I need to find a shorter title for these because what I have here is gonna get old real quick. Anyhoo, last week kicked off my official training for the marathon I’m signed up for in October. The GR is for Grand Rapids, Michigan, which is the location of the race. I’m excited about the location because I’m hoping it will be a little more accessible to my friends and family who may want to come cheer me on. Also, it’s a race my family members have run before and have nothing but good things to say about. It’s a flat, smooth course and should be perfect for my fitness level and physical challenges.
My weekday runs weren’t exactly what I had expected. I had an outdoor run that was going beautifully until the last leg, when I had about a quarter mile to go. On a walk break, I started to have this very sharp pain in the left side of my right kneecap. It just seemed to appear out of nowhere, and grew stronger so quickly that by the time my walk break was over, I couldn’t start running because I couldn’t put any pressure on the leg. I was able to s-l-o-w-l-y walk back home, and the pain subsided. However, I’m treating that knee with kid gloves for awhile, wearing a knee brace when I run. I’m still not sure what happened, but the pain has not returned so far, and I’ve done a lot of running since then.
The other weekday run I decided to run on the treadmill because there was an air quality warning in our area due to the wildfires in Canada. I had been seeing from friends on Facebook that they were having issues with breathing so it just made sense to stay indoors.
I’m pictured below, post treadmill run in the man cave. You’ll see my hair does some funny things when I sweat. Hanging on the wall to my right are black and white photos of Tiger Stadium, and behind my head is a seatback from the old stadium. I am still not crazy about running on the treadmill, but at least I have the dogs and my husband’s sports memorabilia to keep me company. I’m smiling because I’m done.
My final run for the week, the long run, was 4 miles and I had the opportunity to run it with my son. He has wrestling camp coming up real soon and is worried he’s gotten out of shape so he’s joining me in some of my training. Teenagers are a lot more talkative when they are moving, did you know that? If you’ve got one you are wanting to connect with better, I highly recommend taking them on a walk or a run. My son has always been a talker but as he gets older the competition with cell phones and video games has become increasingly challenging. So I was really grateful to have that time with him and I hope he joins me for more runs this summer!
That’s it for week 1. I was feeling a little hesitant about this marathon immediately following the Bayshore half but my body is fully recovered and rested and I’m feeling strong and confident again. Training for and running a marathon is a really big deal even for normal runners, so it’s not lost on me what an undertaking I’ve committed myself to (again). But with all y’all’s encouragement I know I can do this, one day at a time. Remember, the only way to eat an elephant is one bite a time!
So. I ran another half marathon. This is the one I was training with a friend for, only she was not able to run the race due to a foot injury. However, she was sending me cheers from home throughout the race and was surely with me in spirit! Also, the race went as well as could be expected. Would you like to hear all about it? Grab a tasty beverage and sit back.
This particular race, Bayshore, has been kind of a dream of mine ever since I heard of its existence. The race offers 3 distances, the 10k (which I ran last year), the half marathon, and the full marathon. The races are located in Traverse City, Michigan, where my dad’s family essentially called home for many years. The small city is located in northern Michigan and is home to the Old Mission Peninsula, which is flanked by the Grand Traverse Bay. My grandfather owned property on the peninsula, on the West Bay, and my cousins and I spent a week every summer there. We have so many great childhood memories from our time “up north”. We ate cherries, we hiked, we swam, we strolled along the shore searching for Petoskey stones. My husband and I honeymooned at the cottage, sharing my childhood memories and making new ones. We’ve had family reunions there. My paternal grandparents are both now buried on the peninsula. The property my grandfather owned was eventually sold and the cottage is now gone, but a big piece of my heart still lives on Old Mission. So when I learned there was a race that actually allows you to run all over the peninsula? Sign me up! I ran the 10k last year, which was satisfying but slightly disappointing because only a small portion of the race I felt like I was ON the peninsula. The half marathon distance starts at the north end of the peninsula and follows the coastline of the east bay all the way south into town. This was the race for me.
