My last marathon was Twin Cities 2006. I'd run roughly one a year for the previous five years, and I knew I was ready for a break. My heart just hadn't been in this one. In June 2008 I was watching Grandma's Marathon, and decided I was ready again. I decided on Austin, Texas, in February 2009. But I live in Minnesota and I don't really like the cold. After some cold weather runs - and some cold weather where I didn't run /: - I decided to switch to the half. But it was still the first time I'd ever done anything that even resembled training through a winter in years, and I was happy with my time in Austin. I followed that up with another half, Grandma's, while training for my first triathlon, and then broke my arms.
By early 2010 I was ready to try again. My best two pals and I decided we wanted to run the New York Marathon. I'd gone to watch my cousin's wife run it in 2008, and seemed like an amazing experience: all five boroughs, lots and lots of crowd support, and lots of lots of runners. I knew it was a lottery to get in, but how competitive the lottery, we'd find out. None of us got in that first year. Ramona and I decided to run the Miami Marathon in January 2011, but an even crueler winter ('"snowmageddon") put the kabosh on those plans. In addition, I was feeling fatigued enough that I went to the doctor, where I found out I was vitamin D deficient. My training - and performance in Miami - were fairly lackluster. It was shortly after I got home from Florida that I first noticed the lump in my arm.
Before I did anything about that, though, we all tried for New York again. This time Kathleen got in. Last November, after my four surgeries and radiation, we traveled to New York to watch her run the marathon. But just days before we left, I had found the lump in my breast. I'd seen a doctor and had an MRI. And I got the news that I needed a biopsy my last morning in New York. You know the rest of that story (assuming you've read all my other posts).
New York is a HUGE marathon - 47,000 runners. It's so big that start times are spaced out over four (I think) hours and runners are routed on different streets for the first few miles. Even so, getting in is really tough. When we first started trying to get in, in 2010, there was a policy that if you didn't get in for three years straight, you'd have guaranteed entry the fourth year. Last year, they decided to get rid of that policy, because if they continued to give everyone guaranteed entry at four years, they wouldn't be able to let anyone in through the lottery! We were the last group they were allowing guaranteed entry at four years.
So, early this year, while going through chemo, I decided I would try for a third year. I felt that if I didn't try this year (and, I assumed, once again be denied, and then receive guaranteed entry for 2013), I would never run this marathon. And in late April, I found out that I got in. What timing! My friend Ramona didn't get in and was hoping I would defer to 2013 and run it with her. But the marathon is $255, and I would have to pay it twice if I deferred. But more importantly, I started thinking about training again, that it would be good for me. Due to the crowds, it's not a fast race - perfect! Time limit? 23 hours, according to my run club coach - again, perfect! So I decided I would do it.
Training for a marathon when you have no base, training while undergoing radiation is not ideal. What's been even more challenging has been trying to train while on a crazy travel schedule. There are times when I feel I have no business running a marathon right now, when I'm so slow and out of shape. I wasn't particularly fast before, but there's definitely a part of my ego that's not happy about coming in with the back of the pack. But then I remind myself to be proud that I've made it this far - that I'm running at all. I think my oncologist was thrilled the other day to know that I'm doing this. Where would I be in my recovery - physical, mental, emotional - without this goal?
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