Chapter 11--Support

Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much--Helen Keller

Chapter 11

Support 

We planned on running the long runs on the same route as the St. George Marathon. The nine-mile run was half way through the training schedule and would be our first time running on the racecourse. Lindsey said we needed to meet at 4:45 a.m., which in my mind was wrong on every level. I was an early bird, but 4:45 didn’t seem like morning at all; it seemed like the middle of the night especially when the alarm went off. It almost hurt to wake up that early. If I didn’t have someone waiting for me, I would have simply turned off the alarm clock and rolled over.

After dragging myself out of bed and getting dressed, I became wide-awake and excited to get going.  Mona had driven her car to the Pugmire’s house—she was going to be one of the drivers. We needed two cars so we could shuttle to the beginning of the run. Mara would bring her minivan as the second car at the end of the run.

Today a few more people showed up. Two of Lindsey’s buddies were going to run with us. We piled into the two cars and headed the 20 minutes to a church parking lot on Bluff Street where we would end our run. When we arrived everyone got into Mara’s minivan. As we headed up the road, Lindsey explained that the church was five miles from the finish line—the hardest most grueling part of the race. He said the last five miles would seem like the longest five miles of our lives. One of his buddies chimed in, “Yeah, you will swear it is just around the corner, but it just keeps going and going.”  I could see the apprehension on his face and hear it in his voice. He sounded as if he was reliving some horror story—and he was a runner! What was this going to do to me…and to Esther and Jolene? I’m sure they felt it too.

We made a few stops on the way to drop water bottles so we wouldn’t have to carry them with us. Mara explained that there would be support stations about every two to three miles the on the day of the race. She suggested we stop and walk at each station because, as she explained it, your body needs the break and that it won’t slow down your time. I wasn’t totally sold on that idea. I really wanted to say I jogged the whole way.

We continued up the road, and I say up in the literal sense because the St. George Marathon is mostly downhill. The elevation at the start of the marathon is over 5000 feet and the finish is a little over 2500 feet.  When we reached the 9-mile mark, the girls got out of the car. The guys continued to mile 13, as their training schedule was tougher than ours. It was dark and a little chilly, but it didn’t take long after I started running to warm up. Almost as soon as the sun began to hit the horizon, I shed my jacket and tied it around my waist. The air was crisp and cool and the conversations were a good distraction.

After a few miles we reached the first water stop at Diamond Valley—a small community along the racecourse. Mara pointed out that this is the half way mark in the marathon—mile 13. The small town has one elementary school and a church. There are no stores or gas stations. Most of the homes are on an acre of land or more of land. The Cinder cone volcano which marks the entrance to Diamond valley would become a prominent landmark for me over the next few months. It is an actual volcano that has been extinct for thousands of years. The bottom is scattered with sage brush. Near the top is black lava rock that is sharp and jagged. I have never been up the trail that leads to the top, but I have heard there are amazing views of the valley.    

We almost always started out as a group, but gradually we spread out. I ended up trying to keep up with Mara, which was pushing me pretty hard. When there was about 2 miles left, Mara looked back and saw Lindsey in the distance. “I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t want Lindsey to pass me,” she said as she effortlessly sped ahead of me with her long ponytail swishing back and forth as if waving goodbye to me. The competitive side of me wanted more than anything to stay with her, but it was just not possible. My knees were hurting and my muscles were beginning to shake. My cardio vascular could have handled more but my joints and muscles were done about three miles ago.

As the distance between Mara and I grew, I felt an overwhelming desire to stop and walk. I heard a voice from behind me, “Come on old lady,” Lindsey joked as he approached. He always liked to joke around and give me a hard time. He was a few years older than me, so he felt comfortable teasing me. He slowed just for a moment to give me some encouragement, if you could call it that, “You’re doing well for someone of your age,” He said with a smirk. I put my arm out to shove him, but he sped off in pursuit of Mara. He enjoyed the little game that Mara played with him. He knew what she was doing even though nothing was said about it between the two of them. He wanted all of us to do well and was always trying to push us just a little harder, and he enjoyed pushing Mara now.   

