runners and share my progress. I love the online community of runners and the support offered there. As I am recovering from my first DNF, much of my content will be cross-posted to Tumblr. I wanted, however, a different venue to have a "life" type of blog -- not just running things. Even though I am a runner, I am not hardcore enough to say that "running is life." My new blog title has the word "run" in it, but I like to think that the idea of rising up and running again, even if it's not literally running, will apply to other things in my life that I can chronicle here.