Dear Friends and Family,

Is there life after a marathon? I guess so, because here I am: almost two weeks out and still kicking, and walking, and doing all those other good things that legs should normally do. I guess your first question would be, “How was it?” Well, the answer would depend quite a bit on when you asked it. If you asked me shortly after I stumbled wearily over the finish line, barely able to get out of the chute and lower myself into a prone position on the asphalt, I probably would not have had flowery descriptives for you. Even if you questioned me that evening, or the next day, I would still not have an uplifting or thrilling story to tell you. I am glad I waited a while to write this, because I very conveniently have forgotten the grueling physical and emotional pain and can happily tell you that it was a good experience. But in reality, I think that I needed to forget the physical agony of that 26.2 miles before being able to connect positive thoughts to the great accomplishment that it is supposed to be.

I think that the greatest accomplishment was not the 26.2 miles, but the 10 million dollars that we collectively, as runners in the Nike 26.2 race, raised for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I am so proud that I was able to be a part of what this organization is doing. The stories of cancer survivors are so much more inspiring to me than stories of runners beating their bodies into submission so they can get a personal record, or win the race! (As one marathoner’s t-shirt put it, “Think running is hard? Try chemotherapy.”) What an honor you all bestowed upon me, in donating toward this cause to support me as I trained for a race that was meant to symbolize the determination that cancer survivors depend upon daily.

So what about the gritty details? Well, San Francisco was beautiful and we really enjoyed our entire trip. God granted us gorgeous weather, and my lungs were clear and felt good the whole run. I was able to finish the whole marathon in 5 hours, 17 minutes, and 9 seconds. That is a long time to run, and there were definite highs and lows. We made our way across the start in the pre-dawn chill and dark. As we ran up the first hill, (AKA the first mile) we were able to look out on the sun rising over the bay. We then ran along the coast, with great views of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and the Fisherman’s Wharf. I ran pretty easily for the first 8-9 miles, and then the run turned up into the city for many more hills and much less scenery. I ran most of it alone, and I only saw my “personal cheer squad” twice in the whole run: at mile 6 and mile 21. That was a long time to go without that encouragement, and I had to fight against discouragement and loneliness. I wasn’t sure if I could finish without the energy bars that I had given Ken to pass off to me during the race. Unfortunately, due to parking and other problems, we weren’t able to meet up as often as we would have liked to.

Around mile 18, I think I really “hit my wall”. I had no physical energy left, since I hadn’t eaten in 12 miles, and I was running myself into the ground, one pathetic shuffle at a time. Finally seeing them at mile 21 was such a relief; I couldn’t even speak at that point. Ken ran a mile or two with me, and that really gave me the energy to finish. In the final miles, we were back out at the coast, this time in the full sun. As I neared mile 25, I couldn’t believe that I was almost done. My body was barely responding to my demands by now, disobediently stopping on its own and crying out that I remain stopped. But the finish line loomed by this time, and I increased my pace instead. This was when I was finally sure that I would finish. When I a half-mile out, my head coach appeared from the crowd–cowbell in hand–and ran me all the way to the finish line, ringing the bell and encouraging my weary legs to keep up with the gently increased pace that he pushed me to. And so I crossed the line. The little chip in my shoe was scanned and the machine enthusiastically chirped to announce my passage over the finish mat. I got my very own space blanket, which wasn’t really necessary, since it was very warm by the ocean, but I truly felt like a marathon finisher with that annoying, flapping sheet around my weary shoulders.

And so it goes, and so it goes. I finished, and who knows what the future holds. How many more finish lines will I cross? This experience taught me a lot about sacrificing my time and energy for a cause that is greater than my own personal records. On one hand, I felt almost ridiculous punishing my body for the simple reason of finishing the race. I wasn’t really racing, I was fighting myself and my desire to quit. Although I realize that there is a benefit to physical endurance training, I also believe strongly that there are things in life that matter more than whether or not you are able to run 26.2 miles, walk 13.1 miles, or crutch across the room. I have to agree that, “…bodily exercise profits a little, but godliness is profitable for all things, having promise of the life that now is and of that which is to come.” Fighting the desire to quit and holding onto hope are essential qualities for survivors. I pray that each and every cancer survivor I ran for knows and holds onto the hope that God holds out to us, no matter what the situation. He offers a promise of true life to us all, whether we are comfortably coasting along at the beginning of the “race”, fighting the battles in the middle, or painfully struggling to catch our breath near the end. How much more benefit there is in knowing the promise of life that is as real now as it will be when we finish our individual struggles!

Thank you, again, so much for your part in my race and fund-raising! What a great experience. I’m still recovering physically, but hopefully I will be able to get out there a bit this winter and get my legs under me again. This running thing is a bit addicting, you know? :)

Love,
Sarah

PS See photos of the big event over here.