As I struggled to keep going through the pain, I wondered if running the marathon was a foolish thing to do. Running down hill was not a good thing for my knees and now I really felt it. I probably should have asked to my doctor about running a marathon, but I really didn’t want to know.

When I reached the church I collapsed on the cool grass under a tree. I felt so good about my accomplishment until an eerie feeling came over me. It was the comment made earlier about how the church was a marker for the last five miles of the race. I shuttered at the thought because I barely made it 9 miles—not even half way. From that moment on, reaching the church was bitter sweet. It was a reminder that no matter how grueling it was up to that point, the worst was yet to come.

 Next weekend would be the ten-mile run. For some reason, reaching the double digits felt like such a milestone—ten miles seemed like a long way. Esther was in Arizona visiting her sister for the 10-mile run. Upon her return, she reported that she ran around the high school track in Arizona. I cringed at the thought of going around the track forty times alone—how immensely boring and torturous! She was my hero.

By early August we were up to thirteen miles. We became a bunch of druggies—nothing illegal or harmful—mostly supplements. We passed around pills, jells, food, and whatever information we either heard from random people or read somewhere—any little tip that would help us. On the 13 mile, I was totally out of energy and was dragging early in the run. Mara slipped me a small packet of chocolate goo. “Eat it slowly,” she explained. It was so thick that I had to bite the packet and slide it out with my teeth. It stuck to the top of my mouth like a moist piece of Christmas fudge. I had to suck on it for quite a while to get it to go down my throat. It actually wasn’t bad… in small quantities.

Although the goo came in many flavors, Mara said she liked the chocolate best. After trying the vanilla and almost gagging, I decided to stick with the chocolate. Mona brought something that looked like red jellied candies. They came in small squares. You just popped them out of their packet and threw the whole thing in your mouth. She said they were electrolyte jells. It was good and fast, but I liked the goo better.  I guess I’m just a chocolate fan. Lindsey suggested electrolyte pills for hydration and glucosamine pills for joint support. Someone suggested we carry ibuprofen with us the day of the race. Everything needed to be small so they could easily be carried.  I carried my goo in my sports bra like Mara. That way it wouldn’t shake around in my pocket.

Mona told us about body glide—a roll-on jell that made it so you wouldn’t chaff. She explained, “You put it anywhere your body rubs against itself or against your clothing—between your thighs, under your arm pits, on your arm where it rubs against your tank top.” She explained that you could be rubbed raw after 26.2 miles of your thighs rubbing together. Mara mentioned that some guys tape an X on their nipples. She wondered what it was for until she found it was because the rubbing of their shirt can cause their nipples to be rubbed to the point of bleeding.

Someone suggested sleeping pills for the night before the race, “You need the rest, and it’s hard to sleep the night before the race.”  “Well, I don’t have any problem sleeping. I can sleep almost anywhere at any time.” I interjected.  Mara piped in, “You’d be surprised. I thought the same thing, but I was just too nervous and excited to sleep last year before the marathon.” I wasn’t sold on the sleeping pills. “Whatever you do,” Lindsey suggested, “don’t try anything new the day of the race. No new clothes, no new supplements, no new anything. If you want to try something, do it during the training.”     

I’m sure all the pills and supplements would help physically, but what was more important and helped me the most, both physically and emotionally, was the support and encouragement of my friends and family and even complete strangers. That provided me with more energy than any pill or supplement. Esther, Jolene, Mona, and Mara kept me going. Just knowing that they were they were there, waiting for me was huge, but their friendship meant the most.  

Up until now my family had been just putting up with my new goal to run the marathon. They had been annoyed of the time it took me away from them. I was gone every morning for about two hours. Not because the run took that long but because we would stretch before and after we ran, and of course, we had to chat afterwards. It also took about half a day every Saturday. Gradually, the complaining tapered off.

One day while I was helping out at Jared’s school, I overheard him brag to his friend, “Yeah, my mom’s going to run the marathon.” Even Chad’s mild annoyance of the inconvenience was replaced by regard. He had been watching me get up every morning without fail, and he listened as I talked about my training and how many miles I was running.  I overheard him talking to his buddy on the phone, “Yeah, Sally ran ten miles today,” he boasted. A few days later he gave me a new MP3 player. Now instead of trying to discourage me, he was actually going out of his way to be supportive. He even encouraged me to get some running clothes.

