I hit the 20 mile mark at 3:38 which, for me, meant I'd been running as close to a perfect race as possible. Felt great, no trouble and thought I've got this thing licked. Breezed by mile 21 and mile 22 wasn't too bad either. Then somewhere between miles 22 and 23 I hit it: the wall.
Runners, particularly marathoners, dread it. Most know it's coming and hope just to survive it somehow. It's the point at which one feels as though another step is impossible; the notion of finishing wholly stupid. The only option is to quit, then and there. Needless to say, it's the part of any marathon that requires the most mental stamina and unfortunately, usually happens when one is at one's weakest. In past marathons, I'd gone at a slow enough pace that I never really hit the wall per se. Which is to say, I was tired the whole time.
This year, I hit it big time and staggered through MGM, seriously contemplating calling it a day. I got slower and slower and the doubt began to creep in. I kept thinking that if I could only take a break I'd be OK. That turned to wanting to lie down for just a bit. That turned into wondering if I could make it to the exit at MGM.
I did.
Barely.
I guess the race official there must have sensed the fix I was in and asked if I needed help. I mustered up the energy to say I just needed to rest a minute. He suggested the nearby bench and before I had the time to care had called the EMTs for assistance. I did feel a little nausea but nothing major and really just wanted to sit down and do nothing for a while. A fellow sitting on the bench saw my GT shirt and gave me a "Go Jackets" thinking it would spur me on. I muttered "Whatever" and started telling myself that I really wouldn't be bummed if I didn't finish.
Shortly thereafter Randolph Mantooth arrived telling me I was whiter than my cap. A cap, I hasten to add, that is sufficiently white. He took my pulse and BP and asked if I needed "real" assistance, i.e. should we get the stretcher or perhaps the meat wagon. I told him no that I just wanted to rest a little more. He then asked if he could go and like some lovesick 16 year old girl, I asked him to please stay. I'm surprised I didn't ask him to hold me. Heck, I may have considering my state. The whole while the race continued on and people cheered the runners on. Some even cheered me on sitting on the bench. Even in my disillusionment, I appreciated the sentiment but thought it was a bit pointless.
"Hey, you're doing awesome, white as a sheet, just sitting down, The race is passing you by but you awesome. Way to go kiddo!"
I honestly don't know how long I was stopped but it probably was in the 40-minute range given my final time. But I did finally get to feeling better, probably the best I'd felt since about the halfway point. I asked the Randolph, who was probably thinking of all that lives he could be saving instead of chilling with me, if he thought I should finish or just quit. He told me to walk the rest of the way and I started back out slowly, figuring that even if I walked I'd still do better than the first year, and I would have.
Strangely, as soon as I started back, I really started feeling good and thought I might could run a little more so that's what I did. Hey, I'm going to make it and getting back in my groove when my cell rang. My Dad using his college degree and advanced life skills had calculated that on my pace, I should have crossed the finish line, oh about 45 minutes ago. Hesitant to stop, I quickly told him I'd stopped but was going good now and almost to mile 24.
I realize I'd had a bit of a break but the last 2.5 miles were as effortless as the first 2.5. Perhaps due to said break, but in my two previous marathons I found miles 23-26 to be among the easiest. Beats me.
Regardless, it was still a glorious site to come back into Epcot in mile 25 and around World Showcase. The park was open at this point and it's surprising how little interest was paid from passers-by. Sort of like, "Oh there's a bunch of idiots running. Ooh, honey, there Italy." Things picked up as we got back to Spaceship Earth and mile 26. In a nice touch, they had a gospel choir singing. I'm not sure what they were singing and really didn't care enough to stop. They could have been singing Genesis "Supper's Ready" with Mr. Steve Hackett sitting in on guitar and I wouldn't have stopped; I was just glad to see them because it meant I was almost done. I rounded the corner and there it was: the finish line. That moment I'd been dreaming about since September, high-fiving Chip and Dale and crossing that line. As an added bonus, they had Pinnochio and Lilo & Stitch this year too.
My time wasn't as good as I'm capable, but who cares? I finished. It also happened to be about 10 minutes faster than last year which was a nice bonus.
Final time 5:36.
I did it!
Patty Hearst tries my medal on for size.
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