Now I want you to understand that racing for me is terrifying at moments. Not being able to see the start from far away, being unfamiliar with the terrain. It’s not like home where I’ve memorized the potholes and cracks in the roads and sidewalks. My anxiety for this race began building several days before the race. But standing in the chute among all the other runners was somewhat calming. I was finally here. And I had trained for this, I was ready to go. Until I realized I was standing near the wrong pace group, among runners way faster than me. Not to worry, I simply shuffled back until I found my people. As I stood there waiting I checked my phone and realized I had lost my Bluetooth connection to my cochlear implants. It’s a good thing because reconnecting involves taking off my hat in order to remove my left cochlear implant, remove the battery, replace the battery to make it “discoverable”, put it back on my ear, put the hat back on, etc. So I’m glad I had that time to make sure I was connected. I rely on my music playlist to keep me going throughout these long runs.
Once I was situated and connected I got back to bouncing around to keep my legs warm and as I’m bouncing I realize there’s a strange stillness all around me. It occurs to me that everyone is looking in the same direction, some with hands on their hearts. Ah! It must be the National Anthem playing. I hope I didn’t do anything disruptive or disrespectful. It wouldn’t be the first time. No worries, carry on Mel.
I wish I could remember more of the details of this race, but I’ll share with you what I do remember. Coming up the first hill, I marveled at the vineyards stretched out on each side of me, and the East Grand Traverse Bay glistening in the morning sun ahead. The road leading me forward, filled with runners. I don’t want to forget that moment. Or later, coming around a curve to an open expanse, my view filled with brilliant blue water on my left and lush green evergreens on my right. I thought about taking a picture there because it was so freaking gorgeous but it wouldn’t have done it any justice, and it would have taken away from my enjoyment of it. I would have wasted the moment fiddling with my phone, most likely unsuccessful anyway.
I continued running, soaking in the atmosphere and the majestic scenery. All the anxiety had disappeared. I was thanking God for this experience. It was incredible. I felt strong. I was at peace. It wasn’t until I was about 6 miles into the race, that I started to really feel the burn and the soreness of my legs. I still felt strong, and my legs were moving well. That’s also about the time I started to see more and more spectators. Kids giving high fives, dogs wondering why all these people are running in the street. Posters lovingly prepared: DIG DEEP – a POWER button – WORST PARADE EVER. I love these races. You think making a poster and standing at the side of the road isn’t a big deal, but it IS. Without the spectators, it’s just a grueling training run. We NEED these people.
Around the 8th mile I was starting to really struggle because the weather had warmed up quite a bit. I decided to take my shirt off during my next walk break but with the deaf/blind vest and the sweat sticking to my shirt, it took longer than I anticipated. So by the time I got reset I was running through an aid station with a gang of onlookers to my comically awkward process. It didn’t matter. There’s no shame among runners, and these people understand and have likely seen it all. In fact, later in the race I was passed by a woman carrying her shoes, running in her socks to the next aid station. You do what you have to do. So it was a bit of a chore to get that shirt off but it was so worth it to lower my temperature a few degrees. It gave me the rejuvenation I needed to keep going.
The last few miles of the race honestly felt like drudgery and I just wanted to be done but those spectators kept me going! The runners were still moving ahead of me and I just kept reminding myself what I came for, and that was to complete this race. And I did! I finished! I set a new personal record for myself, and I did not fall. Though after the finish I was struggling to walk. My left foot knew we had crossed the finish line and just refused to lift, so I hobbled along the fence line until I saw my husband and kids walking up, all smiles. They escorted me to the recovery area and found me a chair and some ice cream. It was an incredible moment, getting to share this accomplishment with my three favorite people in the world. I tear up just reliving it.
This was such a great race. It was so difficult, but I have to accept that reality because I’m signed up to run my 2nd full marathon in October. Yes, yes I did. I swore I wouldn’t run another one but it turns out I lied. I’m glad I already committed to the marathon, because I think I would have chickened out after this race. It was a sobering reminder of how difficult and painful it is to run a lot of miles, but it was also a good reminder of the immense joy I still find in running.
It’s serendipitous that my devotional this morning actually talked about how we can have joy and pain coinciding. We can feel both simultaneously, and that’s an incredibly mysterious fact of life. There will be pain. Expect it. But also we have in us what it takes to keep moving forward and find joy in the midst of it. I am so grateful that God has sustained me as I continue to run. That He has given me the inner strength to keep challenging myself and doing these ridiculous races that both terrify and thrill me.