I felt so good when I showed up early one morning in my new purple shorts, white tank top, and black sports bra instead of my old baggy sweats and tee shirt. I had bought new running shoes for ninety dollars with Esther when we first started running, the most money I had ever spent on gym shoes in my life. The shoes were a necessity, but the new clothes seemed like a luxury and made me feel like a million bucks. I felt good; I looked good. I felt like somebody—even though I wasn’t sure who that somebody was.

I wasn’t the only one who had support. Mona often invited us to go swimming after our long runs.  After our ten mile run, I saw balloons, crepe paper, and a big poster tapped to her wall which read “Big 10” and another one that read: “You can do it.”  Kelley, her husband had put them there the night before.  And of course Lindsey, Esther’s husband, seemed totally thrilled that his wife was running the marathon. She had been the one who used to complain about how much time he spent training each year, and now she was right there with him sharing in the excitement and adrenaline rush.

The seventeen-mile run would test how supportive Chad was. It could very well push him back into the irritated mode. It landed on the weekend of our anniversary, August 25^th.  Fifteen years of marriage. Our tradition was to take a weekend and do something fun—just the two of us. The past several years we stayed at a ski resort and went hiking, climbing, or mountain biking. This year we were thinking about going to Zions National Park for the weekend.  Even though it is only 45 minutes from where we live, the weather would be much cooler. Chad was concerned because he knew I was going to run 17 miles that weekend no matter where we were or what we were doing.  “You’re not going to be up for a hike or anything are you?” he said disappointingly. He had already seen how sore and stiff I was after each long run.  “I should be alright,” I replied trying to sound optimistic. But really, who was I trying to kid. This was not going to be easy no matter what. “Well, we have Friday to do something,” I offered.  Chad called and reserved a room at a lodge near Zions National Park and scheduled a guide to take us rock climbing on Friday. 

The drive to Zions was relaxing. It felt good to be getting away. With each passing mile, I felt my worries fading. The kids, college, church, cleaning, and dinner all left at home. The last two, no cleaning and no fixing dinner, was what made it a vacation for me. Friday morning we checked into the hotel and got ready for climbing. We had breakfast at the hotel restaurant, and then headed to the outdoor store where we met our guide, Zambonee. Since we had our own gear, and didn’t need to rent any equipment, it wasn’t long before we were on our way up the winding road of Kolob canyon which is just minutes from Zions.  The road was red like the color of the sandstone mountains common in the southern Utah area.

 When we arrived at the trail-head, we put on our packs and hiked to a spot nestled in an outcropping of some rock formations.  It was secluded and private and provided shade for the entire day. We had an awesome day of rock climbing and to top the day off, our guide took us a really neat slot canyon.

The next morning I was out the door by 5:15 a.m. with Chad by my side. We had mapped out the course the night before, and Chad agreed to ride his bike along side of me. We stretched out in the dark and then headed down the road. I loved the noise that my feet made as they hit the pavement through the silence. The sound was soothing like the beet of a drum in perfect rhythm. It was my beat and my rhythm that I had come accustom to over the past several months. It was like a metronome that kept my pace steady and constant. The beauty of the national forest and my husband by my side was incredible. I was glad that I was right where I was doing what I was doing.

As we headed down the road, Chad rode by my side most of the time; every now and again he would take off on side roads to explore and then reappear. We chatted about nothing in particular. We made it a rule not to discuss the kids, work, or money when we were on dates together or getaways, but most of the time one or both of us would forget and start to talk about one or all of those things.

The first five miles were downhill headed away from the Zions. We stated on the edge of Springdale, which was the town just before the National Park. The sun began to rise as we passed through the next town, Rockville. The scene was amazing beyond description as the sun peeked over the majestic mountains and kissed the valley with rays of yellow and red that rested on the tree tops and roofs of small cute ranch homes lighting up the small quaint town. I passed an apple orchard and a small country store that was fashioned after an old wooded barn.  It was breathtaking. I marveled at God’s creations and how it made me feel inside to be a part of life. There was no sign of movement anywhere except the rustle of the trees with the gentle breeze in the air.

