Marathon Monday

When I got up Monday, the left calf was still a little tight and tender to the touch. I applied heat, foamrolled, massaged the area, and walked around before heading down for breakfast. My sister was up already and we began planning and sorting out where and when she’d drop me off. From our previous conversation it seemed the Hopkinton Park would work best—only 10 or so minutes away and accessible from her house even with road closures—and that leaving around 8 was not too late (I had an 11am start).

My brother arrived and we chatted a bit before it was time to head out. It was a beautiful, sunny morning and the air felt a little cool at that time. As we drove, I was glad we weren’t coming by way of the highway as there seemed to be quite a backup of cars coming from that way. Soon we were in the park and after a quick scan with the metal detector I was on the bus.

It was a short ride to Hopkinton center and from there less than a mile walk to the high school which was the area set up for runners to wait until the race started. As I entered the field, I saw a mass of people—many of them spread out on the grass but more of them waiting in one of the bathroom lines. I joined one of those.

As I waited around I chatted with other runners, hearing about the marathons they’d run, which one they’d run to qualify, whether they’d run Boston last year and injury issues and other things runners like to talk about.

Finally I heard them announce that it was time for runners in the wave and corral I was in to start heading to the start line.

At the corral there was a little more waiting around and then the gun went off and I moved forward with the press of people and started to jog and run as I got to the start line.

As I began my run I did what my coach had recommended and just went with the flow. As I did, I found that the flow was actually moving at a pace I found comfortable; it was slower than what I would typically run, but it felt like the right pace that day and although I wasn’t ready to call it a day, I had a suspicion I wouldn’t be picking it up after mile 4.

It wasn’t long before I was close to the spot where my brother, sister and her family would be watching. I had made sure to start on the left side—the side they’d be at—and looked for them in the crowd. All of a sudden I heard my sister call my name and I looked over and there they were. I stopped, gave her a quick hug and waved and moved on.

After what I knew was the last hill in those first miles, I assessed how I was feeling. Nothing had changed with the left calf—it wasn’t better but it wasn’t worse either. In addition, my legs felt somewhat heavy, not full of energy. When talking with my sister about the race and the calf issue, one of the things she’d said was that sometimes, even in the Olympics and big events, its not the best athlete who wins, but the one who is injury free that day and able to compete and who in addition has a good day; sometimes, it’s just not your day. My coach had said that too. With something of a sigh, I accepted that today wasn’t my day; finishing in 3:40 would have been great, but that day, finishing at all would be an accomplishment. So I decided I’d just run at a comfortable pace and stop to stretch, even though it would eat into my time, in order to ensure I got to the finish line. Besides that, I should just enjoy the day, enjoy the run and take it all in.

This decision made, I continued on and soon stopped to stretch. I didn’t feel any additional tightness and wanted to make sure things didn’t tighten up. The day felt warmer than I’d expected, and, although not as hot as it was last year in Cleveland, the strong sun, the clear day, the air, still reminded me of it and with it, remembered how I’d tried to push at the beginning, despite the heat, and what a bad idea that was. This memory only reaffirmed my decision not to push things.

My pace slowed but I didn’t worry about that. I waved at people I knew. I waved at any camera I saw figuring if I wasn’t going to have my best run I should at least look good. I high fived people, especially any kids I saw. And occasionally, I cheered back to the crowd. It’s amazing how many people were out, how many miles of people, and how much they were cheering; it might be what I’ll remember most about the race.

The hills were tough of course, but I ran up them—something I was proud of given the circumstances. I stopped to stretch quite a few more times, especially during the last 6 miles. As I checked the time when I came to those hills, I thought I could maybe finish in under 4 hours as long as I kept going and didn’t start walking. So I kept running, not very fast, but running.

Finally I made the turn onto Boylston Street. It was such a rush or excitement. As I came closer to the finish I hear my name over the loudspeaker—how awesome is that I thought! Then I was through and receiving that medal I had worked so hard to get. Given that I hadn’t been sure I’d get to run that day, or finish, I was thrilled as that volunteer put it over my head.

The next day I got the email with the link to the pictures from the marathon. Usually I have a weird expression on my face, mouth open or something like that. This time, not only do I look decent in most of them, I also look happy, like I’m having a good time. Hm, I suppose sometimes pictures do capture how we feel on a particular day.

I thought back to that moment along mile 5 or so and realized I accomplished what I set out to do that day: finish and enjoy the run, the day. I thought about all the emotions I went through the days leading up to the marathon: the hope, the disappointment, the resignation and acceptance, the peace. I have a feeling that when I look back on the marathon, those will all fade away and the emotion I will remember, the one I will associate with the day is joy.