Isaiah 40:29-31 ESV “He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”
Sometimes God sends me little messages to remind me He loves me and that He’s thinking of me. Usually it’s a bunny running across my path while I’m running in the neighborhood, or a deer stopping long enough and close enough for me to see him. I get giddy when I happen to see these things.
Today I spotted this heart shaped water spot on the driveway after taking the trash bin to the curb. Only today I felt less giddy and more comforted. Like God knew I was having a rough couple of days and could use the reminder that He’s always – still – here with me. This disability sh** is a full time job, man. And this week I am feeling beat down. Tired. So this little “love note” was a welcome distraction and comfort.
2 Corinthians 4:8-9 ESV “8 We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;”
I had originally started this post around the new year, and forgot about it. As we are coming up on the anniversary of the events, I thought it would be a good time to finish the story. Also, a disclaimer: the photos included here lack captions because 1) I couldn’t figure out how to add captions and 2) with my vision I’m not even entirely sure what’s in each photo. So I apologize to all the other visually impaired readers out there.
In April of 2021, my husband Mike and I were looking forward to celebrating our 22nd wedding anniversary with a weekend trip up north (Up North being a big deal in Michigan). We had planned to leave Friday afternoon, while the kids were still at school, and Grandma was to come and stay the weekend with them.
On this fateful Friday morning, I was frantically awoken by my husband. When I opened my eyes I could sense there was an emergency but could not tell what. I hurried to put on my cochlear implants, and when I did Mike handed me a stack of towels and said “You work up here, I’ll work downstairs.” A few short steps from my bed, and it did not take me long to realize that the floor was soaked. Our bathroom sink had been left running when I got up several hours earlier to use the toilet. I can’t tell you how many times in the past I had gotten up in the middle of the night to go the bathroom and left the water running. Only every other time it had happened, my husband was awake enough to hear it and made sure I got back up to turn the water off. This time that did not happen. The water had been running for several hours, and because it was a slow drain, the water quickly overflowed. The water had spread from our master bathroom, to the carpeted hallway, and through the floor to the main floor ceiling to the kitchen. And then through the kitchen floor to the basement ceiling.
I was devastated. Stunned. In disbelief. In a whirlwind of activity we managed to send the kids off to school and get everything cleaned up the best we could. It was still very early in the morning so while we waited to talk with an insurance agent, I sat on my husband’s lap and sobbed into his shoulder. Not only was our trip cancelled, but I couldn’t believe the mass destruction I had caused to our home. Mike had nothing but compassion for me. He had been angry all of 3 seconds when he discovered the damage, but from every moment thereafter he was in problem solver mode. He kept saying this could be a blessing in disguise. I had always hated the look of our kitchen, and now we would get to pick out our own cabinets, countertops, floors, etc. It could be fun!
I wouldn’t say the process was fun, however it was nice to discover I did have opinions when it came to the kitchen and bathroom designs. And there were a million little decisions we had to make together, so it gave us some good practice as a married couple. After 22 years of marriage it was nice to find we could work out our differences and make compromises without killing each other.
When the restoration crew came to assess the damage they brought very loud drying machines and put them on all 3 floors of the house. They had to cut holes in the kitchen and basement ceilings to get them dried. They ripped out our soaked kitchen and bathroom cabinets, and with them the countertops they were holding up. They put up plastic sheets as barriers because they had detected mold in the kitchen. It was a mess.
We got to work right away at choosing replacement materials, but there were supply chain issues so it did take longer than we had hoped for. We still had use of our fridge and stove, but no place to prepare food or wash dishes, so we lived on fast food for the next several months.
Oh, did I mention that I had already started training for my first marathon at this point? Yep. Marathon training on a fast food diet? Not ideal. But our family got really good at knowing how to get the best deals at all the fast food restaurants. Biggie Bags at Wendy’s, Five Dollar Boxes at Taco Bell, all the value menus. It was fun! (She said, facetiously.)
Anyway, all was restored by early September, just days before my marathon, and it was beautiful. I was so happy to have my kitchen back, I swore to never talk about hating to cook every again. I am grateful for the privilege of having a kitchen to prepare food in.
