Author’s note: this account is neither wholly fact or fiction; rather, it is a combination of the two inspired by an unbelievable day I was lucky enough to witness. I hope that the person whose feats and accounts I have utilized for my writings knows that this is not intended to be portrayed as her thoughts or feelings, but belong to the character based on her. I mean no disrespect by doing so, and if you would like me to remove this post, just say the word!
The last .2 miles, the Runner’s head is tilted to the side, her eyes slightly closed. She looks almost as if she is sleeping. 9 and ½ hours ago she started here with about 75 others, 50 of whom were doing the 20k. But not her, no, with her Buddy by her side and her backpack strapped on, full of vitamin water and snacks, she is a warrior. She has trained and sweated, cried, laughed, skipped her way to the end of two marathons before this one, and she knows she can do this. Her Buddy knows, and her Pit Crew knows, and her Snoots know. The air snaps with energy, crackles with potential: she is in league with giants. As she leaves, her husband yells out advice: “pace yourself! Only 49.9 kilometers to go!!” She laughs, turning her head back sideways to shoot him a glance. He is the only one who can make her laugh right now and she would not change him for the world.
The first 10k: up the path to where the Buddy waits by the old stone house, long said to be home to lingering spirits. The early morning floats with sweet fog and today is a day, it is a day to run. Up the hills and into the woods, past the stream where the herons live, stepping over banana slugs on a journey no less arduous than her own. She is strong, she knows. And she knows her legs beneath her and the ribs housing her lungs, her faith in the world around her, her heart. Her good, good heart. They are all strong.
Up the long and taxing hill to the first aid station and there’s 10k, 11k actually, gone. Her Crew is waiting with signs and gummy bears and smiles, they whip off her water pack and switch out the leaky bladder for one intact, they cheer her and will their energy to her. The Buddy takes a picture of two of them standing on a rock with a sign saying ‘I run so my goals get bigger (and not my belly)’. As she moves the aid station wobbles a bit, shifts and moans. She eats a potato with salt and smiles at the volunteers. Then it is back down the hills in the woods she loves so much, a place she didn’t know 5 years ago, a whole lifetime from the water and boats that ferried her to her joy.
10k further and she is making good time, each step a little more painful then the last but the Buddy is there next to her and she knows together they will not fail. This is a feat of monumental proportions, the next Everest in a long string of mountains she will summit successfully in her years. Passing the gate in Firelane one to stop by the second aid station, she pauses for a picture. If you look closely you can see resolve crinkling around her eyes and perhaps a quiet concern settling in her shoulders. There are weaknesses to face here, it is the way of the race and the heartbeat of true endurance; she cannot truly succeed until she gets out of her own way and she knows this, indeed she has told others this and they know she is right. Pit Crew 1 kisses her. Pit Crew 2 has saddled up to join for the next loop. Pit Crew 3 races to the car to grab an Endurance: her secret weapon.
On to the next 10k and this will prove the most challenging. The three of them face hills and pits, muddy slopes and one slip-n-slide that most of her fellow runners butt-sled down, not risking a pulled IT band or a rolled ankle. Here is where the tears come but the Buddy says ‘you can cry when it’s over’. She has to agree, gulping for air; she knows it is much harder to run and cry then simply to run. Pit Crew 2 keeps the silence at bay with stories and anecdotes, at one point worrying out loud that she is talking to much. But on the longest legs the silence can hurt more than the feet or calves or abdomen, leaving room for small doubts to creep in. She and the Buddy welcome the words. As they come back up the slope heading towards the aid station, she sees Pit Crew 1 & 3 up ahead. ‘Honey!’ She calls to Pit Crew 1. ‘Give Pit Crew 3 the keys and get your pants off. You’re coming with.’ He tosses the keys and leans on the car, stripping down to his running shorts and shirt. Pit Crew 3 is ready with the Endurance and a smile.
