“You can only say once that in your first marathon you qualified for the Boston Marathon. Today you’re going to qualify for the Boston Marathon. Today is a good day to qualify for it.”
– a stranger sitting next to me on a bus.
I had been itching to run a marathon since middle school. Running the marathon was something I wanted to do at least twice: run my first marathon and run the Boston Marathon. My dad being a runner himself, put one restriction on my marathon aspirations. My first marathon would be run after high school if I don’t run collegiately. I went on to run collegiately, thus further delaying my first marathon. After finishing out my collegiate running career in May 2016, I turned my attention to my teaching career and slowed down my milage immensely.
Four years later, the itch was back, and I was ready to chase 26.2 miles. I signed up in the Grandma’s Marathon for June of 2020, which was the same place I ran my first half marathon. It would be a great culmination. On January 29, 2020, I suffered a setback that sidelined me for months, add on the Covid pandemic, and foot surgery in September 2020 and marathon was a total loss. Despite my success in physical therapy and a strong mindset, my doctors and I still had doubts if I’d ever be able to run as fast as I used to. Surgery was deemed successful, but pain and a scar were everlasting reminders that running a marathon was not in my near future.
On March 2021, I ran my first 5k race post-surgery and it did not go according to plan. All my training was not enough, fatigue set in faster, my body wasn’t ready, and I was late to the starting line. I finished a disappointing third overall. That was a low point in my life (with other things I was going through) and I knew I needed to make changes immediately. I reflected and continued to rebuild my mindset. The changes I made are in my past blogs, which have helped me be a happier version of my current self.
Over the sequential months, I started running more frequently. In November 2021 I ran my second race and ran much better this time. On December 2021, I ran my third race, which grew my confidence even more. January 2022 was my fourth race. February 2022 was my fifth race. You can see where this going. Every month I ran a race. November 2022 would my first half marathon near the Kennedy Space Center. In January 2023, I ran the Disney half marathon, my favorite half marathon that I recommend for all runners and walkers! Last month’s May race marked my 19 month in a row of racing; a year of half plus. It’s an accomplishment I’m proud of that I’m going to keep going as long as I can. I missed an entire year of running in 2020 due to an injury and the pandemic. I will never take it for granted anymore.
Now the day was here: June 3rd, 2023.
Alarm buzzing
Shower sizzling
Deodorant swiping
Hair gel glistening
Mirror staring
Race-bib donning
Music blaring
Palm-written handwriting
Black shorts wearing
Socks snuggling
Saucony shoes tightening
Nebraska-born runner
My dad walked me to a wall of yellow rectangles on a nearby street at 3:40. We said our final goodbyes as I gave him a fist pound and my only source of communication: my phone (it would receive text alerts as I crossed certain checkpoints on the course, which would help him and my family know who I’m doing.)
I made my way to the middle of bus looking for any stranger daring to make eye contact with me, but no one did, so I sat down where there was an open seat next to a man. He looked more like a motorcycle rider, but I knew and respected that all runners come in a different looks, sizes, and shapes. If you were on any of those buses, you were a runner! He greeted me and immediately asked if this was my first marathon. How could he have known? Was it that obvious? I told him it was and that my daunting goal was to qualify for the Boston Marathon. His response was the first quote you read in this blog. Over the course of the hour-long trip up the mountain, he shared about his family and we exchanged race stories while continuing to build my confidence that no matter the pain I was in. He was determined that I was going to hit the Boston Marathon qualifying time. He even mentioned overcoming a tibia surgery, which ironically just happened to my best friend days prior. By the end of the bus ride, I was starting to believe, just ever so slightly, I might qualify for Boston today. When started to leave the bus, we noticed we were wearing the same new Saucony shoes, released a few months ago. We both have good taste. We said our goodbyes and continued on our separate way.
A gauntlet of flames greeted us as we got off the bus in the dark sky. No, this wasn’t hell. It was the campsite to keep us warm while we waited 90 minutes to begin running. Rows of bathrooms, bushels of bananas, and aluminum foil wrapped runners surrounded the wood fences. It was a peaceful atmosphere …until 20 minutes before the race. Runners raced to the trucks to load their gear bag, lines of antsy last minute bathroom goers waited, and eager runners ran before the race to stay warm. I was all three of these types.
I jogged to the start. Looking for a tall stick with an orange rectangle that read “3:00 hour”. No sign was seen so I lined up with about 10 rows back of people in front of me. A runner next to me goes, “Well…if we get passed by the 3:05 group, then we’ll know we’re running too slow.” Suddenly, a man in an orange jumpsuit waving the “3:00 hour” sign showed up. Claps and smiles greeted him. Relief was on my face, but not for long. 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…
3… my heart starts racing
2… my eyes start dialing in
1… my hand moves to my watch
BOOM! The race has begun! A cannon goes off! We’re all running as if a bunch of pigs were just released from their pigpen and they’re free. (Is that right expression? Lol) Watches are beeping. I start my watch. Runners are parading a rural farming street in Wallsburg, Utah! Legs and arms are moving horizontally. It’s the start of three hours of running, I hope. All is right.
Horses galloping
Runners running
Ranchers waving
The first miles are easy. They always are. Lots of optimism reigns in the air. We’re in a pack of 20-30 runners, hunting for Boston. The runners are chatty more than I’m accustomed to. Everyone has a story to share. We all come different locations: California, Florida, Utah, Arizona; but we’ve converged on the same mission. Even I share my story. Very few of us in the pack have never ran a marathon, but we’re just as hungry to prove our worth to the others.
The countryside is beautiful. Fields alfalfa wave in the breeze. Horses and donkeys roam. Wood fences align the course. Old buildings and modern ranch houses decorate the sidelines. Police escort us on our way into Prove, Utah.