We put a motion sensor faucet in our bathroom, so that this would never happen again. It took a little getting used to, but it’s been effective; I’ve never left my bathroom faucet running because I’m not able to. I seem to remember one of our kids asking around this time, “why don’t we put one in the kids bathroom too?” And the reply being that there was no reason to because Mom never uses that bathroom. Well, never say never…
Fast forward to April of 2022, almost a year following the major flood. I was blasting my music through my cochlear implants, drowning out all other sounds, and doing a bunch of power cleaning. I noticed the dryer was quite dusty, so I grabbed a washcloth and ran to the nearest bathroom (the kids bathroom, which is the other full upstairs bathroom) to wet the cloth and wipe down the dryer. I continued my work, flittering around the house. My daughter had come home from school, used the small bathroom just off the kitchen, and when she walked out of the bathroom noticed a problem. She hurried upstairs to let me know, “Mom, the kitchen ceiling is leaking!”
I had NO idea what could be causing that but I zoomed into crisis mode. I handed her a bunch of towels and told her to grab a large bowl from the kitchen cabinets, put it under the leak, and start drying the floor (our practically brand new kitchen floor!). I was frantic, not knowing what to do, so I called my husband. He calmly walked me through turning the water off in the house and then gave suggestions for where to check for the source of the leak. I walked upstairs and opened the door to the kid’s bathroom (why was the door shut anyway?) and walked into a cloud of steam and water dripping off the countertop. It was then that I realized I had left the water running after wetting the cloth to clean the dryer. I could not believe it. I had done it again. Thankfully my daughter had caught it in time and the damage was not as severe, but the damage to my ego was just as devastating the second time around, if not more so. I had come to learn after the first flood that it was actually quite common, for people to leave faucets running and flood their homes. I never learned the statistics for two-time offenders but I was sure it was more rare.
The ironic thing is, we had planned a trip for our 23rd anniversary, since we didn’t get to take it the year before. And when I asked Grandma to come stay with the kids, I told her – jokingly – I wouldn’t flood the house this time. And then, of course, I did. Thankfully it happened a few weeks before the trip so we were still able to go. And boy, did we need that trip. It was just for the weekend, but it gave us time to process and reflect on all that had happened, and to be thankful that we were still crazy in love even after all the difficult things we’ve been through. Maybe even more so because of the difficult things we’ve endured. And when we look at those challenges we’ve had to face over the decades, dealing with a flood or two is no big deal.
Now I’m just praying that I make it through this year without causing another major disaster. And I’m extremely grateful that my family loves me despite my propensity for calamity and can laugh about it all now!
My daughter has been riding horses for years. She’s been obsessed with them since she was a little girl. She’s 13 now, and that obsession has blossomed into a true love for everything equine.
This past year she has been riding a beautiful black and white pinto named Trixie. I had only seen photos until last month, when I joined her for a riding lesson. Watching her interact with Trixie was really special to see. And then to see her riding with such ease? It was such a gift to be able to see her in her element, so full of life and confidence.
I joined her for a few more lessons, as sort of a Christmas gift to myself. I had secretly been wanting to for a long time and finally decided to just do it. I was given a horse named Millie to ride. Millie was slow, stubborn, and mildly obsessed with eating. So, basically my spirit animal.
My first two lessons with Millie were pretty tame. We mostly walked around the indoor arena while the other riders pranced around with their horses. Millie got really nervous when everyone changed direction and started trotting toward her. She was not a fan of oncoming traffic. I was told that they couldn’t leave Millie to hang with the other horses because they all made fun of her. So she spends her days hanging out with the goats instead. I have thankfully not dealt with too much teasing in my own life, but for some reason that information made me feel a connection to her, if only for the vague connection of emotional suffering and pain.
At our final lesson, I could tell right away that Millie was in a special mood. She seemed more eager this time to move around with the other horses. We were having a good ol’ time walking around the arena, trotting a little here and there. Until she caught sight of that big door out of the arena. That’s when she would ignore everything I was telling her and fight to walk straight for it. I would have to tell her to stop and just stand there until she learned she wasn’t heading that way. She was in Time Out until she learned to follow directions.
At one point during the lesson I was directing her to trot, but she had a different idea. I think she saw all the other horses loping and decided she wanted to join them. So she did! Loping (or cantering) isn’t full out galloping but when you are new at riding it might as well be. I was hanging on for dear life as I scrambled to pull on the reins and shout the key word for stop – “Woah!”. She finally stopped about 6 feet from the door; she was ready to make a run for it. I don’t know how she planned to open the door, but I guess she was just going to figure that out when she got there. Details, details. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
And that is why Lesson #1 is always: How to tell the horse to stop.