After passing through Rockville, the scenery gradually changed to desert. I continued about three more miles before turning around and heading back towards Zions which was now a gradual uphill slope. As I reached Rockville once again, I was feeling the effects of the warm sun and the higher altitude. I was feeling pretty worn out already, and only eight miles into the run—not even half way. The cute county store was not so quaint anymore and I barely noticed it as I passed by.

After reaching Springdale, I was glad we had planned the last part of the course on a trail through the Park. It was nice to be off the road and onto a trail. The trail went through the trees—shade! The glistening of the sun on the quacking aspens and the smell of the pine trees gave me just what I needed to keep going. When I came to a wood bridge crossing the Virgin River, I could feel a small pocket of cool air as I crossed. It felt good, but I could not ignore my aching muscles. After reaching the turnaround point I resisted the temptation to stop or to slow to a walk—I wanted to make it the whole way without stopping. As I crossed the bridge I couldn’t feel any coolness in the air that I had felt earlier.  I had been jogging for almost 3 hours. I was hot and tired and just wanted to be done. My legs ached and my feet hurt.

I had reached the road again, and there was only a few miles left.  I didn’t think I could go on any longer. “I’m so tired and I hurt,” I complained to Chad “I just can’t do it.” He could hear the pain in my voice and see it in my body. It was hard for him to see me this way. His response almost made me crumble to the ground, “You know,” he said in matter of fact tone, “You don’t have to do this.” With that said, I felt the last bit of energy drain from my body.  He didn’t understand. I did have to do this. I did have to keep going. “That’s not what I need right now.” I said desperately as I stopped and stood still almost in tears. I was totally exhausted and every ounce of me ready to quit.  I wanted to lay down right there in the middle of the road where I hoped a car would run me over and take me out of my misery. Chad noticing what was going on and finally getting it said, “You can do it. Come on it’s not that much further.” He gently nudged my shoulder to get me started again. 

The last three miles were grueling. I just put one foot in front of the other and headed down the street. I wasn’t thinking about anything. My mind and my body were numb. I put my head down and somehow just kept moving. When I finally reached the hotel parking lot, I didn’t feel good about my accomplishment; I just felt miserable. Thinking out loud Chad said, “Wow, seventeen miles. That was a long way.” “Yea,” I agreed. Then he made a comment that made my heart sink, “And the marathon is nine more miles.”  

Once in the hotel room I got in the shower, but what I really wanted to do was lie down in the bed and stay there for days. I was already so sore it was painful to bend down to take off my shoes. We had nice relaxing lunch in the hotel restaurant and enjoyed the views of the mountains.  Chad had to help me out of my chair after lunch. I could barely walk. We spent the rest of the day talking and enjoying each others company. There was no way we were going on a hike and both of us knew it—nothing needed to be said. After dinner at the lodge, we took the scenic route home.

Chapter 10 The reunion

Chapter 10 
The Reunion

By July, Esther was ready for her reunion. She looked great. She came over with her two daughters wearing the new outfit she bought for the reunion. As the three of them stood there in their matching new summer skirts, light shirts, and sandals, Esther beamed. She looked like a young girl showing off her new outfit for the first day of school. It was more than the outfit or even the new figure; it was a look of confidence. As the girls showed off their new outfits and chatted excitedly, I could tell they were proud of their mom. As Esther left, I wondered if she would quit running when she got back from her high school reunion in Arizona—that was the reason she signed up for the marathon. Her schoolmates were definitely going to be impressed.

While Esther was in Arizona for her reunion, I planned on visiting my sister, Sara, in Central Utah. She lived on five acres in a small community called Hideaway Valley, which pretty much describe the place—it was hidden in the middle of nowhere. After three hours in the car and three hours of the kids saying, “are we there yet?” and “Mom, he’s touching me.”, we reached the turn off where we continued five more miles on a dirt road. The terrain consisted mainly of sagebrush and cedar trees. When we pulled up the driveway the kids bolted from the car when they saw their cousins.

Sara had seven kids, and my kids loved being part of the wolf pack—Wolf was my sisters last name, and they reminded me of a pack of wolves today as they ran to meet each other and then disappeared through the trees followed by two big dogs, Blackie & Fat Dog—that was their names. Sara was more practical than I was, so now you know exactly what the dogs look like—Blackie was a black lab, Fat Dog was overly large a yellow lab.

