Cresting
a hill at around the 23-mile mark in the Louisville Derby Marathon on April 27,
my legs felt wobbly, my breathing was a little heavier than it was a few miles
earlier and my entire body ached with each step onto the hard pavement below. I
continued on.
I
had survived the early miles – much flatter miles with what seemed like much
prettier scenery. (It is strange how this happens, how your body has the
ability to comprehend and appreciate its surroundings when you’re feeling
energetic, but then this ability vanishes with fatigue.) I had run my loop
inside Churchill Downs at around eight miles – I was even told afterward that
glimpses of my stride were seen on our local television station running around
the famed racehorse track. Later, at around the halfway point, I smiled going
into and out of the hilly Iroquis Park. When I reached flatter ground again, I
had settled back into a manageable pace that I was hoping was fast enough to
get me to the finish line under my goal time of three hours but not so fast
that I would crumble before I reached that 26.2-mile stopping point. I
constantly checked my watch for feedback. And now, with just a 5K left – a
distance I had raced so many times before – my mind was sure I was going to
make it, though my legs told me otherwise. I continued on.
Rewind
just two months and I was in one of the best shapes of my life. My race
preparation was clicking just right and tune-up workouts and races indicated my
fitness level was on my par with what I did before I ran my best marathon in
2010. But a knee injury almost exactly one month before race day changed all
that. Instead, I had to take three weeks completely off from running and when I
returned back, an easy run felt taxing and the race was less than 10 days away.
I adjusted my goals but was still nervous heading into this one, not sure how
my body would hold up in the later portions of the race. As I crested a big
hill with 5K remaining, I found out. But I continued on.
With
each step during that last three-mile stretch, my calves, quads and hamstrings
seemed to pull loose from their bones. Even my arms felt the strain of the race.
This is the point where your mind oftentimes drifts but also the point where
you have to focus on something to get you to the end – for me, that focus was
The Dream Factory. I thought about all the children I had been helping to grant
dreams for during the past few months, the hardships they face on the daily
basis, and I continued on. It didn’t give me any extra strength, didn’t allow
me to dig deeper down and find some power I had in reserve – there was none –
and it didn’t cease the pain from existing. The cramps were still there. But it
allowed me to endure. This was nothing
compared to what these children face, I thought, and continued on. By
wearing The Dream Factory Marathon Team jersey, I was representing something
much larger than a marathon in itself. It gave this race a little more meaning
and provided me that extra incentive to keep putting one foot in front of the
other until I crossed the finish line, which ended up being faster than my
pre-race goal.
Now
that the race was more than one week ago, I’ve had time to reflect on that last
5K – the real tough point in the race. My job has blessed me in so many areas
of my life, put so many things into perspective, and on marathon day it blessed
me even more. I know it’s on a smaller scale than those families I work with on
a daily basis, but I was able to push on because I was representing The Dream
Factory. And that – the logo and words written across my jersey, the ones I
glanced out continuously in those final miles – is the reason I continued on.
