The following web log will I fear come off as a pretentious, self serving piece that reads like I typed it with only one hand because the other was too busy patting myself on my back.
I've said before that this space is primarily about my roles as Husband and Daddy and serves to chronicle moments or events that I am passionate for or that I feel my offspring might one day be curious enough to inquire about. With that said, Pierce, this is how the number 26.2 kicked your Daddy's butt.
As the elevator made its descent from my floor, I stared down at my yellow and blue Brooks Ghost Fives, a sight that became familiar to me over the last few months. I was anxious and truth be told probably nervous.
The doors opened and we picked up one more passenger, the baby boomer surveyed me and made the obvious observation, "going for a run"? "Yes sir, running my first marathon today". He reached across the small space, shook my hand and explained that before two exploded discs, he too was a distance runner. As the doors opened and our brief encounter came to a close, he said, what later became the greatest case of foreshadowing that I have ever personally experienced: "Remember, the most important thing is that you finish".
I ordered my usual race day breakfast, OJ and a PB&J sandwich, (I order only by initials). As I waited for my fuel, I recounted the restless night of sleep that I enjoyed. The toddler size 8W foot in my back proved difficult to escape, no use re-arranging him, he just scooted closer. At one point he decided that my armpit would be a suitable spot for his head. His unorthodox sleeping preference was not the only challenge, the pasta wasn't settling well and the handful of tums proved fruitless.
I walked down the hall, past the hotel pool, into the restroom and reluctantly, let my body reject The Old Spaghetti Factory. As I balanced on one knee, looking through blurry eyes, I thought to myself, "I can't be starting out this way". It did and the anxiety became overwhelming. I ate my breakfast, met Ash and Pierce and went to the start line.
I stretched, kissed the family and told Ash that I'd see her in around four hours. I liked my tempo; I was racing within myself and not the other racers. I extinguished the queasy feeling after the sixth mile and began to settle in. However, on mile eight I experienced what felt like someone taking their index finger and thumb and pinching my left calf. It was a foreign twinge and it caused me to slow my pace but I kept moving. The pinch became more prominent on mile nine and by mile ten it was as if there were two hands aggressively grabbing at the back of both calves.
"This can't be happening" is what I was thinking and walking was what I began to do. Baby Boomer #2 cruised beside me and began to walk with me, sensing my pain she asked if I was cramping. I answered; she asked if I was Christian, I answered; she explained to me that this was her 65th marathon and in her previous race she was cramping during mile 12 and prayed for comfort, she said she received it and as it would turn out, qualified for Boston (her first time). I congratulated her. She told me to repeat the Lord's Prayer and ask him to massage my calves and that he would. Before cruising off she told me that I would be able to finish.
I took plenty of water at the station on mile 12, stretched and started off. I did a combination of hobbling, walking and shuffling for two miles. There wasn't a water station at 14! Like a mirage in a desert, I wanted one. At one point between 14 and 15, my left leg felt like I stepped into a vice, as the pressure built, my calf tightened, my left foot turned inward and I hit the pavement.
Selfishly, the easiest thing to do was feel sorry for myself. There I was, picking asphalt out of my arm at the race I'd been working toward for 18 months and training relentlessly for the last four. Thoughts of quitting entered my mind and exited just as quickly. I couldn't help but think about how my pace was shot. Originally this wasn’t about time; it was about accomplishing something that I wanted to do when I was 17. As I lay in that park, clutching my calf, writhing, I quit the easy and sobered up. I remembered seeing at the start, three racers pushing quadriplegics, what would they give for the ability to run? Perspective is the ultimate elixir.
This is the part in Rocky, where the Stallion is down but not out, the ref counting, the montage begins to play with the music in the background (you know the music, everyone knows the music).
"Get up!" yells Mick,
"I didn't hear no bell"! I remembered watching the London Games, a racer in the 5K tripped. She was American, clearly not hurt; she pouted, pounded the track with her fists and cried. She didn't finish. I stared at too many 5am skies during my training to have a "DNF" in my result column.
Baby Boomer #3 stopped and asked if it was my knee or calf? After hearing the answer he said it's a warm day, get some water, (He meant well, thanks pal!). I walked with another injured runner to mile 16, drank several cups of water and used a volunteer's phone to call Ash, I told her I wasn't going to come across when I thought I would.
I rebooted, stretched, prayed and never stopped. I trotted off slowly, building confidence. My lungs were fresh but my wheels were tender, my thought was that if I could get to water station 18 and repeat the process to 20 and on then I should be able to make it.
I recited the Lord's Prayer over those last ten miles more than I had in the last decade. One foot in front of the other I looked for the next station. I couldn't help but think about how miserable Pierce must be waiting for, what must have seemed like forever for his slow-poke father to finish and that led me to start thinking about Ashleigh and how much she supported me. I couldn't have done this without either of them. ASIU!
I saw them at mile 22, driving toward me they pulled off to the side ahead of me, Ashleigh jumped out and started waiving the sign that she had made with Pierce. GO! GO! GO, DAD! I told her I was sorry, used the emotion for fuel the last two miles. The cool thing about being one of the last to cross is that only my supporters were left at the Finish Line. I was able to take Pierce from Ash's arms and run out the last bit carrying him across.
Marathon's are often used as metaphors for life. There is always going to be unforeseen obstacles. You train and educate yourself as best you can to deal with unexpected variables. I was dealt a curve ball that changed the whole complexion of my race, I had never experienced a cramp, if I hadn't trained as hard as I did maybe finishing wouldn't have been a possibility. At the end of the day, I achieved my original goal and kept a promise I made to myself when I wrote this entry:
http://gchernandez3.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html
Marathon I: 5 hours 25 minutes
Marathon II, April 27th 2013, I'm coming for you, with a new goal in mind.
Thank you for my three messengers and the comfort you brought me, I couldn't have done it without you.
Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy will be done in earth,
As it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
The power, and the glory,
Forever.
Amen.
My experiences are new to me; the lessons learned are probably not new to you. Most of the time, I'm just working out what the Silver and Black lining is.
