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Alas, like Christmas another Motorola has
come and gone. There are marathons, and then there are really
marathons and for me this one was a marathon. (Last year's
marathon was a really marathon since I had the misfortune
of tossing my PowerGel on my shoes in front of way too many
witnesses).
I had a few goals for this marathon: 1) not tossing my PowerGel
on my shoes (main priority), 2) finishing, 3) finishing faster
than last year, 4) finishing under 5 hours and 5) the ever-elusive
4:45 marathon. After last year's disappointing finish where
I couldn't even hear let alone speak about marathons, I felt
good about this year's training. Mia and I spent more time
on speed drills and hills, heck we even cross-trained and
lifted weights. I learned, or so I thought, the ins and outs
of my exercised induced asthma. I, the Blister Queen of Austin
Fit, had only a few wee little ones (is this an oxymoron?)
on the 21 miler.
Then came the week before the marathon when muscles were
cramping, but I figured just nerves and stress. (The Motorola
and school districts have got to communicate. Marathoning
and six week grading just don't mix well...). I get a massage
at the Expo. The therapist wants to spend time on my back,
says it feels tight. Afterwards I feel it's going to be all
right. I was a little nervous, but not as bad as some years.
(Only one trip to the starting line porta potties and no need
to expose my butt in the bushes). My lack of enthusiasm during
warm-up stretches seemed normal. By the time the signal goes
off, I'm glad we're running. We were running with several
of our 10:40 group and the company was fantastic. Every mile
we're keeping track of the pace and making adjustments. Everything¼s
going well. Feeling good. Blister coming around mile 5, but
heck I've run with them before. Start to run up the hill towards
the Drag and that's when the asthma starts singing my song.
Legs feel good, but lungs are complaining. We slow down a
bit. I catch my breath and then we're back on pace.
Incline going up 6th Street same breathing story. By the
incline heading towards Veteran's Blvd., I tell Mia and the
group to go on. I'll make it, but I've got to do my own thing.
I hate walking so soon, but alas at least I'm not tossing
Gel. Find our road crew personnel/human angel, Cindy, somewhere
on 1st; grab the inhaler and a few Motrin. Somewhere on the
turn to Red River, the back begins to nag. By the where the
hell is the water stop under the I-35 Bridge (and why was
it on the incline?), the back has gone from a gentle nag to
a what's going on chatter. Find Mia and some 10:40's at the
water stop and the company is welcomed. We start the East
Austin Shuffle. The ole mile-to-mile trot. By mile 20 the
back is beyond chatter and smack into hell this hurts. Get
an ice bag from the God sent them volunteers and decide to
try and run with icepack in the back of the shorts. Forget
to check to see if ice bag has been sealed. Get ice water
down shorts and discover a new marathoning experience. Have
a need to tell runners around me that I'm not peeing on myself.
By now, it's just Mia and I and she's struggling too. Helping
her helps me forget about the ice at the back.
Somewhere around mile 22 the entire right leg from stem to
stern cramps. Great now, the body parts are competing. Somehow,
we pull each other along and then there's Lou Neff. Lou Neff
has never looked so good and a mile has never seemed so long.
Once we hit mile 26 and I tell Mia let's do it and I trot
a little faster. O.K. for the first time in 5 miles I actually
run. I have never loved a finish line sooo very much. Cross
finish in 5:01. Got the first 3 goals, but not the last two.
Now it's all over, but the walking funny. We're all walking
a little funny. It's called the marathoner shuffle. Folks
here at school are used to seeing me to do it and no longer
ask have I been drinking. In fact, they now just chuckle or
out right laugh. It matters not for I am a marathoner. You
folks too are marathoners. Don't forget it. Marathoners' walk
funny because we are funny. We run when it rains, snows, sleets
and when the sun beats the heck out of us like it did on Sunday.
If one more person tells me I had beautiful weather I might
commit a homicide. Wear your sunburns with pride and be glad
you didn't wear a Nose strip to get a really funny sunburn
like I did. If it's any conciliation my marathon wasn't what
I hoped for, but hell I ran 26.2 miles (o.k. I ran 17 and
then ran/walked the rest). None of that matters really because
I finished. I didn't quit while it was always an option. I
have the T-shirt and medal to prove that I'm not a quitter,
I'm a marathoner. Running is a peculiar sport in that on any
particular day anything and sometimes everything can and will
go wrong. And yet we finished a marathon. Any marathon finished
is a good one.
Next to your name is the title marathoner. Not DNF (did not
finish). Maybe the time goal got away from us. Maybe the head/lung/back/aching
muscles monkeys climbed on board. And yet, we finished what
we started. We are marathoners. Carry that medal around in
your pocket to reminder yourself that you are a marathoner.
That's something no one can take away.
Way to Go Rebels! Thanks for all your spirit and inspirations.
You folks are what make the marathoning fun. Take Care and
remember that ice baths are our friend...
Liz the Rebel Voice
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