Snagging a snack, the three head down the next 10k leg. She is flanked on either side by the Buddy and the Hubby, the two she needs the most here, the two who will see her home. They have been here before but still it looks different. Is in the sting of another 10k behind her, heading towards 40 instead of 20? Is it the blades of grass that have snuck a little higher or the banana slug that has moved another 2 inches across the trail? The world changes minutely and in a thousand different moments there lingers a universe of possibility. It has only gotten colder since the start; in true stereotypical fashion, the weathermen were wrong beyond repair. No matter. Her feet are moving towards numb and she knows the progression. This is not, as they say, her first rodeo.
The path winds itself around her feet and roots rise, but her legions keep her upright. They face a hill up towards the last aid station that seems forever, a Sisyphean challenge in the middle of a race. Who knew? The Buddy has sent a message before: ‘she wants Endurance’ and it is waiting. Now a small boy stands wide eyed at the aid station with his father, eating endless M’n’Ms and gawking at the trio. Pit Crew 2 takes the number off the Hubby, and Pit Crew 3 pins it back on her. The Buddy tosses down a bite: ‘remember, now we turn and burn’. The trio heads out again to cheers and applause.
40k down and the time limit looms. Pit Crew 2 & 3 makes a run to the store: Coke, Sprite, cranberry juice; they then head back to the finish, devoted moths to a flame they do not fear. Back to Wildwood the three come. If there are chipmunks they are gone into the underbrush, if the rabbits lingered they have now fled. If there is faith it has descended, hanging from the trees and undercutting the air. Do they feel it? Perhaps. Perhaps not. No matter, it is there. Faith, as with many truths, does not require knowledge of presence. It is simply, enduringly, there. It is hard to tell what she is thinking near the end. Perhaps a song, perhaps a quote. ‘When you can’t run you crawl, and when you can’t do that no more, well when you can’t do that, you find someone to carry you.’ Today she has 1, 2, 3, 4, an endless string of people who have lined up for her and she knows she is lucky. More than that she is deserving, and perhaps exceeding all else, she is immortal.
2 ½ miles to go and the Buddy has wired ahead. Pit Crew 2 & 3 are on it and while they will not make the cutoff time, the race director loves nothing more than successes and he knows how it feels. So he holds the course and there is one more in a long line of believers. Here she does a wondrous thing: she wills her brain to sleep. No more wonderings or wishing, no more talk of maybes or dreams or finishes. Just her legs and her feet and her good heart carrying her down the path, full tilt ahead, it is now or nothing and she will finish strong.
The Buddy emerges first and runs into the arms of Pit Crew 2 &3. ‘She’s coming, she’s right behind.’ Whipping out her camera she catches the Hubby down making his way down the path. He’s hurting a bit but hasn’t let it show until now. The Runner approaches and for the last .2 miles, her head is tilted to the side. Her eyes are slightly closed. She looks almost as if she is sleeping. The cheers begin, from the Buddy and the Hubby, the Pit Crew and the race director, the Sweeper, a random group of teenagers sitting at a picnic table. She crosses the line and the race director says ‘and that is the official end of the race’. Her Crew tosses him smiles and quiet thanks, she follows suit. Someone thrusts a sign into her hands: ‘I just qualified for Marathon Maniacs’ and her face dissolves into tears a second before they take a picture. Relief, joy, pride, pain…they all war for 1st place now but she does not offer a ranking. One by one they hug her, tell her how proud they are, how amazing she is. They take pictures and offer her juice and Sprite, then she sinks on to a picnic bench. Pit Crew 2 departs with hugs. When the rest go to leave she walks the Buddy to her car. This is a feat no one does alone and they are bound now, for good, forever. In the car she calls the Momma and the Hubby looks at her with a strong pride, but beyond that love. They drop Pit Crew 3 at home and she hugs her hard.
Home. Ice bath, nachos, Hubby, dogs, Ibuprofen, Aleve, sleep.
For now the rest is unimportant. Tomorrow she will venture back towards her life before, close to the person she was a day ago but not quite. In such a journey it becomes apparent that the place you will come to is near the point of departure, but not exact. Finding a strength you weren’t entirely aware of lands you in a new soul, and she is reminded that she can indeed do anything in the world. Here there is power and pride, and a well earned exhaustion. She runs for love. She runs because once upon a time, someone told her she couldn’t, runs because she cannot stop, runs because she would never want to. And for now, the rest is unimportant.
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