As I approached the log cabin, Sara came out on the porch to meet me and help me with my bags. I fit right underneath her arm as she hugged me. Five inches never felt like a big difference except on certain occasions like this. Her long hair was tucked behind a red bandanna that was on her head—like how our mother used to wear it when we went camping folded into a triangle and tied underneath her hair on the back of her neck, her bangs tucked underneath, and the point of the triangle hanging over the back of her hair.

During Sara’s high school years she was quite refined. She colored her hair blond with heavy bleached highlights, she was always made up, and dressed very stylish, but now she was a totally different person. She lived on five acres and enjoyed working in the yard and in the garden. She was always busy with some project. There was the chicken coop and the rock pathway that lead to a secluded sitting area with a bench she had made herself. She let her hair go its natural dark sandy blonde color. She was dressed in old Levis and a worn tee shirt, with no make-up on, but she was still strikingly beautiful and especially to me because she was my best friend and my little sister.  

It was always good to see her, and it was nice to get away from the hot St. George heat for a weekend. We visited, hiked around with the kids, and caught up on everything that had happened since we were last together. I told her about the marathon and the training. She was encouraging and proud of me even though she had no desire to ever run one herself. I told her I’d be running seven miles tomorrow.  I didn’t dare take a vacation form my training especially not from the long runs. She said, “Have fun.” It was her way of letting me know she wouldn’t be joining me.

 I wasn’t looking forward to running alone. I liked having someone to talk with as I ran.  It made the time fly by and took my mind off my aching joints. I had gotten to know the four ladies I trained with well. We shared some pretty personal information about our private lives—more than any of our husbands would have felt comfortable about. We shared our frustrations, our triumphs and our sorrows. It was therapeutic. These ladies would be my friends for life.

The next morning the alarm went off for a while before I finally realized where I was and what was going on. It was 6:00 a.m., but it felt more like 4:00. Sara and I had stayed up way too late laughing and giggling. I felt like I had a hangover. After I got ready, I sluggishly drug myself up the stairs and stood on the porch for a few minuets still trying to wake myself before I began to stretch. When I bent down to touch my toes I was startled by a big black nose right next to mine. Fat Dog wagged his tail as I scratched him underneath his neck. “You gunna come with me, Huh boy,” I said in a high-pitched whisper. Fat Dog wagged his tail even harder and headed down the concrete stairs off the patio and then turned and looked as if to say. “Come one, come on!” like a little kid headed to the park.  I met him at the end of the sidewalk. “Let’s go boy,” I said as I broke into a slow jog. As we headed down the road, Blackie came running and the two dogs playfully nipped at each other and barked before settling into a nice pace by my side. I patted Blackie on the head, “Good boy.”

It felt good to have the dogs by my side. They would run off when they heard a noise in the brush, but would eventually return by my side, and I would pat them on the head. Sara had told me about the loop.  It was nearly 2 ½ miles. Three times around would be about right. Fat Dog was falling behind when we again reached the house on the first loop. He left my side and headed for the porch. He was done. They didn’t call him Fat Dog for no reason.

Blackie kept going as we began the second lap. “Good boy,” I reassured him as I patted him on the head again. He no longer ran after noises in the bushes and just kept a steady pace at my side. I don’t know why but his being there somehow seemed to help keep me going—like some kind of shared energy in the rhythm of our pace pulling us along. As we neared the house for the final lap, Blackie headed for the porch where Fat Dog laid near a rustic looking chair made of twigs; the seat of the chair was covered by a brightly colored cushion my sister had made. Fat Dog lifted his head and looked like he was going to get up but didn’t. Blackie playfully nipped at Fat Dogs mouth showing off his energy. Fat Dog growled with authority showing Blackie who was boss. The scene looked so inviting—the porch, the comfortable chair, the dogs. I could imagine myself sitting there with a good book and enjoying the fresh morning air. I had to stop my mind before I gave in. There was no one there to encourage me or keep me going—not even Blackie.  “One more lap,” I said to Blackie just above a whisper. “Come on, you can do it,” I pleaded.  He just looked at me as if to say, “No way, you crazy human.”  I pushed the temptation to stop and turned my focus to the road ahead of me. I needed to get going. As I headed down the road, I heard Blackie running to catch me, and soon he was by my side for the final lap. I smiled.  “Atta boy,” I said as I patted him on the head.

