I am not an athlete.I tried softball when I was little. I remember that I wanted to play softball because my brother played baseball. The Hustlers were the best team in our league, so I spent most of my time on the bench. My father had to argue with the coach to put me in the game. I think we won the local championship that year, but it certainly wasn’t because of me. I was too busy ducking from the ball and picking daisies in right field. Halfway through the next season, I decided that the uniforms were too much to wear in the summer heat. I asked to stay home, and my parents happily obliged.
I tried ballet when I was older, with much the same results. I didn’t like rehearsals, and I dreaded the final performances. The leotards and crowns were itchy, and I wanted to stay home and read books.
Gym class was a comedy. I benched a bar with no weights. I was the last one to finish every mile run. I had the lowest number of sit-ups, push-ups, and chin-ups. I couldn’t touch my toes or jump over the high jump. I couldn’t dribble, throw, hit, or kick with any accuracy. Awkwardness and weakness defined my every movement.
In high school, tennis was my new dream. No one wanted to be on the tennis team. I was told that ANYONE who came out to play would make the tennis team. My family liked to play tennis at the park, so I thought I’d give it a try. For my birthday, my family gave me a new racket and some neon yellow tennis balls. I went to every pre-season practice with joy and commitment, and loved the team camaraderie. A week before the season began, the coach pulled me aside. It turned out that not just ANYONE could make the team. I was the only one cut that season, before I ever played in a single game.
Fast-forward 10 years. I am now married to a super-athlete. Fantasy sports, team sports, coaching. You name it; Brad loves it. Before we were dating, I began training for a marathon to impress him, but quit after reaching 7 miles. He had run 5 marathons, and 9 ultra-marathons. Running a marathon became a secret dream of mine. It sounded perfect for a non-athlete like me. You can run as slow as you want; the only catch is you have to keep running. It’s the only sport I can think of where everyone wins when they cross the finish line.
So, it was with some hesitation (and after swearing him to secrecy) that I explained to Brad that one of my dreams was to complete a marathon. He was, of course, thrilled to help me. He immediately downloaded Hal Higdon’s Novice Training Schedule from the Internet. Before I knew it, I was running 4 out of every 7 days. My 12 to 15-minute miles were nothing to brag about, but for me, every mile was an accomplishment. The little girl who was the embarrassment of the gym class, now found herself jogging around the track for hours. I was daily spurred on by students and teachers around the track, and by Brad’s words of encouragement or prodding as needed.
Running through sickness, winter winds, freezing cold, rain, dirt, heat, sun, and floating pollen was not exactly my idea of a good time. Some days ended in tears or collapse as I fought blisters, cramps, aches, and fatigue. The most difficult fight was against myself, as my mind daily reminded me of my previous failures in the realm of sports. I fought feelings of discouragement as the marathon date came closer. Living in China for the year, Brad and I didn’t have too many marathons to choose from. So we’d chosen to run the Great Wall Marathon, one of the world’s most difficult adventure marathons. Feelings of dread at the heights, stairs, and uphill climbs of the Great Wall loomed ahead.
During race week, I was miserable. Whereas I had done great in my 20-mile run, I now struggled mentally with my 2 and 3 mile runs. It was during this time that I remembered why I was running the marathon. I was not running it to break any speed records. I had decided to run to practice self-discipline and a healthy lifestyle. I had decided to run because I saw the training and marathon as something that Brad and I could enjoy together. (Brad said that running a marathon together was the equivalent of an 8-hour date.) I had decided to run because I admired Brad for running marathons, and it was a dream of mine to finish one. I had decided to run 26.2 miles (42 K) to prove to myself that I could do it. Finally at peace with the coming marathon, I was calm and relaxed for race day.
The race weekend was great. On Friday, we met a group of foreigners for the 3-hour bus ride and soaked up the stories of those who had run the course before. After arriving at our picturesque ivy-covered hotel at the Great Wall, we explored the Wall and the area for opening ceremonies. At dinner and breakfast, we shared the anticipation of the course with first-timers and old-timers. We made friends all weekend with people from all over the world, exchanging e-mails and Facebook accounts.
The morning of the race dawned cool and overcast—perfect weather for a marathon. We were up packing our bags at 5am. I was frustrated to realize that I’d forgotten my sports bra! We asked around, but weren’t able to find anyone who could lend me a sports bra. In the end, I was standing in a room under the stands (immodestly surrounded by mirrors and windows) being “bound” in a cotton wrap and gauze by a Danish first aid woman. My new “bra” was surprisingly comfortable, but I put my regular bra on over it, and rubbed vaseline under its edges just in case.
The race itself justified the 5 months of training. After the starting gunshot, we walked forward until we crossed the starting line, activating the timers on our shoes. It was an uphill climb to the Wall, where we were met with breathtaking views and staggering heights. I had to hold Brad’s hand or shoulder during the descents to bear the sheer drops and vertigo. The path was so narrow at times that we had to walk single file, or hold on to a rope lest we drop into the abyss beyond. At times there was no wall, but only stairs, and frequently there was no railing. Sometimes there were no stairs, but only a dirt path or a rock scramble. After descending from the Wall, we ran through the starting gate again, and then 20 miles through the surrounding villages and countryside. We made friends along the way, like John the chiropractor, and Roxie the encourager. We ate bananas, and drank water and Gatorade.
Mentally and physically, the course was exhausting. There were times when I would have much rather quit than kept going. Given my vertigo on the heights, I certainly did not want to climb the Wall the second time at 22 miles. If it weren’t for Brad’s encouragement, and the encouragement of our new friends, I probably wouldn’t have made it. I doubt I have ever felt such physical fatigue, but as we approached the finish line, I knew that it was worth it. As I ran the last 1 K at a slow jog, and finally crossed the finish line I felt nothing at first but relief and exhaustion. Race officials announced Brad’s and my name as we crossed the finish line in 7 hours: 58 minutes: 42 seconds. Others placed medals around our necks. Only 2 people crossed the finish line after us before the race ended for the day. It was then that I realized that I had earned a medal. I had certainly never received a medal for anything like this before. Exhilaration replaced exhaustion. I finished! We finished!
During the 3-hour bus ride home I felt disbelief at the accomplishment of my dream. It’s great to know that there is a place where “the slow and steady win the race.” My success has boosted my confidence in myself and in my physical abilities. In the days since the marathon, I have been enjoying my “Zero Week” of rest and relaxation from running. But I’m realizing that running a marathon doesn’t end there. During the past five months, running has become a part of my lifestyle, and a hobby that I now share with my husband. Yesterday, as I watched Brad create new marathon schedules for the summer months, I realized that I am really looking forward to doing this again in the future.
So maybe I’m not an athlete. But I’ve run a marathon. :)
Love,
Jessie
