A week ago I ran my first marathon. 26.2 miles past the historic buildings of the old Ft. Benjamin Harrison, along pathways in open fields, through deep woods, over rolling hills and along Fall Creek, on the northeast side of Indianapolis. It was the Community Health Network Marathon, and many of the 6,000 participants were running to support some medical cause.
My wife, Linda, was great team support. Because she was there I could wear my sweats to keep from freezing, and hand them over to her just before the race began. She was there at mile 6 and mile 12 and at the finish line to cheer me on. She drove me home when my muscles were too sore to press down on the accelerator.
I ran well for the first half of the race, cruising along at about 9 minutes 15 seconds per mile. I passed some runners, and some runners passed me.
But around mile 18 pain crept into my thighs. Around mile 20 my calf muscles cramped up. I came to a full stop, but even just standing there my calf muscle was twisting and rolling. I kept moving, walking sometimes and jogging sometimes. For the last mile I was able to run again, at about 9 minutes 30 seconds for the last mile. I finished in 4 hours 56 minutes.
It was a day of odd events. A guy in a yellow shirt and a cheesehead hat passing me at mile 6. A spectator dress like mothman, waving a skeletal claw at me. A volunteer racing across a meadow, chasing away a couple of deer so they wouldn't gallop through the pack of runners. Two women in pink tutus running past me at mile 19. One runner telling another, "Yeah, there was the time I didn't watch my step and I found myself standing knee-deep in the carcass of a deer."
Mostly I had time to think. About the beauty of the day. About how my body was performing at that moment. About the next step in the race. About the next step in life.
My mother almost died the week before the race. She has lived many years and has struggled with Parkinson's Disease for a long time. She lives in a nursing home in Indianapolis. She had an unresponsive episode but came out of it after a couple of days. One day soon she won't. But I pray that the Lord will hold her safe always, whatever comes. I thought about that a lot as we ran.
I will run a marathon again, God willing. I learned a lot about how to prepare. Run more, stretch more, drink more water just before the race.
Pray for RETA and the families they serve, that the Lord will give them endurance for the long run.
