Crossing the Finish Line

Here we are heading out the door at 5:00 a.m. yesterday. I’ve been in denial this entire week about how sick I have been. I’ve had the worst chest cold I’ve ever head and my sinuses…Ugh. I’ll spare you the details, but it has included blood. And lots of it. I have actually had green gook ooze out of my eyes! I did everything I could think of to get rid of it all week long because the thought of running the marathon sick was a big thumbs down. Also, did I mention I have asthma that always acts up in the hot or whenever I’m cold. So, how’d we do?

Well, we rocked the first half. The first 13 miles were pretty smooth sailing. But then trouble started. By mile 16, my breathing was not doing well. Yancy made me stop and sit down even though I didn’t want to. Good thing he did. Before long I was wheezing and really struggling for breathe. Long story short, the paramedics came and put me in the ambulance. They treated me and brought me to the medical tent to get a ride to the end finish line. Needless to say, I was pretty devastated. Training for a marathon is like having a part time job and I had really worked hard. I told Yancy to go on and finish. I’d meet him at the finish line. I didn’t want him to have a big fat DNF next to his name.

I started walking because I was really cramping. There are medical tents at every mile for the last 10 miles so I decided I was going to walk the next mile and stop there. The medical team looked at me like I was crazy and let’s be honest, rightfully so. But once I made that mile, I started thinking, what if I can make the next mile? I made the next mile. And then the next. That’s when I decided I was going to do it. I was going to go until I absolutely could not go anymore. For the next 8 miles, I ran and walked periodically. I should mention that I used the word “run” loosely. But I did it! It wasn’t pretty. It certainly wasn’t fast. It definitely didn’t fit in with my expectations for the race. But I crossed the finish line and put my fourth marathon under my belt.

I returned home feeling like I got ran over by a truck with my medal hanging around my neck. The best part? Gus rushed up to me and gave me a huge hug.

“Mommy, did you win the marathon?” He asked with a huge smile on his face.

“No, sweetie, I didn’t win. But I did finish.” I replied.

“But mom, you have a golden medal. That means you’re a champion.” He beamed.

I squeezed him again. My son thinks I am a champion. And you know what- that’s good enough for me.

Leave a Comment