Well, it’s a week post-marathon and I’ve put this off long enough. I was hoping to write a beautifully elegant recap of the marathon, but you’ll just have to settle for my jumbled thoughts and memories. Keep in mind this was written in spurts throughout the week, if that tells you anything about how my recovery was going.

I’m still processing the reality of what I accomplished by finishing a marathon. I mostly feel relief and post race pain. Maybe when I’ve physically healed it will start to hit me. I want to tell you all about it, I really do, but I’m honestly just tired and sore. I need to rest and recover.

****Here is the pause while I am recovering****

Okay. Still fatigued but my brain is feeling much better. So, I finished in just under 7 hours. That’s nowhere near the time I had been hoping for. However, it occurred to me this morning that the number 7 is Biblically symbolic of completion. And this race was certainly that. Not just a completion of 26.2 miles, but the completion of the goal I set to prove to myself that MS hasn’t won.

Running was never my thing. Running was what my brother and sister did. However, there was a point along the way, along this journey with MS, that I discovered I could run. And I remember sitting at that table with Brett and Kari, out for a drink to celebrate one of our birthdays, when I told them both – “I think I want to try running a 5k.” That was six years ago, and here I am running a marathon. Incredible.

“One step. One punch. One round at a time.” This was the mantra Kari and I kept repeating in the last several miles of the race, in order to keep me going. (It’s from one of the Rocky movies but we weren’t sure we got all the words right.) I was losing motivation quickly. My legs were failing me in ways I had only partially anticipated. I had developed a mysterious lean to the right, my vision was even more foggy than usual. It was clear I was not going to finish anywhere near my time goal, well after the official race had closed down. But I set this goal, I decided back in the spring I was going to do it, so quitting was not an option. Kari reminded me of that. My son, Luke, ran the last 5 miles with us, cheering me on. My brother, Brett, was there for the last 2, lending an arm on the left side to keep me steady. There was a whole group of family and friends waiting for me at the finish line.

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As the four of us (Kari, Brett, Luke, and myself) rounded the corner towards the finish, Brett and Luke snuck away and Kari moved further to the right. They knew this was my race and were gracious enough to let me finish on my own. Stubborn me, I did not want to be carried to the finish. I wanted it to be clear I could cross that line on my own two feet. And maybe that’s a little selfish of me but I had to know I could do it.

My sister and I were crying as I hobbled toward the end. I’m sure many others were crying too. I crossed that makeshift finish line and fell into my friend Sarah’s arms. Oh, Sarah. Let me break for a minute to tell you a bit about her. We’ve been friends for a couple decades. She’s the one who helped me get the job where I met my husband. She’s also the amazing woman who cared for me daily when I had my most devastating relapse in 2013. She has fed me, clothed me, even helped bathe me, when I was at my very worst. She has never shown me pity, but always strength and courage. She brings out the best in people when they can’t see it for themselves. She is an incredible human being and I’m so grateful she came to support me at this monumental race.

There’s so much more I could tell. My daughter, Natalie, smiling at me and reminding me, “you were in a walker!”. She knows this was big. She’s proud of her mom, yes, but my hope for her is that this memory will be a constant reminder that she also can do hard things.

And my husband, Mike. Sarah handed me off to him at that finish line. By this time my legs were collapsing and he wrapped his strong arms around me and wouldn’t let me fall (literally and figuratively!). He knew all along that I would finish this race because he knows me. He knows my stubborn determination and he knows how much this meant to me.

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I guess all this is to say that running a marathon was not just about the running. This was an experience I’ll never forget. Yes, I may forget the pain, and the lost toenails, and the weeklong fatigue I felt after it was done. I may forget all the long training runs and the miles I put in each week. But I will never forget all the people who supported me along the way. There were lots of people at this race to cheer me on, but there were so many more back at home who have been rooting for me to slay this giant. And I couldn’t do life without any of them. Thank you all, for walking by my side and for carrying me when needed. My hope now that this crazy race is over is that I can put all my energy into giving back to you. I’m truly grateful.