October 25, 2015 started early as my husband dropped me off at the metro. We’d traveled 500 miles to Washington DC so I could run my third Marine Corps Marathon. I knew this one would be different in so many ways because it was the first time we’d been back to DC since we moved away 18 months earlier.
The morning started early. Several thousand of us had to wait over an hour at the security checkpoint because of a security issue. The nearest metro stop is over a mile from the start line. Once we finally got through security we had to sprint over a mile to make it to the start on time. So we really ran over 27 miles. Do I get credit for an ultra marathon? (October 2015)
It would be hard to see all the familiar places that I missed so much. Also, my husband, who runs almost every race with me, would be on the sidelines for this race. I’d have to conquer those 26.2 miles alone. Finally, I knew this was the last time I’d run Marine Corps for the foreseeable future. It was the last time I’d run it for my friend, the one who inspired me to run again when I wanted to quit.
My story starts in 2008. At that time I had one marathon under my belt, and I decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon: The People’s Marathon. Our fifth baby was born in March of 2008 which gave me plenty of time to train for the October race. I trained all summer and into the fall. I couldn’t wait to run through the streets of our beautiful capital with 20,000+ other runners, and I could almost taste the victory of crossing the finish line. Unfortunately, post partum depression had plagued me for months after the birth of our baby, and on race day it was so severe (along with a nasty sinus infection) that getting to the start line was more than I could handle. I was devastated, and I vowed I would never run a full marathon again. I was determined that I would never sacrifice that kind of time and energy training only to have my dreams dashed at the last minute.
Then there was Jen. Over the next couple of years I continued to run shorter distances, and it was during that time I met my dear, sweet friend Jen. She was a mom of seven who lived a mile or so from us, and I often saw her out running along my favorite trails. We’d pause during our runs to chat for a few moments, and one day she mentioned she was going to run the 2010 Marine Corps Marathon. I was excited for her, but I’ll admit I felt a twinge of jealousy. I still had a score to settle with that race, but I wasn’t willing to even consider running it again. I used the fact that we had a large family (six kids at the time) as an excuse. I told myself people with that many kids just didn’t have time to train for full marathons.
Excuse the blurry picture. It’s the best I could do while running in the rain. The runner in red is a wounded warrior. He lost one leg, and the other leg was badly injured. Watching him run was truly humbling and inspiring. (October 2015)
A few days after the race I talked with Jen, and she was so excited that she couldn’t wait to run another one! “Another one?” I thought. She had seven kids. There went my excuse.
Just over a year after that race tragedy struck when Jen died shortly after her eighth baby was born. Her friends and family were devastated and shocked. This wasn’t supposed to happen to people like her…people with so much energy and vitality and love for life. My husband and I attended her funeral and burial at Arlington National Cemetery all the while trying to make sense of it all. As I stood at her graveside and looked across row after row of solemn white headstones, I could see the city, the Pentagon, and the Washington Memorial in the distance. It was at that moment I knew I had to run a marathon. I knew I had to face my fears, stop making excuses, and run Marine Corps.
Just months after Jen’s death our seventh baby was born in March of 2012, and I started training a few weeks later. I ran all my old familiar trails recalling the conversations Jen and I shared and remembering specific spots we’d stopped to chat. Along my favorite running path, the Mount Vernon trail, I could lose myself as I gazed at the boats peacefully gliding along the Potomac. I had gained 70 pounds during my last pregnancy, and running was difficult as I strained under the extra weight that I was struggling to lose. There were so many times I wanted to quit. But Jen’s memory pushed me on. I couldn’t quit. She would never have quit so neither would I.
At the Marine Corps Marathon mile 20 is where you “Beat the Bridge.” Every runner has to be at this point by a certain time to be allowed to finish the race. The next two miles are spent trudging across the concrete expanse of the 14th Street Bridge. It’s the most desolate, mentally exhausting part of the race. The cheers of the crowds and aid station coming into Crystal City at mile 22 are a welcome site after surviving the bridge. (October 2015)
Three weeks before race day I made a startling discovery as I spent some time studying the race course to prepare for race day. I traced the course map with my finger through Georgetown, past the Lincoln Memorial, down Haynes Point, past the Washington Memorial, along Constitution to the Capital, back down the mall and across the 14th Street Bridge, through Crystal City, back around the Pentagon…and then I stopped short barely able to breathe. My finger slowly moved forward as I traced the race course right past Jen’s grave site. I would literally be running right past where she was buried. And it was almost more than I could comprehend when I realized she now lay peacefully along the very course that she’d run just one year before she died.
Race day 2012 dawned early as I made my way in the morning darkness to the start line. I imagined Jen making that same trek to the start just two years earlier. The energy in the air that comes with so many people running such a monumental race helped put me at ease and kept my mind off Jen as I waited for the howitzer’s “boom” to begin the race. Much of that race was a blur as I wound my way through DC, but Jen was there in my mind and in my heart every step.
When I reached mile 17, and wanted to quit, I told myself I’d keep going for Jen. Jen’s grave, at mile 24.5, loomed ahead, and as I rounded the corner of the Pentagon I looked up to see the familiar clump of trees we’d stood under the day she was buried. On the other side of me the scars on the exterior of the Pentagon, left from 9/11, were clearly evident. The tragedies on either side of me felt as if they were closing in and dragging me to a screeching halt. I wanted more than anything to stop right there in the middle of the road, let the impossible swallow me, and give up. But I knew if I stopped I might never move again. So I pressed on. I was exhausted and weary, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. As I crossed the finish line I imagined Jen crossing that same line. Just past the finish line I lay down in a grassy area, closed my eyes, and thanked her. I thanked her for her inspiration, her love, and the example she’d set for so many.
I ran that race again in 2013 with my husband, again in memory and gratitude to Jen. We left DC in the summer of 2014, but this year we made the trek back so I could run it again. Our move has been difficult, and we haven’t made many friends in our new community. Being back in DC this particular race weekend was hard, and it brought back many memories of all we left behind. Nonetheless, as I crossed the finish line again, I thanked Jen for inspiring me to do what I thought was impossible, to face my fears and press on. I thanked her for helping me learn that despite the tragedy, the difficult circumstances, and my struggling confidence….I can press on one step at a time.
