26.2

There's a short version and a long version to this story, but since this is my blog and I'm not forcing anyone to read it, I'll go with the long one. For posterity, or whatever.

In December several family members and I decided to run Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, MN on June 20, which was to be my 4th marathon. In early June, while on our annual summer escape-the-heat vacation to Salt Lake, we got the swine flu (I'll pause a moment while you gasp in horror) and canceled our trip to MN, so no marathon.

Being the type of person that refuses to be defeated, by swine flu, monkey cold, or rhinoceros throat, I immediately signed up for the Deseret News Marathon in Salt Lake on July 24. Unfortunately my training had stalled (I hadn't run in three weeks) and it was pretty hard to get back on that horse. I did a few short runs and one 15 miler, and decided I would just go for it.

The night before the marathon Layla was sick and kept me to less than an hour and a half of sleep, so I had that going for me. I got to the bus at 3:30 am for the 5:30 start. As I was boarding the bus, I stepped in a patch of grass where some environmentally irresponsible sprinkler had been spraying water straight into the ground for at least an hour, creating a soft sponge that immediately soaked through my shoe and sock. I sat down on the bus, and made a comment, to no one in particular, about my wet foot. The woman next to me said, "Oh, someone warned me to watch my step as I was getting on the bus." I started to get irritated that the same person wasn't available to warn everyone, but instead I struck up a conversation with said woman, and we chatted the entire ride.



Tammy, whose name is Tara, which I didn't realize until mile 17 when I introduced her to my dad as Tammy, turned out to be very nice and interesting, and she found me nice and interesting, and we were planning on running the race at about the same pace. We ran together for the first 19 miles, and chatted the entire way, which makes running 19 miles much more enjoyable.



Somewhere in my 19th mile my legs started cramping up. It was like a series of unending charley horses that I had to stop and stretch out to continue running. My muscles would seize up mid-stride and almost cause me to fall down, then I would hobble over to the nearest tree/pole/whatever to attempt to appease my legs. Luckily, my dad met me at mile 20 and finished the race with me, so he was there to help me through the especially difficult times. At one point, in the final mile, my legs refused to uncramp and couldn't support my body weight, and I had to lean on my dad's arm and limp along, choking back tears. There was a rescue cart trolling beside me, and the nice firemen inside kept asking me if they could help, but there was no way I was running 25 1/2 miles and not finishing the race. I was able to assuage my cramps enough to resume a slow jog across the finish line at 4 hours and 50 min.



I had no desire to partake in the post-race bagels and bananas, so we found a shady spot in the park and I sat down to stretch my legs and drink some more water. After fifteen minutes or so my dad offered to take the shuttle to pick up the car so that I could stay and stretch, as long as I was ok by myself. I was fine, so off he went. A few minutes later I got up to go to the bathroom, which was about 25 yards away. I hobbled over to the line, but after about 30 seconds I felt nauseous and dizzy, so I let myself down on the ground and put my head down. Then someone knelt down beside me and asked me if I was ok. I said I felt a little sick but I was fine. Next thing I knew I was being put on a stretcher and brought over to the first aid tent.

Some medical volunteers started asking me questions, and I understood what they were asking, but I kept confusing my answers and stumbling over my tongue. They told me I was severely dehydrated and overheated and started IV fluids. After a few minutes I started shaking. First my hands, then my jaw, and then full body shakes. I was freezing cold. They covered me with blankets and rubbed my limbs but I couldn't warm up. After my second bag of fluid and a half hour in the sun I warmed up, but had to stay in the medi-tent for a third bag of juice. When I was finally able to sit up I thought I was going to spew all over. I don't remember ever in my life feeling that sick. There were a few times during this ordeal that I actually prayed that I would live through it; that's how bad I felt.

When I got home I didn't feel any better. I wanted to take a shower and wash off 26.2 miles of sweat, but I couldn't stand up for that long, so I had to settle for soaking in my own filth (I firmly believe that a bath is only useful when you are mostly clean to begin with). Desperate for comfort, I asked my dad for a blessing. He gave me one, and blessed me that after some sleep I would be revived and relieved. Then I laid down with Weston and took the best 90 minute nap of my life. Sure enough, when I woke up I felt a thousand times better. My legs still hurt (which was expected), and I was a little groggy, but I felt much closer to normal than to death. Dinner that night was the first thing I had eaten since a banana at 5:15 am, and I swear I have never tasted better food.

I'm sure anyone who has kept on reading this far is expecting some dramatic moral to this story. Sorry to disappoint. All I learned was that I need to drink more during my next marathon.

A special thanks to my mom for watching the kids and my dad for helping me finish the race. I love you guys.