3.8.10

The woman that sat next to me on the shuttle bus yesterday told me she runs in Ironman races. I felt embarrassed telling her that this is just my second marathon and my goal was just to finish? She told me that she hadn't run only a marathon in awhile, and that her goal was a sub 3-hour finish. Another man on the bus said he runs marathons practically every week. I was feeling slightly outclassed.

My first marathon was five years ago. Like a mother who forgets the pain of childbirth, I signed up for my second go at 26.2, but not without some hesitation. It's a lot of work to train, and my version of training this time around proved just enough, but not to any serious or elite level.

Despite this, there was maturity to be had this time around. The miles did not intimidate me - not because I was overly confident, but because I knew that there's always more than just me that fuels these races. I had the experience of my first marathon to remind me of this.

I fought through pain in my left shin to finish the race in a time that bested my first marathon. The pain caught me by surprise because I had pretty much trained injury free. But I had a supporting roadside cast that pushed me, told me I looked good, and was present when I needed it the most. I almost missed it, but there was also a guy running with a shirt that had Phil 4:13 on the back. A man carrying a sign with this same verse proved pivotal during my first race. Recalling the past has a way of informing your faith for the present! I teared up at one point, assured I was going to finish this test of endurance again, but not without some obvious Help.

We agreed amongst ourselves that the three of us all had to run our own individual races - I am proud that my dad and sister were also amongst the finishers yesterday!