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.