The weekend went by way to fast. Neither I nor the kids were ready to head back to St. George. Luckily, the kids were tired and slept most of the way home making the drive go by pretty quick. I enjoyed the peace and quiet so much that I wasn’t even tempted to turn on the radio. I just enjoyed the scenery of each small town and the beauty of the countryside as it passed by my window.  

Mondays were always the shortest run of the week. I always expected it to be easy, but it never was.  The three-mile run on Monday was harder than the long run on Saturday. The only reason I could come up with was that on Monday, my body still recovering from the long Saturday run. I started to dread Mondays more than the long runs; however, this Monday was a little different. Esther was on my mind. I wondered how her reunion went. Would she even show up today?  I figured there was a less than 50 percent chance she would. The words she said when she signed up for the marathon still stuck in my mind, “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’m just wasting $45 because I’m not going to do it.” And now that her reunion was over, what was the point?

When I arrived at Esther’s house, she was just coming outside. I half expected her to be in her pajamas, but she was not. She was dressed and ready to go. I could hardly believe it. As we pushed through our Monday morning training, I enjoyed hearing about how much Esther enjoyed her reunion. She looked great and felt great. She said she ran her 7-mile while she was there. Her sister followed her in a car. Her commitment and perseverance inspired me. Esther’s excitement and energy bounced around the group like a ball in a pinball machine. Mondays were usually hard, but not today.  

In the beginning, Esther and Jolene did not tell anyone about signing up for the marathon because they weren’t sure they were actually going to do it.  But slowly and carefully they leaked out the news.  When their new goal was out in the open, people encouraged them and praised them—they genuinely wanted them to achieve their goal. “How’s the training going?” they would ask, “how many miles are you up to?’ Their friends and family shared in the excitement and marveled at every milestone. Now it was almost impossible to quit. They couldn’t imagine telling people, “Well, I quit.” They just couldn’t bear letting their friends and family down and themselves as well. People admired them—I admired them. I watched them push through the pain and keep coming back for more. Jolene found a good pace that was relaxed and steady. Her breathing was not as labored or intense as it had been when we started, and Esther kept running even when she looked like she couldn’t go another step.

For Esther it was no longer about impressing her high school friends. At some point, that changed. It wasn’t about proving something to someone else anymore, it was about proving to herself that she could do this—she could do amazing things that were both scary and hard.  

CH 9 The Wisteria Bush

 Chapter9

The Wisteria Bush 

Mara printed off the training schedule she had gotten off the Internet and gave it to Esther and me. The schedule was for five months and started off with three miles three times a week and increased to 10 miles about half way through. The most we would run before the marathon would be 20 miles and that would only be one time. Lindsay, who was way more experienced than any of us, thought the schedule was too easy and would not prepare us adequately for the marathon. He thought we should be at 10 miles sooner, but Mara swore by the schedule. We decided to go with Mara’s schedule. She assured us we would be fine.

My alarm went off at 5:45 am. It was still dark and my body felt like a big bag of sand. I had been so excited the night before. It had seemed like such a great idea to get started early but not so much right now. Chad rustled a little, made a little moaning noise, and rolled over. I could see the outline of his body in the dark with the covers tucked gently under his arm. I snuggled in close behind him and gently put my arms around him. His skin was warm and the bed was amazingly soft. It felt as if everything was telling me not to get out of bed. As I released Chad and rolled to the edge of the bed even the sheets seemed to be beckoning me to stay as they brushed by my body as I began to rise. It was hard to resist the temptation to just let my body fall back into the comfort of my warm bed.

 It was silent and no one was awake but me. I quietly got into sweats and a tee shirt and headed out the door.  There was neither time nor desire to brush my teeth or fix my hair. I slowly walked the few hundred feet towards Esther and Lindsay’s house. Mara was just heading across the street when I arrived. I almost laughed when I saw Lindsay. He was wearing silky short shorts that resembled the American flag—red and white stripes on one side and white stars against a blue background on the other. I hadn’t seen shorts that short since the eighties, but then I hadn’t watched many races because apparently that was what the runners wore—short shorts made of lightweight material. Lindsay’s bald head was covered with a red bandanna much like a biker dude. 

