Miles

This is me. In that picture right there. In case you were wondering.
This is me, right after I ran 26.2 miles.
Yes. I ran a marathon. And then sat down. And had my picture taken.

The summer of 2012 with forever belong to running.
When asked, "What did you do this summer?" My response is easy. "I ran."
It was kind of a lurking cloud, shadowing over me everyday, reminding me of what is to come at 6 am the next morning. Some days I cursed the threat and somedays I relished in the shade.

I started training for this marathon in February. Or I should say, I started to take running more seriously in February. After having Pars that previous October my body was ready for some seriousness. Or something. So, I started at mile one. After eating lots of chocolate and carrying around a baby in my belly my body was revolting. And getting my miles up took more effort than I planned. But we got there. And by we I mean my sister in law, Lysa, pushed me there.

There were moments running during this summer that I will hold so close to me it's almost feels like a betrayal to share. Moments of frustration turned to courage. Fear turned to strength. Despair turned to hope. In many ways this marathon trained my mind rather than my body. It gave me quiet moments to feel. To think. To stomp. To rage. To ask forgiveness. To behold the beauty of early morning sunrises. To focus. During these runs I found parts of myself. I let my mind wander to discover I would continually return to the same thoughts or themes and dig deeper.

One tender moment was during a long run (20 miles!). Lysa was a couple miles ahead of me. My mind was giving way, letting in negativity. Giving me all the reasons why I should quit. "Just sit down." I said. I kept plugging away somehow. With all the effort I could muster. And I looked up to see a beacon, Lysa, at the top of the hill, waiting for me. "Just get to Lysa." I huffed. When I reached her my emotions gave way and I blurted, "I just can't do this." And then the tears of frustration showed up. Angry hot tears that stung when mixed with the salt on my face. Lysa gave me a quick hug, took hold of my fear and told me I could do it. She talked me through the last two miles and we finished that long run together.

Race day came quickly. I was a jumble of nerves. Excitement mixed with dread. Doubt combined with Katie Perry. (The song "Hot and Cold" was written specifically for my marathon, did you know that?) I kept telling myself to not worry about a time or a pace, but to just finish. No. Not only to just finish. But to happily finish. To enjoy this moment. I had taken the time all summer to prepare. To condition my body and battle my mind that I didn't want to regret not inhaling it all in.

And so I ran. With Lysa next to me every step of the way. We talked about everything and nothing. We laughed as the cows ran next to us. We gawked at the beauty of the rolling hills and the quiet dirt roads. I pulled up Lysa when she fell. We cursed the pebbles in our shoes and divits in the roads. I blasted Nelly Furtado's Forca, and P. Diddy's Coming Home. We took gu's and gatorades. My mind wandered. I searched for Cam. I thought of my kids. We took it a mile at a time. And when that got hard we took it ten minutes at a time. I saw mile marker 25 and let the tears fill up for a minute. We said silent prayers for Lysa's knee to hold up for a little bit longer because, dang it!, we were finishing this race together. We rounded the corner to the finish line and I pulled out my ear buds. I told Lysa I loved her. And then I saw Cam. Standing by the finish line, playing photographer, and I smiled. A big goofy ear to ear grin. Because, well, I ran a marathon!