Last Sunday, Veteran's Day 2018, I finally finally finally ran my marathon. A goal of mine I started chasing ten years ago, at just sixteen. I've started training five times, only finishing this once. Within minutes of completion a stranger asked when my next race was. "One and done!" I replied, exhausted. I finished thirty seconds shy of my goal, five hours. I am so proud of all my body has gone through. The hard work, the muscle building, endurance training, leaning into mind-over-matter in the biggest way.
As an L&D junkie and doula in training, I can't help but compare the experience to birth. In fact when I was training for each of my births I tried to look at it similarly to marathon training. What I experienced was that for training, running was harder. But the day of, the "labor" was so similar. The confidence and the struggle were like crests and troughs of waves. The first few hours I felt so strong. I was a badass. I had to slow myself down because it felt so good after resting in preparation. And then it got hard. I got hungry, I got so tired. That was the struggle more than the pain. So much like transition. I wish I could say the medal I received was as rewarding as a new babe being put on my chest, but that part just can't compare. The recovery for me as a runner has been a bit more brutal. For days I could barely walk at a snail's pace. I was so fortunate to recover easy after both births. I got really sunburned, too. No fun. But after about four days, it all hit me. I am so proud. Of myself, of this body, of my mind, of my husband and kids who supported this crazy endeavor.
Guys, I ran a marathon. Mom of two, 15 months postpartum. Never stopped running.
Thanks Dad, Mom, Bailey, and Berkley for making the day such a winner. Couldn't have done this one with a jogger!
