The Seattle Rock n’ Roll marathon was more than I ever could have hoped for and better than I *EVER*, in my island girl (smaller is better) mindset could have anticipated. I felt like a kid in a candy store from start to finish.

I awoke before my alarm, at 3:30, in nervous anticipation (there’s a reason it’s a cliche: it’s true) and readied my stuff several times before I hopped in the shower and got dressed. I had finally decided on “THE OUTFIT” – that I thought would be a winning combination for me. I wore my “marathon girl” ultra silk skirt from skirtsports, a “freakishly strong” performance tank (because that’s what Chad told me I was, and that is waaaay better than “prissy”), my moeben tie dye sleeves, new balance socks, and Brooks Shoes.

Now, I have to say something about the skirt, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t. I don’t wear a running skirt to feel “more feminine” or because I think it is flirty and cute or any of that horse’s manure. It’s cooler. And, unlike some of my running shorts, it does not get so sweaty that it slaps the back of my legs over the miles, dripping sweat down into my socks – which can cause blisters.

My final preparation was my list. I had read about a runner who kept a mental list of names in her head to help her get through the final miles. She compiled a list of those names and thought about how their suffering was ultimately more painful than hers would be and focused on them while she ran, using their memories as inspiration and strength through the miles. I’m not quite sure *WHY* I run, but know that it has been a lifesaver, in the literal sense. As I asked Chad to write the names I had selected on the back of my leg in Sharpie, I mentally dedicated that run to them. The good times, the bad times, all of it.

We all tumbled into the car at 5:15 (eldest kid, mother in law, Chad and I) and headed out to the starting point, in Tukwila. I was alternately excited, terrified, and wanting to turn around and go back to bed. Thankfully, Colby and his mom were already there, so the knowledge that I HAD to meet him there kept me moving forward. Even if it was only inch by inch.

As we pulled up to the runner’s drop off point, I was completely and totally overwhelmed. When I did the Ronald McDonald race last summer, I think there were about 1,200 runners. And that seemed HUGE to me. This time? There were 25,000. Let me repeat that for you: Twenty five! Thousand! As Colby observed, “They just keep coming and coming!” In flocks, swarms, groups. Runner after runner after runner after runner.

With about 21 minutes before start, the kid and I got in the porta potty line before we headed off to our respective corrals. I am thankful that he is patient with me. He knows that if there is a stop, I am going to take it. The line moved quickly, and we went to drop our gear bags off at the UPS truck set up. Because he had a clear mind, he was smart enough to tuck his gear bag into mine so only one of us had to pick up. We shared a water while I chattered nervously and then parted ways. At the time of sign up, I had estimated both our times; as a result we started in different corrals.

I scooted up to Corral #8 just in time to hear the end of the Star Spangled Banner. I was so nervous that I didn’t recognize it! I stood just outside the barriers, wondering if I was going to have to hop over before I got in. I took stock of other people in my corral, more to keep my mind occupied. Although 8 minutes passed after the Kenyans took off before my start time, it seems like a blur. We moved up wave by wave, until finally we were off!

I have to be honest and say that I don’t remember much from the first 13 miles – I tried to take mental snap shots, kind of wishing that I had carried a camera, but knowing that I would want to rid myself of any extra weight around mile 18. Or 19. Or 20. I am happy that they had photographers along the course, and will happily pay. I was suprised by the sheer NUMBER of people. I was constantly dodging feet, bumping into people, and saying, “excuse me.” I ran on the outside left shoulder of the road and tried to stay out of the way. I tried very hard to stay at an 8:30 pace, but was honestly distracted by all the sights and sounds. At one point I just fell into a clump and was watching everybody else, looking down to discover that I was at a 9:39 pace. That was too slow, so I hopped up onto the curb (which was still inside the orange cones) and sped up a bit.

A couple things that have stuck with me from the first 13:
1.) A gentleman relieving himself by the side of the road. I’ve heard about it, read about it, but never actually seen it. It was interesting.
2.) A young boy who plugged in his amp and was playing guitar to the runners, just standing out in his yard with his family. I wish I had a picture of THAT.
3.) An older gentleman who ran silently beside me for miles 10 – 14, pacing me at about 8:17. He never looked my way, but I took comfort in his presence.
4.) Hearing Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough” blaring from the numerous speakers.