I also thought back to my prayers, my pleas that I not miss out on this day and I felt blessed: not only did I not miss out on the day, but it turned out to be a really good one too. Sure, it wasn’t the one I’d planned a week ago, but there was nothing to complain about the one I got: it was pretty awesome after all.

I guess that happens sometimes, maybe often. Our plans get derailed, life throws us a curveball, and it can feel like all’s lost. But, it doesn’t have to be that way. As the Easter story reminds us, life is changed, not ended. The path through that change is tough, it does lead us through a Good Friday, and sometimes, Good Friday can last too long. But the surprise, the joy, the life, that awaits on the other side is worth the journey.

What is your Easter story?

Derailed

With the marathon only a few weeks away, I was tapering, winding down my training so I’d be ready and rested for the race. I started focusing more on things like what to wear, weather, how to get there, what to do for nutrition and hydration, picking up my number—all the logistical details you have to figure out at some point.

By Good Friday, with the race only a few days away, I had most of these things figured out. But things changed that day. That morning, I woke up and my calves felt tight. I couldn’t believe it. Why now?! But I didn’t panic and figured it was just one of those things that would resolve itself in a day—that’s what usually happens. I of course applied ice, heat, then foamrolled and massaged the areas, stretched, walked around, all to help things along.

Saturday morning I got out of bed and, to my dismay, my calves were still tight. Hardly any improvement. I called in reinforcements and made an appointment with the massage therapist to see what magic she could work.

As I left the appointment and walked around some to loosen things up, the right calf began to feel back to normal, but the left… not so much yet. Still, I was hopeful it just needed a little more time and rest and that when I woke up Easter morning all would be well.

But I did worry. And prayed. And asked people who asked how I was doing to pray. I felt somewhat selfish doing so. I mean, praying for my calf to heal so I can run a marathon? Why would God do anything about that? I’m sure God has more important prayers to answer, and even in the perspective of my own life, what’s one marathon?

I prayed anyway.

Easter morning came around and the left calf was still a little sore. It was tender to the touch and although improved since Friday (I could walk on my toes), it was still not fine.

I worked on it some more and then I just broke down. All this work, and now this? I thought back to my experience last May when I ran the Cleveland marathon and my calf cramped up at mile 24. It was very painful and it took a long time to recover. If I ran with the calf as it was, was I risking a repeat of last year? If I hadn’t had that experience in the back of my mind, I’m sure I would have been determined to run regardless of what kind of tightness or pain I felt. But having had that experience made me cautious and I wondered if it was a good idea to run at all.

If I didn’t run, what would I do? I could postpone and run a later marathon I thought. Vermont is a month away—enough time to work this out and be ready. And on Monday, I could be a spectator. Maybe I could take my niece and nephew to watch somewhere in Natick or Wellesley. It would be fun, not the end of the world.

But all this work to qualify and to prepare and now I’d have to do it all over again (because I still wanted to run Boston of course).

I broke down again. As I cried, I realized how much I had been looking forward to running on Monday, how much I wanted to do this one thing. And it occurred to me that that is why God would care; because I care, because I know that if I heard someone else telling me all this, I would want them to be able to run and wouldn’t want to see their work and hopes dashed in this way, and I know other people probably feel the same way, and if all of us, imperfect people, would care, wouldn’t think this trivial, why wouldn’t God care? God who loves us more than we can imagine is possible. Besides, just because there are more important prayers God needs to attend—life or death prayers—doesn’t mean God has less time, attention or compassion left for the small prayers that make up the daily concerns of our lives. God can and does attend to both, to all of it, and doesn’t have to shortchange one for the other as we’d have to.

I thought of Fr Rick’s homily at the Vigil. Have a little faith I thought. It’s not over yet. It’s fine to have a plan B but don’t give up on plan A just yet.

As if in answer to my prayers (well, maybe it as my email), my coach called. I gave him a detailed report on the calf and when I finished asked what he thought I should do. I was ready for him to say don’t run, but instead he recommended doing an easy short run and stretching to see if that loosened up the calf. He thought it would be ok to run Monday even if it didn’t feel 100% at the start, only I should monitor the calf. Hopefully, I’d find that after the first 4 miles the tightness had worked itself out and I was good to go. If it was still not ok, then I should stop and stretch as needed and pull out if necessary as I now knew what could happen if I didn’t. He sounded very reasonable and I felt reassured that all was not lost.

I prayed some more, hoped for the best, but felt at peace with whatever ended up happening Monday.

What are your thoughts or experience of praying for those concerns and hopes that make up your daily life?