My attention was diverted by a white Dodge Durango pulling into the driveway. A couple in their mid-thirties emerged from the vehicle. Lindsay and Esther warmly greeted them and introduced them as Greg and Jolene. Greg had dark hair and Jolene had blond hair that was in braided pigtails. Greg was relaxed and friendly while Jolene seemed a bit apprehensive. She admitted that she didn’t know what she was doing, “I can’t run a marathon.” She joked with Esther. “I know, huh?” Responded Esther, “What are we thinking?” The two of them giggled with nervous energy. Esther explained that she had recruited Jolene right after Mara and I persuaded her to sign up for the marathon. Esther said she wanted someone who wouldn’t leave her behind—someone to give her support.  

After stretching, Lindsay and Greg took off and that was the last we saw of the boys. The four of us ladies started out together chatting and marveling at our new goal to run the marathon. Esther still wasn’t sure she was actually going to do it. She hadn’t quite made up her mind that she really wanted, or even could, run the marathon. For now, it was just a novel idea and a way to lose weight for her high school reunion in July.  

Jolene seemed a little unsure as well. She said she just wasn’t sure she could physically do it. Jolene was very competitive by nature and had played all the sports in high school. She was a sprinter and loved running fast—in “the day”, but that was “BC—before children,” she had explained as she grabbed her stomach purely amazed at the amount of extra weight she had gained over the years. She said she needed to lose about 40 pounds, but that was just plain ridiculous. I don’t know why we women think we need to look like we did in high school. It’s just not healthy. But we do. 

Jolene and Greg volunteered to help at the marathon a few times. They were at the finish line at Vernon Worthen Park to help the marathon racers. Jolene said it was inspiring. She said there was just something about being there—some kind of energy that you could feel as you watched the exhausted racers cross the finish line. Some runners were buoyed up by the crowed and found strength they didn’t know they had while others spent every ounce of energy they had and needed assistance. It never crossed Jolene’s mind that she would someday be one of those runners she admired.  She figured it would take more than she had especially as she watched one runner puke all over Greg’s shoes.

That first day we were going to run two miles. We had run past the two churches and just turned the corner on Sandia Road when Esther said she was going to have to walk. Mara hoping to push her a little further, pointed out the mailbox that was just about 400 yards away which was the one-mile marker, but Esther just couldn’t do it and began walking.  She was mumbling something under her breath, and waved us on. She said to catch her on the way back. Jolene was jogging by my side. She was breathing heavily. “Are you OK?” I asked. Unable to answer she just nodded and continued on with her pigtails bouncing gently with each stride.

We made it to the mailbox and headed back. When we reached Esther, who had already turned around, she began to jog next to Jolene. I pulled ahead with Mara and was able to keep up with her until she decided to sprint the last half mile. I wondered if running with us was going to be a challenge for her. Her goal was more than to simply finish the race like the rest of us; her goal was to beat last years’ time.  I doubted that any of the rest of us would be close to Mara at the finish line.

Over the next several weeks, we had worked up to a whopping five miles. Esther was able to make it without walking. A new lady joined the group. Her name was Mona. Mara invited her to join us when she heard Mona was training for the marathon alone.  Mona was blond and very tan. She was in her early fifties and was in good shape. She had come to love jogging after a very painful divorce. As a single mom with six kids, she not only liked the exercise time with her friends she needed it. She lost forty pounds in the process, but what she gained was far more valuable—she gained friends, and confidence, and it helped her keep her sanity. Now she is remarried and has only one kid left at home. Mona had been running for several years, but this would be her first marathon.

The five-mile loop took us up the Washington Fields Road, around the Mesa, and back to the Washington Fields Road. I preferred doing loops rather than going out and back by the same route—it took out some of the monotony. It was nice running near the fields with the fresh alfalfa growing and the view of Pine Valley Mountain in the distance. The fresh air smelled good. I didn’t even mind the occasional scent of manure that came from the nearby dairy farm. Five miles wasn’t too big of a stretch for me. I had done that before when I lived in Heber and was running with a friend who convinced me to run a 5K with her. That wasn’t my challenge; what was going to be a challenge for me was what happened the Monday after the five-mile run. 

