One…two…three…four…my dad and I whisper numbers as we count out three foot strides simultaneously. We use traffic cones to mark off fifty yards for the kids run. The immediate was extremely simplistic; the calm, quiet, October night sky. A rewarding and overwhelmingly satisfying feeling crept over me unaware. Something dad and I had dreamt up in our living room over two years ago was launched into reality at this moment. Tomorrow morning, three hundred and fifty athletes would gather together with one simple and common goal, to run. The brief amount of time dad and I had alone together that night, preparing for a mutual passion, I will carry with me forever.
My phone resounds in an alarming matter. I clumsily wave my arms around in search of my cellular nemesis. I frantically punch buttons to shut it up. Again, it sounds off. This time I glance down at the screen. It’s not my alarm but a text message from Schauna that reads good luck today! Confusion ensues. Why is Schauna awake at 5am? A sickness washes over my being as I entertain the terrifying thought that I may have overslept. Did I miss it!? The current time is 7:05am. Shotgun is at 7:30am. I was to be awake and at the race two and a half hours ago…I am awesome. Panic, is my initial reaction. I am completely unprepared to be at the start line in twenty-five minutes seeing that I had fallen into bed, clothes and all at 1:30am the night before after a seventeen hour day of race setup. Where are my running shoes? Socks? Bib? My watch? Scout? Can I make it through the race traffic in time? I wonder if dad had enough help at race day registration this morning in my absence… By some miracle working act of God, really, I find myself at the start line with four minutes to spare. Enough time to tie my shoes and realize that I have had nothing to eat or drink in the last ten hours. Not ideal conditions just before a lengthy run. Believing that about seventy-five percent of running is mental training and only twenty-five percent physical, I psych myself up to encounter this run with great optimism and enthusiasm.
The atmosphere when runners are corralled at the start line of a race is unique indeed. There are many waves of emotion present. Adrenaline, nausea, excitement, nervousness. Inevitably you feel the need to find a restroom, even though you just visited one two minutes before jumping into the crowd of insanity. The smell is anticipation. Every runner is indulging in their pre-race rituals. Some stretch, some become Mexican jumping beans, others you will find jamming to their IPOD. I pray. Even surrounded by hundreds of other runners, this moment is always all mine, and it is beautiful. Race day weather was absolutely amazing. Sixty degrees, no rain, only slight winds. Perfection for running. The race commenced at the sound of a shotgun. We were off and running! Once past the cheering crowds all that can be heard is the light pitter patter of shoes on the pavement. How I love that sound.
I had my best running partner, Candy by my side for miles one through three. We had a pleasing pace going until I began to feel somewhat nauseated as we rounded mile four. I looked at Candy and said, I think I need throw up. Uh oh, she says. Not one minute later I was doubled over in a mesquite bush greeting anything and everything I had in my system a good morning. I had Candy and a few other friends keep on running while I stayed there to empty out. No need for everyone’s finish time to suffer on my account. Darling Joni, my angel for the day, stayed with me because she says she was hoping for an excuse to slow the pace. Leave it to me, but really, I think she was just trying to make me feel better. And you know it was probably good to have somebody with me to make sure I did not pass out all alone. So I decide I am going to finish this race, even if it was going to kill me, and it almost did. I jogged the next two miles feeling much less nauseated, but still not well by any means. Then up it came again… I couldn’t even keep down water. But I had to finish. I have never quit a race before, and I was not about to let the first time be in one that I helped organize.
As I struggled to keep a steady jog, I ran across very unfamiliar physical grief. My chest began to tighten, making it particularly hard to breath. My brain was cloudy. The muscles in my legs felt as if they were shriveling up like raisins disabling much movement. I’m pretty sure Joni told me my coloring went from white, to yellow, to gross. “Pain is the body’s way of ridding itself of weakness.” –Dean Karnazes. That quote is running on a loop through my head. We approach the finish line, and everyone is cheering. I see my dad clapping and congratulating me along with a few other friends, the look on his face quickly went from excitement to horror. I must have looked lovely. I don’t really remember anything after that. There was sitting and I think there were orange slices. Apparently, the water I was drinking at the aid stations along the course was not water at all. It was a sports drink that was clear. Sports drinks make me sick. Hence the vomiting. It took me a good two days to hydrate my body after that. I successfully achieved my worst race time ever on this day. Again, I am awesome. We did have one competitor get hit by a car while he was running, so I was not in as bad of shape as I thought. Although the guy did place seventh, even after getting plummeted by a vehicle. Amazing.
Dad and I and several other volunteers stuck around a few hours after the races to clean up. Completely lacking in sleep and fluids, there was still nowhere else in the world I would rather be. All of CrossRoads Marathon events were a success, the marathon, half-marathon, 5K and kids run. Thank you to God, my dad, the race committee, our volunteers, the athletes and their families, our sponsors, and the church. Without everyone giving and working together we never could have made this race a reality or most importantly, raised funds for local charities. Boom I say! :)