I think I made it to mile 14 around 2:03. I’m not sure. My Garmin had me at about 1/2 a mile ahead of where the course markers said I was, so I tried only to focus on pace at this point. I got nervous until I made it past mile 15, which is where I had stopped in December during the Pauper’s Marathon. I heaved a big sigh of relief at this point, knowing that I would make it to the finish line even if I had to walk. Which I contemplated many times, believe me.

Miles 15, 16, and 17 were a gradual uphill out and back. I really thought I wanted to die at this point. I was watching faces and mile markers on the other side, thinking, “Look, they are going downhill. In 2.5 miles, you will be going downhill, too.” I drank at EVERY water break, ran under every hose, and took every GU that was handed to me, regardless of whether I liked the flavor or not. I knew my body well enough to know that this was when the game became hugely mental.

Although I trained on Kwaj for the hills by running into the wind (as recommended by runner’s world), it is hard to train for hills in the last leg of your race. I think I hit a 15 minute pace, step after step after SLOOOW step. One guy ran by me and said, “C’mon, arm warmers – you can do it.” And I thought, “Yes I can.” So I consciously lowered my shoulders, plastered a smile on my face, and dropped my arms to lengthen my stride.

Miles 18, 19, and 20 brought us around the finish line – Qwest Field – for the 2nd time. This part, for me, above and beyond ANYTHING ELSE was TORTURE. I don’t know how else to explain it, and it wasn’t because I was in pain, because you know I was. All around me, people were discovering just how far they could and couldn’t push their bodies. I ran past one young girl who was walking, crying into her cell phone. People were vomiting, walking, limping, stopping to stretch out, and being assisted off the course by coaches. I just kept saying, “Slow and steady. Slow and steady,” while I put one foot in front of the other. At this point, I knew I would finish, and it was a race against myself.

I remember every step after mile 18. My left quad was cramping up, and everything in my body was screaming. I took the opportunity to think about the time my grandfather had been in the hospital fighting cancer. How anything I felt was incomparable to what he had gone through, and took another step. I thought about how Carita must have felt when she found out she was sick, and took another step. I thought about Jody’s smile and took another step. I thought about Chad and how much it must take to love somebody like me and how thankful I am and took another step. I thought about how much I really *do* have and used that to pull me through.

I think the end of the course, as my father described it, “was designed by a sadist.” It was another downhill uphill out and back, meaning that mile 24 was UP! HILL! UP! HILL! Who does that? Up an exit ramp. I just have to laugh about it now, but while I was running it, it took everything I had to not drop to my knees and crawl. I heard someone coming up from behind me – I initially thought he was passing everyone and saying, “Good job!” but as he got closer, realized that he was panting from exhaustion. Another runner sat down in the middle of the course and slammed his palms on the ground in frustration, a mile from the finish.

I looked at my Garmin at the mile 25 marker, and saw that I was at about 3:55. Knowing that I was not going to run the last 1.2 miles in 5 minutes and beat Sarah Palin, I reminded myself to run my race and decided to go for the 30 minute shave off my initial marathon time. I took the last water break and hunkered down.

I was so exhausted at this point that I was thinking rather Seussically. As in, words were coming to me in Dr. Seuss poem format. I can’t remember any of my clever little rhymes from this moment, but know that it had to do with spitting and blowing noses. I cannot tell you how many farmer’s blows and hawked loogies that I dodged. Thank Goodness for fleet feet.

Even though the final mile was downhill, I don’t think I went under a 9:00 minute mile. And the last “.2″ was really more like a “.5″, I think. I began speeding up as we rounded the corner to the finish line, and when I saw how far it was, thought, “REALLY?!” Chad said he was yelling for me, but I was focused solely on the finish line; I saw and heard nothing else. I could hear the announcer talking as I approached, but it might as well have been Farsi. Could. not. compute.

I stopped my Garmin at 4:03:58 – the official time keepers clocked me at 4:03:56. I was more than relieved to see Chad and Colleen at the end of the race, waving for me. I must have looked really dazed as a medical helper approached me right away, got me some water, and told me to go get a banana. Which I did, but not before picking up my AWESOME medal and posing for a picture (which might be the only photographic documentation I have!).

At the end, I am left with really sore knees and lots of gratitude. It was an amazing run. While I do love the island, I think it’s good to get out there every once in a while and remind yourself what you’re made of.