Well, unless you've been living under a Facebookless rock the last few days, then you know, and are probably totally sick of hearing about the fact that I finished my first MARATHON yesterday.
Yup, the chick who ran her first mile (a whopping 18 minute affair) two years ago this month, conquered the legendary distance of 26.2.
And of course that means that I must include a minutely detailed, TMI blog post about the in's, out's, and almost's that all came together to create my marathon experience. Grab your favorite beverage or a cheese snack... we've got 2000 words ahead of us.
Let's go...
Friday 8pm: I posted this status update on Facebook: It's almost night night time. I'm already in the bed. Got my Camelbak filled with water, GU, gummy bears, a granola bar, plastic bags (for lining the porta potty seat and TP if I end up in a 'worst case scenario,') vaseline, and bandaids. The Garmin, Ipod and phone are charged, my clothes, visor, sunglasses and bib are laid out, and Boonkie's road closure map is printed. I am SO ready for tomorrow!
I hit the hay... and sleep like a baby (the first time this has EVER happened before a race.) Big Dave even sleeps on the sofa so I can have the bed to myself...
Saturday, 5:30am: Off goes the alarm. I am bright eyed and bushy tailed.
Why the heck does it have to be so dark and cold???
Today is the day.
I try my darndest to eat a healthy breakfast, but I pretty much just wanna barf. Ugh. I end up eating half the oatmeal and nibble on an egg mcmuffin. Not the nutritious start I was hoping for.
Then it's time to get dressed, get my game face on. I strap on the boulder holder, lace up the shoes, and grab my Garmin. Uh oh... Garmin isn't turning on. WHAT???? Nope. It's dead. I try to hook it up to the charger... nothing. Mendy the Hottie Neighbor brings hers over. It looks like my charger is the problem. Crap. I'll charge it for as long as I can, but I have serious doubts that it'll make it through the 26.2.
6:30am: Big Dave ushers us to the car. He's given up a full day of hunting in prime deer season to be my chauffeur, photographer and pit crew for the day. We get a mile down the road, and I realize I've left my Ipod. Seriously??? I'm a nutbag. We go back, get it, and he gets us downtown by 7:15. Plenty of time to pick a lucky porta potty line and wait our turn...
The lines are longer than on St. Patty's Day. For the second year in a row, I end up peeing while the National Anthem is sung. There's nothin' patriotic about doin' a squat and tinkle to "and the rocket's red glare."
Then it is time to find our corral... lucky number 16. We were assigned the corral by the expected finish time we put on our registration. Three months ago, when I decided to commit to the FULL rather than the HALF, I just doubled my half time of 2:30 and put in 5 hours as my full finish. Dumb child, I know.
Sleepy eyed, no make up, wearing our Goodwill jackets (easy to disrobe and throw away when they only cost $3.) We are ready to head off. The plan is simple. Mendy will stay with me for at least half of her half, then leave me so she can try to beat her time from last year. I will stay behind, running at a slower pace as to conserve my energy for the full race. I hope to find Dwan, who is also in corral 16, so we can help each other through the last half of the race.
8:21am: Music is booming through the loudspeakers, the announcer counts us down, and we're off. The Run Tracker alerts the people who are following me via satellite that I have crossed the start line. I feel great!
The first few miles are glorious. We employ our regular routine of running two songs then walking a song. I feel a poke in my side and turn to see Dwan zipping by me. When did she get so fast??? We hit mile four and as Brett Michaels croons 'Talk Dirty to Me' through my earbuds, my Ipod lowers the music to inform me that my battery is low. WTH????? No. This can NOT be happening. I can't run without tunes! And we're only at mile 4.5? What is going on??? I tell Mendy the bad news. She ponders a few minutes and comes up with a plan:
"Okay, at mile 7, I'm gonna leave you. I'm giving you my Garmin and my music."
Now that's a friend right there folks. A real bad ass. I may or may not owe her sexual favors after this.
We run through downtown, the squares are gorgeous and full of well wishers. They're holding posters that say, "Did you poop?" "This is the crappiest parade ever!" and "If it was easy, everyone would do it!"
Then we hit Oglethorpe and it's mile 7. We exchange watches and music, and she's off like a mustang, and it's just me, Mendy's playlist (she's got some dirty ass songs on there) and another 18.5 miles to go. Okie dokie.
The rest of the course leading up to the point where the marathoners turn off is a complete blur. I consider it a technicality... something I've done before, and that stands in the way of my goal. And then I start hearing the race officials announcing, "Half to the right, Full to the left," and it's gut check time. I know I can keep running right and end up at the finish line in just a couple of miles. My feet are already hurting and my head is pounding from the sinus cold I've been fighting. I know what I have to do though.
I choose the path less traveled.
And then I'm up on the Truman Parkway, running where I normally drive... it's kinda cool. The 'real' marathoners, the ones who will finish in two and a half hours, are already streaming back on the other side of the off ramp... making their way to the finish line. I look at my watch. I've got another 3 hours to go. What the hell have I done?
Big Dave finds me as I come up the off ramp and onto Delesseps.