Overall it was a fun experience and I may try it again down the road but for now it was enough excitement to satisfy my curiosity for awhile. I’m happy to stick to running, where I get to decide where I’m going and how fast.
Don’t mind me, I’m just cleaning out my draft folder here. I found this one from January of 2016, with some photos of a few sentimental Items I was saying goodbye to., Marie Kondo-style. Just for funsies, I’m sharing them with you.
The first one is a t-shirt my sister bought for me when I was pregnant with my firstborn. It’s an infant sized shirt that says “I was worth the wait.” I remember bursting into tears when I first saw it. See, my husband and I were unable to conceive for many years, but after a successful surgery in that sixth year, I was finally pregnant with a son. That son will be 16 years old in a few months and I still believe he was worth the wait.
This second photo is of a raggedy stuffed teddy bear that I had affectionately named Elizabeth. This is a stuffed toy I loved on for many years when I was a child and I have no idea where I got her from. I had dressed her in this adorable dress adorned with white lace and blue puppies. Why I had waited until well into my 30s to get rid of her, I’ll never understand, but I remember it being quite a difficult decision. Probably because it truly felt like saying goodbye to a childhood friend. I certainly don’t miss her anymore, but it’s still fun looking back.
And the last photo, for your viewing pleasure, is of a plate I made in preschool. The kind you draw on a paper circle and they somehow transfer it to a plastic plate. I don’t know how that process worked, but I remember drawing the picture. A hideous picture of three trees of varying colors, a bright shining yellow sun high above, and a stick person with a big smile and long legs coming out of her head (presumably yours truly) off to the side. My first name and last initial, with a backwards ‘Y”, scrawled underneath. I held on to this plate for as long as I could, until it was accidentally used in the microwave (if you look closely you can see the bubbles). We have a friend who once dubbed it the “pēnī plate” (he didn’t think they looked like trees), and the name survived for many years but unfortunately the plate itself did not.
So that’s all for today. I have a post about house flooding I still have swirling around in my head and hope to get that written and posted soon. I am having a chill day and am looking forward to the new year, as I hope you are too!
I ran another race! This one was kind of special because my plan was to run it solo. Back in May I had a nice conversation with the race director and she made me feel really confident that it was something that I could pull off. And that if anything were to happen to me along the course, I would be well taken care of. The Capital City River Run is a race right here in my hometown. They offer a couple different distances, with the longest being the half marathon. That’s what I ran this weekend. The people involved in this race are incredible and there’s just something magical about running around this city that holds so many memories of my life over the past 25 years.
Hanging out with the back of the pack, waiting for the countdown. I am super grateful for the enthusiastic and supportive pacers.
To be honest, right now, four hours after I finished running, I’m wondering why I even do this to my body. I ran a strong race, my legs were holding up well, but a short time after it was over, I started feeling really ill. Stomach upset, nauseated, and lightheaded. I’m feeling a lot better now after a nap and a shower, but my body is still questioning my life choices.
The bottom line is, I had FUN. And I’m so glad my husband reminded me of that when he dropped me off that morning because I was so nervous and scared that I was forgetting the whole reason I was there in the first place. To have fun. Running is fun. People who run are fun. And when those inevitable hard days come, it helps to remember you ran some really awesome races that were hard to do but you ran them. You set goals and you didn’t give up on those goals. You met people along the way who cheered you on even as they were battling their own struggles, fighting to finish their own races.
And fast forward; it’s now Tuesday. I had to pause writing this post on Sunday because I was just so tired. And I didn’t finish it on Monday because Fatigue. Level 10 fatigue, all day Monday. I wasn’t in so much pain as I had expected to be in. Just a bit of hip pain on the right side, but I was definitely feeling more fatigued than I had anticipated. Y’all, I could barely hold my head up sitting at the kitchen table to eat my breakfast. All day I was struggling to move. Fatigue is the most common symptom of MS, and I’ve learned to avoid it most of the time by keeping up with regular running. This race, however, kicked me right in the rear. Leading up to the day of the race I had already decided to dial it back on the long races, because I had so much trouble keeping up with the training, but Monday, that decision was cemented in my mind. I am super proud of my accomplishment, but I need to take it easy for awhile. My body made that glaringly obvious – the debilitating fatigue that keeps me from doing basic, simple tasks is just not worth it right now. Maybe down the road I’ll set my sights on another pie in the sky goal, but for now I am ready to do some serious resting.
