On Traditions

"I have new traditions now." -Blair Waldorf, Gossip Girl

I work at a residential high school where tradition is a big deal. Some traditions--playing REM's "End of the World" at the end of every dance, for instance--are backed by years of other students doing the exact same thing. Other "traditions" develop when something happened the previous year and the students are looking for a reason to make it happen again. In fact, my coworkers and I often joke that something is a "tradition" if it happens once and a "real tradition" if it has happened twice or more.

One tradition I enjoy is taking a photo with my boss in a kitchen at a Christmas party. The tradition started out as a picture of us in her kitchen at the Student Services Christmas party, but we forgot one year, so we took a picture in a different kitchen at a different Christmas party.

I am noticing that other traditions in my life are going the way of the kitchen picture, and that is okay.

On Thanksgiving night, I watched an old home movie with RWD and one of my closest childhood friends, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw my grandparents laughing and smiling on the screen. I had almost forgotten what life with my extended family was like before my grandmother had Alzheimer's and my grandfather had cancer, but there they were on film, proving that there was a time when things were simpler and I had fewer teeth. As I was lying in bed that night, I reflected for a while about my family, our traditions, and how they have both been important in making me who I am. I thought about the major changes in recent years--the passing of my father, adding RWD to my family, and joining RWD's family--and how exciting it is to carry on our family's traditions while starting our own as a new family.

Friday night, RWD joined my sister and me in putting up our family's Christmas tree. We always wait until after Thanksgiving to decorate for Christmas, and my mom never helps. Over the years, the people involved in the process change, and I was excited to have RWD to help pull things out of the attic and test/untangle the bubble lights. Saturday night, we joined his sisters and their husbands in a delicious and fun birthday celebration, and it was exciting to be surrounded by the people who will be joining RWD and me in new, fun traditions in the coming years. Change certainly does not have to be a bad thing.

Similar to how there are "traditions" and "real traditions" at my school, there are traditions in my life that are worth keeping exactly how they are and others that have have to change--sometimes minimally, other times drastically. I am thankful for the opportunity to continue the real traditions with the people I love and make new ones as time goes on.

Marine Corps Marathon Part 4 of 4: Moving Forward

It's been a week since my last post, and I'm not really sure why it's taken me this long to sit down and write again. I'm at the easy part now! Last time I posted, I was on my way to the finish line on the Best Straggler Bus. If you need a refresher or are just jumping in, check out part 1, part 2 and part 3.

The bus dropped us off at the bag claims/family meetup spots, so I had to find my way to the finish line and my team's tent. When I made it back, most of the team was gone, but RWD was there with some of the Ability Experience guys, including our team leader, Kyle. Predictably, I hugged RWD and cried for a bit. Then, we sat down in the tent, and I attempted to eat the pizza and drink the water he'd saved for me. Everybody told me how proud they were of me, and I did my best to be gracious. (Sweaty, puffy-eyed, and tired or not, I am a Southern lady, and it's my job to be gracious!)

When I trained for the Chicago Marathon last year, I read The Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer, and it is still one of my favorite running resources. It's geared toward first-time marathoners, but I think much of the content is valuable for runners of any level. One bit of advice in for first timers is not to set a finish time, because if you finish and don't meet the time, you'll focus on the failure to meet the time rather than the amazing accomplishment of finishing the race. As I sat in the tent, I was encouraged to focus on what I had actually accomplished that day.

Although I hadn't finished, I had still done something pretty amazing. I gave the race my all, and I did it for something beyond myself--I did it for other people and for an awesome cause. Kyle and the other Ability Experience guys were so encouraging and even told me they want to see me back on the team next year. I said I'd be there. They also remembered that everyone on the team was supposed to get a Push America Challenge medal, but they'd forgotten to pass them out. I was the only one who got one on race day, and it was nice to have a medal!

After everything was packed up, RWD and I headed back to my friend Drew's apartment, where we were staying. When Drew and Sara came home, we discussed the race, and Sara offered me a drink. I took her up on a glass of scotch--not my normal beverage, but it was tasty--and tried to decompress. She, Drew, and RWD offered lots of encouragement and told me over and over how proud they were of me. Even though it felt good to hear, nothing made the situation totally better. I knew it was going to take time to heal. About 75% of the way through my scotch, I did have a pleasant revelation: I'd completed more than 80% of the race, which basically meant I made a B on the marathon. A B is pretty impressive.

Nearly three weeks after the race, I am grateful for the time I've had to process. Other than the initial blow of not finishing, followed by having to tell people I didn't finish, my Marine Corps Marathon experience has been a really good thing. More than ever before, I am thankful for my body and what it can do for me. I am increasingly appreciative of the ability to run, and I want to run faster. That "harder, better, faster, stronger" thing makes sense, and now I'm actually making efforts to strive for improvement. I'm still struggling with the early morning runs, but I am less inclined to sleep in than I once was. Unless I am injured, I do not want to be a part of the Straggler Bus ever again...even if it is the Best Straggler Bus.

Perhaps this setback is more meaningful than a finish would have been. I'm moving forward. I'm coming back for MCM 2015. I'm ready to rise up and run again.

Marine Corps Marathon Part 3 of 4: the Bus Experience

When we last left off, I'd just Beat the Bridge. If you need a refresher, check out part 1 and part 2.

I was not the only one who had the idea to walk after mile 20. With my oranges in hand, I quickly reeled in a gentleman and a young girl who had speed walked almost all of the race. Apparently, the girl had not run more than five miles in training--yikes!--and the man was in his 27th marathon. I walked and talked with them for a bit before leaving them to push ahead.