I'm kind of overwhelmed, but I'm okay. I am okay, right? I ask him if there are still people behind me... I think he laughs.
Then it's down a hill, through a little neighborhood, and on to Laroche where my friends Trish and Mandy are waiting to cheer me on. I snarf down a half a peanut butter sandwich. I'm hungry. This does the trick. Then it's off to the campus of Savannah State University where my next cheerleader awaits...
Hey Sid! I can see her glittery sign glowing in the distance.
I take the opportunity to change my shoes since my feet are killing me at this point. This is where Big Dave temporarily switches from photographer to pit crew.
My friend Kim is working the medical tent, and she sprays BioFreeze on my gimpy knee. It's somewhere around mile 16, I'll be okay.
Mile 17. No I won't be okay. The peanut butter sandwich is threatening a return to the surface. The shoe change didn't help. It's friggin' hot. I hate this.
I force myself to run around the track at SSU, praying that I won't vomit on its spongy, synthetic surface as numerous athletes and the SSU mascot (a tiger wearing a blue shirt, I think) cheer for me and tell me I'm awesome.
Girl ain't feelin' real awesome right now.
I leave the gates of the university and spot a couple of lone porta potties in a very conspicuous place at a major intersection (probably why nobody's using them). I make a bee line.
What happens in that porta potty is NOT pretty. But I manage to get a little relief and not drop Mendy's MP3 player into the ominous hole of disgust and shame. I pop out of the potty and steady myself. There is a medic tent nearby. I grab a cup of ice and begin doing some serious positive self-talk/praying as I make my way, running one song, walking the next, up an overpass and down to Daffin Park.
Those two miles nearly do me in. I never want to think about them again. They suck. A lot.
Finally the nausea calms, and I start feeling like finishing this bitch is really going to happen. I tell myself that once I hit the 20 mile mark, I can stop trying to run. I'll walk the last six.
Then comes mile 21 or 22 (?)
I'm running again. We're at Diedeman Park, in front of Savannah Arts Academy, and there's my cheering squad. Big Dave's workin' the camera, Sid's screaming like a banshee, "GO JAMIE! GO JAMIE! GO JAMIE!" and Mendy's got that look on her face.
I know that look. It's her, "Let's do this" face.
She's coming with me.
After speeding through her best ever 13.1 miles, and burping up her finish line beer, Mendy the Hottie Neighbor, found me so she could run me in my last 4 miles. Unbelievable.
I'd sort of slowed to about a 16 minute mile walking pace at that point, but with my little mustang by my side, I average 14 minute miles for the rest of the race. My feet go faster if my mouth is running. It's a fact.
We wind through miles 22, 23... we climb the last hill, the on ramp to the Truman Pkwy, and I lose it for a minute. The sky is crisp bright blue, there are cars moving slowly past underneath us on Victory Drive, and I've imagined myself in this exact spot for weeks. I wipe my eyes, laugh it off. I'm almost home.
Then we're on Anderson... that long bitch of a road that I loathe. I am walking. I think there's no run left in me. There's mile marker 25. Mendy's patient and supportive and keeps telling me we're so close. Almost there. I keep telling her how much this sucks. I hate my life. I cuss much.
And then there it is. Mile marker 26. I can run two tenths... she tells me to run. I do. People are cheering me on. I turn the corner onto Drayton and there's the finish line. Complete strangers are yelling the most beautiful things to me, they're congratulating me, telling me how awesome I am. I love them.
And then it happens...
I become a marathoner.
I cross the line, I sob something unintelligible like "I'm so glad it's over...mumble mumble sob... can't believe I did it... gurgle mumble sob... thank you God... etc, etc."
A man handing me my medal says, "That was the best finish I've seen all day." I agree.
I'm a mess. And then I look over and see the sign Sid's holding... a continuation of her first sign...
And then I'm a bigger mess. She used my tattoo as her inspiration. "She believed she could. So she did." Thank you Sid. I mean it.
Get a couple photos ...
(Notice the beer in my hand. Did I mention that Big Dave was also my personal bartender too?) Nothing like a beer and a bagel after 26.2.
I immediately take off my shoes, only to reveal some MASSIVE blisters...
Gnarly, right?
The rest is sort of foggy for me... We pick up my gear bag, buy my marathon finisher t-shirt (you KNOW I'll be wearing that sucker ALL the time) and slowly... slllloooowwly shuffle toward the car. The whole time I am repeating, "Don't you people EVER let me do this again. You got it?"
Ah, but you never know... I mean, with the right shoes, and if I get my tummy troubles under control... Nah. I think I'll just soak my feet ...eat handfuls of Ibuprofen, ice my knees and enjoy the afterglow.
I was only 136 people away from being dead-ass-last, but I can still revel in it.
I finished. I did it. It wasn't pretty, and goodness knows I had my moments where I was ready to call Big Dave and tell him to come get me. Oh but I'm so glad I didn't. I knew I could do it, and I did.
Thank you SO much for your cheers, prayers, support and love. I NEVER would have achieved this goal without 'Team Danford.'
WE did it.