Mondays were always the short run of the week.  Today we were scheduled to run three miles. At 5:45 the alarm made its usual annoying buzzing sound. It seemed like I had just gotten to bed. As I turned off the alarm, I noticed the bathroom light was on. I rolled over to see the space next to me in the bed was empty. Just then Chad emerged from the closet completely dressed with shoes in hand. He seemed to be in a rush as he sat down in the chair next to the bed and proceeded to put on his work shoes. I was a little groggy and confused. Why was he up so early? Chad had been going to work at 7:00 a.m. He was the one who was staying home with the kids, but it did not appear that this was going to happen today.

“What are you doing?” I asked bewildered and still a little dazed from just waking.  “Oh….well,” he paused, “I told the guys we were going to start work at 6:00 from now on.” He got to his feet and headed out of the room completely oblivious to what I felt was the obvious. “Well, what about the kids?” I said trying to keep my mounting anger in control, “and, my run. I run at 6:00. You know that.”  “Uh,” he stammered only interrupting his haste to get out the door for just a moment. “I know and I forgot to tell you,” He said apologetic, yet firm. “I have to go.”  “Well, I have to go too.” I tried to stand my ground as I got out of bed and headed for the closet.  He stopped and sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “but what do you want me to do? I have five guys standing around that I’m paying ten dollars an hour. Do you want me to just stay home?”  I could do the math. Five times ten was fifty dollars—fifty dollars an hour. That was a lot of money.  Money was always tight and especially now since the bankruptcy and the move. My running was not making any money nor was it benefitting anybody but me. I was so angry, but what choice did I have?

I stayed in my pajamas for most of the day and moped around the house. I don’t know why all my energy was sucked out of me and why I felt so depressed. I had no desire to do anything at all. Missing one day of training wasn’t the problem; being pushed aside was. And this wasn’t the first time. This was just one of my many ventures that got squashed. I was always more than willing to give up on my passions and put others first. I’m not saying that I’m some kind of a saint. I just felt that was my job as a mother and a wife.

 It reminded me of the wisteria bush I had in Heber. I had fallen in love with the Wisteria bush when I saw it in a magazine. It was pictured climbing up the porch of a cute cottage house. It was so spectacular looking the way it climbed up the trellis. It had the most beautiful purple blossoms that adorned the porch. It takes about five years for the plant to get established before it really looks like much of anything. I planted it near the front porch and babied it for three years. I pruned it and fertilized it and staked it so it would wind its way up the porch. I was always excited in the spring when new growth would appear. It wasn’t much, but I imagined how beautiful the purple blossoms would look and smell in just a few more years.  

Then one spring, we decided to put in a fireplace. Chad had his crew come over to lay the stone on the outside of the house for the chimney. I asked Chad to be careful of my little wisteria bush; without much conviction, he said he would try. At the end of the week, the fireplace was magnificent. The river rock looked great and added such a nice touch to our rustic home, but when I noticed the broken stem and the green leaves that were smashed in the dirt, I was heartbroken.  Nobody even noticed. When I brought it to Chad’s attention, he explained that it was just so close to where they were working and it would have been too difficult and costly to work around it. I suppose it was just too small and insignificant. And, that was just how I felt right now.  

I just couldn’t let this one go—I couldn’t let this dream be squashed. When Chad got home from work, I told him how much the marathon meant to me. I couldn’t make a good argument.  It wasn’t going to help our family, it wasn’t going to make any money, and it seemed just plain selfish, but I had set a goal. I felt so good; I felt so alive.  I didn’t know why, and it really didn’t make sense, but I just had to do it. I didn’t totally understand what I was fighting for.  Perhaps it was like the wisteria bush. Maybe there was more to me than even I realized. Maybe, God knew who I was and what I was made of.  He knew I was capable of great and marvelous things that—that I had a purpose, and I needed to know that too. I needed to know that I was not small and insignificant, and perhaps, just maybe, I was worth a lot more than $50 an hour.