By Rae Hedlund
On October 5th, 2014, I became “A Marathoner.” In
the days leading up to said event, I had numerous family members ask me the age-old
non-runner question, “How far is your marathon?” I answered graciously, and
laughed when one great-aunt asked, “At the same time?!” They were appalled.
Some worried about my health. All were excited to cheer me on.
I was nervous. I was terrified. I was excited. I was cold;
Minnesota does that to a person.
This being my first marathon, I didn’t really know what to
expect, which is okay. Teetering into the unknown was fun, thrilling, and felt
daring; it was like cliff jumping, except it was going to take a lot longer. I
made a buddy, Lindy, on the bus ride to the start area, she lovingly shared a
Hot Hands and her blanket with me while we waited. We talked about our kids and
husbands, discovered we had a lot in common, and I felt my nervousness
dissipate a bit. It was her fourth time running the Twin Cities Marathon, so it
felt good to be with a seasoned marathoner. Lindy and I had similar paces, and
stuck together for most of the race.
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| Rae, Lindy, and Cady, another friend made at the start line! Oh yeah, and friendly photo-bomber. |
Lindy also had the great idea to count dogs. No, I’m not
kidding. There are tons of
spectators at the Twin Cities Marathon, and Lindy said it helps pass the time.
With not much else to do but keep our feet moving, she and I counted (roughly)
450 dogs before we parted ways. Hilarious, distracting, and just plain fun! We
celebrated every hundred we hit, and had quite a few “Wait, what number are we
at?” moments!
The point when I broke stride with Mindy is the point that has
kept me from any outright bragging about my accomplishment. I couldn’t tell you
when it happened, but somewhere around mile 19.5 or 20, I hit The Wall. Running
was hard. My knees and feet hurt, I
noticed I was hungry, and didn’t even want to think about how many miles I had
left. I tried hard not to glance at my watch, knowing my time was going up and
I wasn’t getting far. With tremendous effort, I ran and walked as I saw fit,
but found that I was unable to meet the eyes of the spectators. I felt that my
exhaustion was shameful; they came to cheer on runners and here I was: walking.
Talk about The Wall.
I won’t lie and say The Wall was a mile or two. I’m pretty
sure it was a solid four, or somewhere near that. Somewhere in the 24th
mile, I started to feel my spirits lift again. The crowds were blaring music,
passing out bananas, oranges, and candy to runners with such encouragement that
it lifted my spirits out of the pit and bolstered me up again. One party had
T-Swift’s “Shake It Off” blaring from their house, and all these people were
dancing and cheering, and I realized that I was dancing, too! I was back in the
zone, shocked, and ready to eat some miles for lunch.
My watch- the Thing I’d been avoiding looking at- read
somewhere in the 25th mile, and I began to worry that it was wrong.
I mean, enough onlookers from the 22nd mile and beyond had said “No more
hills!” They lied. So I simply didn’t believe. The cool thing about my watch:
it wasn’t lying! There it was, barely in the distance, the 26th
mile! WHAT?! I felt good. I was trying really hard not to cry (Note: crying
makes it really hard to breathe, and therefore to keep running). My husband was
close to the finish area, and snapped a quick picture and took my water bottle
so I’d be “hands-free” at the finish line. It was so hard to hold back the
tears.
As I ATE the final downhill (yep, another hill), I cruised
over the finish line and promptly started crying. Then I told a guy handing out
medals, “Give me that thing!” It sounded nicer (more desperate) than threatening,
I promise. Next, I saw my aunt and uncle who had volunteered to help with
drop-bags. They hugged me tight, asked how I felt, and I cried while replying,
“Not to complain or anything, but that was really fucking hard!” They laughed,
steered me in the right direction, and sent me on my limpy, merry (yes, MERRY!)
way. I discovered I’d finished in 5:31, at least a half-hour slower than I had
wanted. Everything after that is a bit of a blur, so we’ll stop that “race
report” stuff.
What I’m here to say is, it took me until Wednesday morning
to realize I’d succeeded in completing something not many had even attempted.
As we set out on our grueling eight-hour drive home, I stopped for coffee,
because coffee. I happened to be wearing my finishers shirt (for the third day
in a row- I was proud, okay?). The barista asked if I had run that weekend, to
which I responded “Yes”, and she seemed to be in awe. She told me she had run
her first half-marathon in August, and that it was really tough, told me “Way
to go!” and sent me on my way with caffeine in hand
It was then that I realized
others thought I’d done something amazing. Sure, maybe they also thought it was
crazy, but in a “More power to ya!” sort of way, “You did it! I don’t think I
could!”
Oh yeah. Yeah! I did
do it! I was a Finisher. A Marathoner.
Wow.
My struggle with accepting my time seems so silly now,
especially since the nerd in me decided to look up race statistics for 2013. In
the US in 2013, an estimated 541,000 people finished road marathons, with 43%
of those being women. ONLY 232,630 women, way less that 1% of the population! This
year, my number will be among those
few women, because I have conquered my first marathon. I can’t wait to see what
else I can accomplish!
I’m a Marathoner, and
I’m a rare breed.
Rae Hedlund spends her
days drinking multiple pots of coffee, reading, and chasing her two year-old
mancub.
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