post half marathon thoughts

Long distances races are quieter than they used to be. At the starting line of my first half marathon (the Atlanta Half on Thanksgiving, 1997) it was chilly and dark, and runners were hopping up and down nervously to stay warm, and chatting with the perfect strangers who were just as crazy as they were to sign up to do this thing.

Now? Everyone seems to have ear buds in their ears (except me. I’m old school AND I follow the race rules of no music. Whatever. I’m olde. Get off my lawn.) , and runners are more inwardly focused. As a person who enjoys easy chatter about running or the weather or whatever, just to keep my mind off of the 13.1 or more miles ahead of me, this would usually bug me. But, yesterday? I was loving the focus.

Yesterday was my 8th half marathon (Atlanta, Nashville, Louisville, Napa Valley, Kalamazoo, Detroit, Kalamazoo, and now, Chicago), and my first since cancer. As usual, Jessica was a race weekend rock star, managing kids and traffic and schedules. As not usual, there were people from all over the place who came to run and cheer and be with each other. Some came with the express intent to race. Some to hang with friends. Some to cheer. Some to eat, to shop, to do Chicago things. The days before the race, we ate, we shopped, we laughed, we hung together. The morning of the race, I rode in a cab (driven by perhaps the worst cabby in the city) with three other friends who were also running the half, and we talked about past races, our nerves, how we wanted to be sure to get to the bathroom line. But, at race time, we all did our own thing.

Runners! Some ran the 5K, some the half. There was also a group of awesome and supportive cheerers both in person and virtually. Also, you'll notice that Joanne is 75 months pregnant. Please be super impressed because, dang. I don't have a copy of the whole group picture, and we didn't get one when most of us were together at lunch (coordinated by my amazing friend Jana) on Saturday. We probably wouldn't have all fit in the pic anyway, but you'll just have to imagine some 15 to 20 women hugging and laughing and texting the other 20-30 who wanted to be there. It was surreal.

So, at the starting line, I was by myself in a sea of people. In the cab, my friend Kate showed me some of the facebook love that those who couldn’t make the trip were sending my way, and I was a little emotional. I was thinking about the kinds of amazing support I’ve had this year–my Kalamazoo friends and family, college friends, grad school people, and these women who made this huge effort to come to Chicago, and who during chemo somehow made sure that there was something in my mailbox every single day (I mean, I don’t think that was coordinated, so that just shows you how awesome they are). (I mean, I’m sure the internet,where I met these crazy people, can be a scary place, but it’s worked out well for some of us.) So, I was having some introspective moments. Until I looked up. And, I started seeing signs and t-shirts.

I run because he can’t.

Fighting cancer in memory of So Many Names

We miss our dad.

Here I was, here I am. I wanted to sit down and cry. I mean, I had cancer. And, I am alive and running a half marathon. But, these strangers and so many are not so lucky. Who am I to deserve this?

But, instead, the race started. It was humid and there wasn’t a lick of shade (and, damn, if I didn’t get sunburned. I have an appointment with a dermatologist soon–I survived colon cancer, so I’m not going to let skin cancer get me), but it was flat and gorgeous. At mile 9, Kate saw me from the other side of the road, and we cheered each other, and wow it was a boost that I needed. When I reached mile 11, I was hurting and had some chills, so I really slowed down, but I kept thinking of all of these people who were cheering for me from everywhere, some just a few miles down the road, so I kept going.

Then, I saw them. They looked like a family reunion, what with their matching t-shirts, this group of women yelling and cheering and yelling. And, as I saw them, I also saw the finish line. They waved me on. I could make it. I did it.

It feels huge, this run. It was a PR. It was hard. I have ignored a stress fracture (I think) for a month so that I could do it, and I’ll be visiting sports medicine tomorrow. But I did it. Encouraged by my friends who promised that they would be there with me every step of the way in any way that they could be, I signed up for this race while sitting in a chemotherapy chair less than a year ago. I must have believed in how they believed in me. I cannot thank them enough for that. I’m so grateful for their inspiration, their love, their support. I can’t believe it happened, that it’s over, that we did it.

So, cultivate your communities. Give back to them what they give to you. Love them. Be thankful for your health, and as my Internet Lady Friends would say, TCB (take care of business) when your health isn’t taking care of you. Let each other know how awesome you think they are. Because, really. Life’s too short not to.

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