Even at my walking pace, I seemed to be moving faster than others on the bridge. I celebrated with the other marathoners in passing that we had made it to the bridge, and all that was left to do was finish. Easy peasy. Soon, I hit mile 21.

Shortly after that, however, the buses were closing in the back of the pack. This was not supposed to be happening. It was definitely not part of my plan. An older gentleman ran up behind me and asked, "Did you hear what they just said?"

I hadn't.

"They're trying to make us get on the bus."
"But we're on the bridge," I said. "Aren't we good to finish?"
"I'm not getting on any bus," he said, and we kept moving together.

Soon, the police cars had caught up to me, and a Marine was ushering my section of the pack to the buses.

"Do we have to go? Can't we stay on the side?" I begged.
"We have to reopen the freeway," the Marine said. "You have to get on."

And that's where my race ended.

As I write, I have a hard time believing I surrendered as quickly as I did, but I turned to the bus, saw the "Straggler Bus" sign in the window, and literally hung my head. With a few other participants, I climbed on, stepped into the aisle, and saw the other marathoners who shared my fate. Before I even laid eyes on an empty seat, I started to bawl.

Immediately, the bus erupted in applause.

That, in a nutshell, is the marathoner community. People run their own races and their own paces, but marathoners support each other. Everyone on the bus had something happen that kept them from the finish line, but they were ready and willing to cheer on their fellow runners. Naturally, that made me cry even more.

One of the men near me, in typical "man trying to make a crying woman laugh" fashion pulled out his cell phone and showed me a picture of his six year-old daughter chomping down on a chocolate Easter bunny to make me laugh. He promised lots of cat pictures if I needed them. I exchanged stories with runners who had been on the bus since miles 13 and 14 due to injuries. Nobody was excited to be on the straggler bus.

The bus lurched forward, and I became a part of the slow crawl that I had feared for more than half of the race. We crept up behind the older gentleman who said he wouldn't get on the bus. Apparently, he kept going when I stopped to talk to the Marine. If I had to choose, the award for most ridiculous part of the race would go to what happened next.

The older gentleman ran away from the Marine. More than 5.5 hours into the race, his posture was weak at best, but he was a man of his word and was not going down without a fight. When I have told this part of the story to people, I describe the moment as equivalent to a monkey stealing a banana from the market. He knew he was being rebellious, but he didn't care.

(Not my image. Here's the source.)

Before we caught up to him again, the straggler buses had filled up. There was nowhere for him--or any of the remaining runners--to sit on the bus, so we had to follow the rest of the runners slowly back to the finish line. All I could think about it the fact that if I had kept up my 0:20/1:00 intervals for one more mile, I probably would have been able to finish. Instead, I was stuck on the straggler bus.

My experience with the straggler bus would have been much different if everyone who was caught by the straggler bus had been forced on like I was. Because the straggler buses filled, however, I was forced to watch as people finished in more time than it would have taken me. Somehow, runners came from behind the buses and were able to finish. I guess they were in the bathroom when the buses passed them. I don't know. All I know is that people who were behind me were going to make it to the finish line, and I was watching them through the windows. When I was not crying, I was grumbling about how I was not injured, so I should be finishing the race with the people who came from behind me.

We literally sat still around mile 22 for what felt like ages. We had a Marine who was responsible for our bus--her name was Propes--but another Marine from the nearby aid station (Smith, I think) got on the bus to try to calm the angry bus riders. Propes had already offered us water and "this stuff"--CLIF gels that she had a box of for some reason--but nobody was soothed by that.  People were crying out for ibuprofen, but Smith couldn't give them that since he was not medical personnel. I just asked for a hug, which he gave me, and I cried a lot and didn't let go for a while.

Another down side to the bus was that no matter what, there was no getting off until the finish line. One couple on the bus was staying at a hotel right around mile 23, but they were stuck. That is, except for one guy wearing jeans and boots who finally had the courage to ask to get off the bus. (I am laughing out loud as I write this part.) I guess he had finally figured out that everyone else on the bus was part of a race. Confused, Propes asked, "You weren't running?" and when he answered in the negative, she asked why he was on the bus.

"They told me I had to get on the bus."

One of the other passengers on the bus commented that his attire made it pretty obvious that he wasn't in the race. I don't know how long he had been riding, but it must have been at least a few miles. Talk about respect for authority! After some consultation with another Marine, our friend was permitted to leave the bus and go back to not being a part of the Marine Corps Marathon.

The rest of the ride was long and painful. I am so grateful to the amazing people around me who shared their stories and offered support to me when empathy was the best possible remedy. I met a rock star named Michele who snapped this hot picture of us (that's GU on my lip. Cute, I know.) and added me to the Red Felt Running Club Facebook group.  Thanks to her, I survived the bus ride AND am a member of the most supportive running group ever.

Michele even inspired a change in the horrible sign on the bus window. Several of the passengers were discussing how they didn't like that the sign said "Straggler Bus," so we improved it by taping a scrap of paper to the top and writing "Best" on it. Thus, we became the Best Straggler Bus. I believe we lived up to the name.

Eventually, I borrowed Propes's phone to call RWD. I told him I'd been picked up by the buses and asked where he was. He was at my team's tent; he had been waiting at mile 22 and seen the buses pass but not seen me run by. My phone call confirmed his fear that I had not made it. I told him to stay at the tent, and I would meet him as soon as I could.

Up next: Marine Corps Marathon Part 4 of 4: Moving Forward