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Wow. What an absolutely crazy day. One that almost didn't happen. As I sat in my car, 5 miles from the starting line at 8:00, an extreme feeling of negativity came over me. "Oh just turn around and go home", I told my husband. "They've probably closed the starting line anyway." Ben didn't say a word. He just kept silently chugging along towards Freescale. When we arrived at 8:15, nearly 45 minutes after the start of the race, I seriously doubted my ability to run a marathon right then. It was beyond cold. The starting line was being torn down. There would be no National Anthem. There would be no roaring crowds as I shot off in a blaze of glory with the 3:40 pace group. All I could see was the most dreary color of grey. It seriously looked like the start of the Ghost Town Marathon. With only the tiniest amount of motivation, I hopped out of the car and ran towards the starting line. "Are y'all still letting people go?!", I shouted. "Yes! You're good! Go for it!" was her reply. I thought about all the months of training, all the icing, all the speed workouts, all the sore muscles, all the Friday Happy Hours with no margaritas. Mostly, I thought about my little first graders. Of all the times I've told them to "Try your Best" and "Never Give Up". They were expecting to see my finishers medal Monday morning. With Yoda's words of wisdom ringing in my ears, I gritted my teeth and was off.
After a first very tough mile, I started settling into my familiar groove. I was running about an 8:20 pace, and caught up with the tail end of the marathon pack fairly quickly. At around 7 miles, I settled into about an 8:35 pace. Without the comfort of a pace group and the lousy weather, I wanted to play it safe and finish. I realized then that this would not be my day to qualify for Boston. But the funny thing was, at that moment, I wasn't worried about it. I was running a marathon. I was doing what I loved. All was right.
My support staff was amazing. My three girlfriends stood out in the cold for an hour only to see me run by for 3 seconds. What amazing friends. My husband ran/drove all over town, ripping open gu packets, getting clothes thrown at him, and having orders barked at him: "Call my mom!" ,"Get my gloves!", "BE AT MILE 22!" Sure enough, there he was at mile 22 along with my aunt and mom. Those two cracked me up- they both looked like the Michelin Man- wrapped up like a couple of mummies. But just cheering their heads off. My mom had a sign made that said, "Bentley. OUR Olympic Champion."
The last three miles I slowed a bit, but not much. I really felt great- very strong. At the hill right before Mopac, I think I might have been a little delirious, and I started screaming, "I love hills! Whoo hoo! I love um!" In this really loud, sing song voice. It definately helped me, and I'm pretty sure it helped the pack around me who were snickering at the crazy lady
I'm so pleased with my time- 3:49:35. By best marathon time yet. I'm so proud and happy to be a runner- no scratch that- a Marathoner. When you get right down to it, it's not about the starting line or the crowds or the medal. It's about 26.2 miles. Enough said!
Bentley Post
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