This was Sunday, post-nap. I ran 13.1 miles and did not die!!
Meet Punky. She’s a 9 week old golden retriever. We adopted her last Friday and she very quickly stole our hearts. It took us several days to agree on a name. Dad wanted Biggie. Daughter wanted Bailey, so we called her that for awhile, until we learned how common that name already was. I wanted Stevie (Fleetwood Mac, Schitt’s Creek) but noone seemed to like that one. We remembered the golden retriever on the show Punky Brewster, and thought Punky would be a suitable name (Brandon was the name of the dog on the show. Sandy was the actual dog’s name, if you wanna go super nerdy.) It’s taking some practice to get the name right but I’m pretty sure we’re sticking with Punky.
Her big sister, Piper, is not so thrilled about this development. It’s not that she’s intimated by Punky’s energy, because Piper has puppy level energy even at age 7. I think what she dislikes is the invasion of her space. This whole house has her name written all over it, and she does not want to share it. Typical only child syndrome. She will adjust. I’m noticing subtle changes in her daily, so I know she’ll get there. Eventually.
This picture above was taken by Grandma on the third day she was home with us, so she was still super chill and snuggly. It has now been a week and she is still chill and snuggly, but far more energetic and playful. My next post will likely discuss my sudden remembrance of the exhaustion involved with raising new creatures (puppies, babies, kittens, etc.).
I know I’ve not been posting a lot here but I hope to get back to some more regular updates, so stick around. And Happy Holidays!
Some things that are easy and simple for most people are things that became scary for me 8 years ago. When I suddenly lost my hearing and then half my vision that fall of 2013, it was a drastic paradigm shift for me. The cochlear implants help a lot, but they don’t provide me with 100% normal hearing. And nothing can be done about my 60% visual field loss.
I still remember vividly standing in my kitchen all those years ago, terrified to cut an apple. I couldn’t see much and I was so unsure of myself. I feared I would cut off one of my fingers. However, after some encouragement from a friend who assured me I could do hard things, I took what felt like a massive risk and I cut that apple.
I can do hard things.
I’ve been working very hard these past 8 years to find some sense of normalcy in my life. There are still a lot of things I cannot do, or can only do in a limited capacity. I cannot drive or cut straight lines. I can’t seem to determine north from west anymore. I get lost very easily. Hearing and reading are both extremely exhausting because they take so much mental effort.
But what I’ve recently learned I can do is walk half a mile to the bus stop. I can get on the bus, pay the fare, sit down, and listen to my phone with my cochlear implant Bluetooth connection to be notified when my stop is approaching. I bought my first bus pass several years ago and I didn’t use it for the first time until this year because I was afraid. I had never ridden the bus before, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to hear or read the cues and I would miss my stop, get lost. Not know how to get home.
But then I remember that apple and am reminded that I can do hard things.
My first trip was a couple months ago with my kids, before summer break had ended, and they were there as a safeguard to be sure we got off on the right stop. My second trip was last week with my daughter, who was a huge help calming my nerves. She viewed it as an adventure, and was not worried at all about getting lost.
My third trip was today and I went alone. All by myself! It seems silly to me that I get such a sense of achievement and excitement at riding the bus by myself, because regular people do this every day without issue. However, I have to remember that the functions I have lost between my vision and hearing, do make this more of a challenge. Riding the bus was an entirely new thing to me, so I didn’t have any old habits or familiarity to draw from. It took a lot of courage for me to take these trips and I should not discount that. This was hard for me, and I did it anyway. This was a fear conquered, a giant slayed.
Mindy rides the bus!
I can do hard things, and so can you! What hard thing are you avoiding? What’s holding you back? I dare you to stare that hard thing square in the eyes and just do whatever it is.
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.
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.
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.
Deaf and half-blind runner with multiple sclerosis
Little M.S. Runner 