October 13th, 2012: The Hartford Marathon

5:00 a.m. The temperature outside is 32 degrees, the first frost of the season.  The synchronized alarms beep in our bedroom and the guest room where my parents lay sleeping.  We all stumble out of bed and begin the process of getting dressed and ready for race day.  Oatmeal is made, coffee is brewed, and bagels are toasted.  Steve and Dad deliberate over how many layers of clothing will be needed to comfortably ride bikes on the course.  Gloves and hats are dug out of storage, bikes are loaded on the bike rack.  By 6:15 a.m. everyone is dressed and, coffee mugs in hand, we pile into the frost-covered car.

6:45 a.m. Our quick and uneventful drive to Hartford suddenly grinds to a halt.  Somehow none of us thought to consider race traffic delays when planning our timeline for the morning.  According to our GPS it is taking us about 5 minutes to go 1 tenth of a mile.  Mom and I still need to check our bag, Steve and Dad are supposed to arrive to pick up their volunteer gear and instructions by 7.  At this rate there is no way they can make it.  At 7:15 we were close enough for Mom and I to walk to the bag check, so we hop out of the car and walk past the long line of vehicles filled with runners.

7:30 a.m. We check our bags and begin winding through the crowd looking for the port-a-potties when suddenly I can't see Mom anywhere.  How did we get separated so quickly?  This was not how today was supposed to go!  I'm searching the crowd (it feels like Where's Waldo, the marathon edition: Where's Lisa) and climbing up onto a statue I catch sight of her red jacket (so glad she didn't check that!).  She sees me and we proceed, arm in arm to the port-a-potties.

8:00 a.m.  Mom and I, having managed to stay together and find our pace group, decide it's the perfect time to get our first picture of the day together.  Mom has the camera strapped around her waist and she takes it out.  She's about to ask someone to take our picture when she realizes that we never put the batteries in!  So much for documenting the race, we'll just have to rely on the official race photographers.  We are standing and chatting when the crowd starts moving forward.  With so many runners, we can't hear the announcement or gun, but the race has begun.  Suddenly, I am overcome with emotion and begin to cry and hug Mom as the runners stream around us on all sides.  In that moment, all I can think of is how in my worst moments 10 years ago I had envisioned myself in a wheelchair, and here I am on the verge of running my first marathon with my Mom by my side.  6 minutes after the official start, we finally cross the start.

10:00 a.m.  We are about 12 miles into the marathon, almost halfway!  Our pace has held pretty steady around 10 minutes miles, better than our goal.  The cold fall day with clear blue skies is the perfect condition for running.  The weather and our own excitement of running the marathon together spurs us on and, mile after mile, we hang on to our pace.  We are in good spirits and are already plotting how to make the NYC Marathon even better.  Those rainbow animal print knee socks that runner is wearing might just do the trick.  Ooh, that foam shark hat!  It would be hard to lose each other if we wore that!  We definitely need to remember the camera batteries for NYC so we can document it as we go.  Dad bikes by and now that we're warmed up (he's still freezing on his bike) Mom hands off her jacket and the camera (no sense in carrying it with no batteries).  He gives us some GU and pedals ahead.  Shortly after we pass Steve.  He's off his bike and I'm worried that he is hurt.  No, just cold, he tells us as he is pacing and doing jumping jacks to warm up.

Steve and my Dad biked the course as part of the volunteer support crew

11:00 a.m. About 18 miles in and I'm still feeling pretty good.   The aches are there in my feet, but I can easily work through them.  Mom is fading a bit and I hang back a couple times to help her continue.  We are still hanging onto our pace, but it's proving to be a bit more difficult now.

 12:00 p.m.  Mom has gotten her second wind and now it's my turn to fade.  23 miles in and I am hurting.  Anytime the incline changes slightly my left knee gives a sharp pang and feels as if it might give out.  The panic caused by this and the sheer exhaustion I'm feeling right now put me over the edge and I start to have trouble breathing.  It's a flashback to my days of running cross country with exercise induced asthma in high school.  Sucking air and sounding like a train whistle with each breath, Mom convinces me to walk a little bit.  She gives me her shoulder to lean on and with her support I slowly lose the limp and begin to breathe easier.  Over the next 2 miles I have a couple more episodes, but the thought of the finish line being less than a 5K away keeps me going.

Almost to the finish line!

12:24 p.m.  As we pass the 25 mile mark, Mom reminds me of the very first mile we ran together.  I was in middle school and running cross country.  Mom had never been a runner, but wanted to try.  I remember her struggling up a hill with less than half a mile to go.  I was breathing easily and running backwards giving words of encouragement.  Here we are now, running the last mile of our marathon together.  My first, her forty-fifth.  This memory spurs me on and we both find the strength to give that last mile everything we have.

12:34 p.m.  Holding hands and grinning from ear to ear, we cross the finish line.  Official time of 4:28:00.  10 years ago she was typing my papers and helping me walk as I struggled with my first MS symptoms, now we stand together having just completed a marathon.  After a long embrace we walk, still grinning uncontrollably, to collect our medals and get food, massages and beer!  After we have recovered a little bit, Mom reminds me that this was just our last long run before the New York City Marathon.  Not sure yet if I want to keep running marathons, but for now I'm so grateful that my body was cooperative and so excited to run in New York on November 4th!

My Mom and I, exhausted but elated post-race (and post-shower!).