Mile 7 is when our marathon, becomes a marathon. The first 6 miles were easy, gradually going down in elevation in the Utah mountain country roads. Now it’s time for the first test. When we turn a lefthand corner, our pack of runners changes immediately as we get on a highway as we race up to the sun in the cloudless sky. Runners fall back, while others like me, claw our way up difficult miles 7 and 8. When we get to the top of the hill, our pack has thinned. One particularly talkative runner has vanished, but there’s no looking back. We’re less than hour in.
Miles later we make our way to an apocalyptic area, almost like The Walking Dead. Runners were here. It’s miles 13-14; the start of the half marathon…the very race I ran 12 years ago. For us, it’s the midway point. The weather has been perfect, the wind light, and sweat barely dripping. I’m doing well, almost too well. Could this be my day?
The higher the miles, the fewer of us there are. Our pack is now two. It’s just the pacer and I. How could I- with a hurt left ankle, and never ran more 20 miles, still be running well? It doesn’t make sense to me, but it doesn’t have to. We occasionally meet a runner that’s fallen back or one that’s racing ahead of us. Some stay for a bit, then we wish them on their way.
We ran along the Deer Creek Reservoir and Bridal Veil Falls. The high waterfall and dam nearly meet us on our running path down the mountain. It looks peaceful and relaxed, just like our pace as both of us race down the mountainside.
White mountains
Long waterfalls
Twisty pathways
Wooden bridges
Mile after mile
It’s now mile 18. I’m starting to feel the pain ever so slightly in my knees. At mile 19, a sign reads “The Wall” as we run under it. I tell the pacer, that’s the last thing I want to see. Mile 19 is known as the wall because that’s where runners start to struggle mightily on their marathon pilgrimage. But not us. We’re feeling great. We’re ahead of the pace we need to be at. Our breathing and sweating are minimal. The pacer and I exchange words and smiles knowing all too well how our marathon is going.
After mile 21, a group of four of us round a turn and I’m greeted with a familiar face: my father. It’s at this point I realize, I’ve now ran further than I ever have and two: nothing beats the support of a loved one. My dad’s cheers chorus through the bike path. My frown reverses into a smile, my body straightens up, and my hand reaches out. I inch closer to him step by step. We give each other high fives. It’s the smiling and touch I need for two reasons. My mom couldn’t make the trip and the gruesome fact that I still have 5 miles to go. We’re feeling good! Could this marathon be that easy? Nothing is guaranteed, especially after 21 miles.
After 22 easy miles, I start to slow down ever so slightly. Mile 23: a mile I won’t ever forget. I let the 3:00 pacer go in front of me. I run behind him thinking it’ll just be for a minute. It’s always just for a minute. That minute usually becomes the rest of the race for most runners. This is my wall. I am now tired. How could the easiest race I’ve ever run, become the most difficult. All the hard work I did is about to come crashing down. I don’t have it in me. I’m 20 minutes away from glory, but at this point, the next mile feels like an hour. I’m defeated. The marathon has won. My Boston Marathon qualifying aspirations are running further away from me. It’s at this point the pacer notices I’m losing him, my confidence, and my running form. He hollers trying to get my attention. I can’t hear him. He tries again, but I refuse to run faster up to him. This time, he comes back to the side of me. With a big smile on his face, he tries to cheer me up. Constant reminders of far I’ve ran and how little mileage I have still run are said. I look down at my palm. My handwriting with positive affirmations is written for this moment. It’s just one more hill. But it’s the hill we’re on. With the pacer by my side as the biggest support, we keep charging up the final uphill as if it’s a battle. It takes so much out of me. But I do it. Two miles to go.
At the top, it’s a sight to behold. No more hills. Provo, Utah skyline. BYU football stadium greets on the left. Then I notice a sight my eyes saw 12 years ago: the finish line banner. I ask the pacer, who confirms this. I’m feeling a little better. My pace quickens as the pacers encourages me to go ahead. I do! I dart for the finish line. To my surprise, my burst of energy quickly relapses, and I’m in pain again. My left knee, my tibia, both thighs are crying out in pain. With a mile to go I know what awaits me, but the pain is too much. I need to walk. I must walk. For a half a minute I contemplate this potentially costly decision. Then the flashbacks hit me, like they do with movie characters in the climax of the moment. My whole running career of triumphs and fails flashes before my eyes. I’m 3 and half minutes away from glory, but these last 3 miles have proven to the longest mentally and physically of my life. The wall is a real thing. I know what I must do. My heart chooses pain and glory over regret. I keep running, even as my pace is slowed down to nearly putting steps. I pass my dad cheering near the finish, not able to acknowledge him because of the pain I’m in. The pacer, who ran with me the entire race, is now caught up to me encouraging me from behind. I see the big blue arches: 2023 Utah Valley Finish line. Finally, I cross it.
I finish 2:58:32. I have finished my first marathon. I have hit the Boston Marathon qualifying time I need. Emotions rush over me. A marathon medal drapes around my neck. A variety of colorful liquids fill my lungs. My legs come to a standstill. I did it!
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I intentionally never asked for the name of the man I sat next to on the bus nor the pacer I ran with the entirety of the marathon. To me it felt like those were my guardian angels. It was as if God placed those two angels (men) in my life to give me the confidence and strength I needed that morning. I don’t think I would’ve run well without having met them. I thanked both during the bus ride and after the marathon. With the outpouring prayers from friends and family afar, those two men, and my dad on the racecourse, the volunteers, I’m happy to say in my first marathon I hit the 18-34 Men Boston Marathon Qualifying time! My time doesn’t guarantee my marathon entry into the 2024 Boston Marathon, but it gives me an opportunity this September to enter it along with hopeful 30,000 runners.
