One thing (among many) I love about Czech culture:
When you're asked how things are going, you're expected to answer honestly.
The traditionally American 'everything's fine' automated response won't suffice.
Czechs want detail.
The good, the bad and the ugly.
So while reflecting on my first marathon experience, I won't pretend everything went wonderfully.
Because it didn't.
But I won't pretend the whole thing was completely hellish.
Because it wasn't.
What it did bring were a bunch of challenges. And despite some of them being totally sucky, some of them were pretty awesome.
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The race was on Saturday.
But let's go back to Friday around noon.
I swear I'm loosing vision in my left eye from the sun's reflection off some car windshield.
Nearly convinced I'm going blind.
Until the headache and slight nausea hit.
Which is when I realize these symptoms are all just signs of a potentially debilitating migraine.
I eat, take some Ibuprofen and a nap to wake a few hours later with the pain (and accompanying worry I'd have to drop out the next day) nearly gone.
Saturday morning around 3am.
Franky whispers goodbye as he heads out the door for his 5am 50 mile race start.
A friend drops him off and should bring the car back for my 6:45am departure.
I fall asleep and am dreaming about running my warm up through the mall with Morgan when my phone rings.
It's 5am and our driver's a bit turned around due to construction near the Bay Bridge on the horribly confusing one-way streets of San Francisco.
I manage to clear the haze and direct him to the portable GPS under the seat, talk him through the touch screen steps to get my current location loaded and get him on his way back.
I make coffee. Force myself to eat peanut butter on toast.
He makes it.
6:40am and I'm a bit ahead of schedule. It's starting to sprinkle.
I arrive at the shuttle departure spot, hop on the bus and grab a seat.
'Where'd you do your Ironman?' I hear from behind.
Holy hell. I'm wearing Franky's hat... He's the Ironman finisher, not me. I try to explain and apologize for being so misleading but I love the quality of this thing and he doesn't wear it and it beats buying a new one and...
I'm met with a blank stare so I turn around and look out at Alcatraz as we make our way over the Bay.
8am and I'm trying to stay warm and dry.
Since the early morning sprinkles began, we've had a few minutes of pouring rain come and go.
9am and the weather's cleared up a bit. Unbeknown to me, the weather will only get better.
I cross the start line and all time goes out the window.
I'm only counting miles now.
I start slow. Real slow. I need to ease into this thing.
Mile 1 is flat, thankfully.
Mile 2 begins a 2.5 mile ascent of a few hundred feet (well more like, 900 feet) followed by about the same distance of super sharp decline.
I'll add quickly here that the total amount of feet climbed was somewhere around 4500... This is kind of hard to comprehend until you're on the course and it feels like you're running uphill 13 miles out and 13 miles back... Those downhills were few and far between.
I can laugh now.
By mile 6 I can't help but feel a sharp pain in my knee - something I'd never really felt before - which wouldn't leave me the rest of my run.
Oh, and lest I forget, miles 7 through 18 were so ridiculously muddy, I almost fell twice and at times, my shoes barely hung on.
Looking around, it didn't take much to remind myself that I wasn't the only one.
At one point we were on a single track at the top of the cliff looking down over the water. It was still misty and cool and for a moment, there was no pain.
The scenery was outrageous.
I savored it for as long as I could.
Eventually the view was behind me and the uncomfortable feeling in my knee returned.
From that point forward I was consistently met with a friendly face, encouraging me and those around me on.
Kind words were exchanged with others running the marathon, the 50k, the 50 as well as event staff, volunteers, photographers and bikers sharing the trail.
The camaraderie, the energy was like nothing I'd ever experienced before.
Despite the mud and the misty rain, we all continued on.
With smiles.
And for reasons I just simply can't explain, the rest of the run was amazing.
By mile 26 I could see the finish line.
Smell the food.
Hear the cheers for finishers before me.
I couldn't help but tear up a bit.
All this training, all these runs.
Leading up to today.
And in just a few minutes, it would all come to an end.
At 2:46pm, 5 hours and 46 minutes after my start, I crossed the finish line.
14 minutes quicker than my super secret personal goal of finishing in under 6.
And I'd do it all again.
Everything.
In a heartbeat.
Massive hills, miles of mud, bum knee and all.
Now that it's finally complete, here's one last THANK YOU to everyone who supported me in this endeavor, both with words of encouragement and with donations which have benefited The Nature Conservancy of California.
So, so, so very grateful.
