Words are failing me at the moment so some picture narratives will have to do instead:
Finally, I am the proud owner of the highly-prestigious/much-coveted (fine, only in the running world but still...) BAA marathon jacket. Seriously, every time I've seen someone wearing one of these while running in the park, I had a major case of the envies. Until now.
Pre-race, taken at about 6:00 am on Marathon Monday, which would explain my lack of open eyes. I was on my way to take the shuttle (school) bus out to start line, gatorade and banana in hand.
My mom took this one (and the rest of them, come to think of it) at Mile 17. Truth be told, I was totally majorly hurting by this point and it felt like if I stopped at all, even for a second, I'd never be able to start again. Therefore, I am gesturing a bit wildly to Mom to "Take a picture!" because I can't stop!
Action shot at Mile 22. Definitely could not stop by this point. Again, was pretty much fading but I think I managed to put on a good show for the camera.
Finally, finally finished. But not without some war wounds. Between a massive blister on my heel and several more on my toes, plus chafing and a bruise/scrape from when I tripped and fell (while warming up. I'm such an effin' klutz...) I was kind of a mess.
And one with my parents. Who schlepped to Boston, stayed in a ridiculously over-priced Holiday Inn, fed me pasta the night before and got up with me early in the morning, all for the chance to see me run in the marathon. For about a total of 7 seconds. Thanks, Mom and Dad!
I had a wonderful weekend in Boston and the marathon was incredible. I know not everyone feels like this when they reach the finish line of a marathon but for a lot of people, it truly is an event filled with emotion. Trust me when I say that 26.2 miles really is as far as it seems. And it's an awesome feeling to realize that you did it.
Secret confession: I cried when I crossed the finish line. Ok, I guess for those who know me that's not really much of a secret confession, but I'm still slightly embarrassed by the fact. Good thing the only people around me were lots of sweaty, tired runners, most of whom were in too much pain to notice anything else.
And even though I went out way way way too fast, I still managed to take 6 minutes off my best marathon time. Greeeeat success (Borat voice.)
And my final confession for the day? I brought (ok, fine, wore) my finisher's medal to school to show to all my students. It was awesome.
Whose crossed the finish line of a race and felt emotional about it? It's a good metaphor for the "race to the altar," don't you think?