Vancouver 26.2

I completed my second full marathon on May 1 ~ this time in another country. My first 26.2 (last September), I stayed close to home and ran Bellingham Bay. It was a small field of runners, but I liked the familiarity and finishing in the town where I've put in so many miles. This time around, I expanded my horizons and went with a bigger event.

Though I never considered myself a runner, and didn't routinely run for most of my life, I always assumed I'd one day do a marathon, just to say I did it. I began running ~ sort of ~ during the weeks and months when I was recovering from back-to-back surgeries. Shortly after Kai's birth, my fifth c-section, I underwent a double abdominal hernia repair. Needless to say, recovery from that double dose of trauma was slow and painful. It's humbling to find oneself, as a fit person in the prime of life, leaning on the arms of a friend, shuffling a few dozen yards while wincing and breathing heavily. Oy vey. Once I was relatively mobile, I applied myself to the Couch-to-5K program in an effort to regain my strength and stamina. I brought up the rear in my first official 5K race, but the spark was lit as I determined to improve.

I'd like to say I took to running like a duck takes to water. I'd like to say I'm a natural. Given how often I run, people assume I love it and that it comes easily. Nope. I've definitely developed a passion for running, but I work at it, physically and mentally. I'm as often and easily frustrated and discouraged by it as I am exhilarated and encouraged. Oddly enough, that's a large part of why I keep at it: I like the challenge. Running calls to me, entices me, woos me with its rewards, but those rewards aren't always easy to come by, or immediately recognizable. The effort is a very real part of the equation ~ and that's a good thing.

I initially planned to run a marathon in celebration of turning 40, but I couldn't bring myself to make the full commitment. It took an extra year before I worked up the courage to admit that I could and would go the distance. Even at that, I registered for Bellingham two days beforehand and spent the night before staying up extra late, drinking wine, and debating whether or not to follow through. The wee hours of the morning were grey and drizzly and I was a ball of nervous tension as Hans & the boys kindly deposited me at the starting line, where I devolved into a blubbering mess, convinced I didn't want to set out on the journey.

My level of emotion frankly stunned me. I didn't know until that very moment how much it meant to me, accomplishing this goal. And when I dragged my cramp-possessed calves across the finish line 4 hours and 24 minutes later, I knew without a doubt that despite the self-inflicted drama and physical anguish, I'd do it all over again. The work, fear, courage, and empowerment were like nothing I'd experienced save for childbirth. One of my very first thoughts upon finish Bellingham was, "I can't wait to try that again and do better the next time around!"

And so I did. At the beginning of this year, amidst a tremendously bleak midwinter, relationally-speaking, I set my sights on a May 1 marathon. There's something very soothing about following a training plan. It provides one with a sense of sanity. Short runs are the quick shot of energy. Long runs are the opportunity to process life, to get to know oneself, to keep on keeping on in spite of.

We've endured miserable weather for months, but were blessed with a gorgeous spring day May 1. Perfect to take in the beauty that is Vancouver, with the mountains reaching down to the sea. I joined thousands of others at sunrise and listened to the harmony of our feet, our breathing as we began to wind our way through the city. My guys showed up at various points along the course, providing much-needed encouragement. They greeted me at the end with hugs and flowers, as I crossed in just under 4 hours. Mission accomplished...until the next time.

At the moment, I'm suffering from a stress fracture in my foot, frustrated that I can't run, and worried that I'll be sidelined for months rather than weeks. While running any real distance, one learns to steadily breathe in and breathe out. To trust. To have patience. Ironically, those lessons are more easily embraced while choosing to run than they are when forced not to! As my finish line pictures are trapped on Jan's cell phone, this next day re-creation ~ complete with the race shirt ~ will have to do. After the race (and before my stress fracture reared its ugly head...er, foot...), we savored the afternoon in Vancouver. One thousand acre Stanley Park, with its miles of sea wall, gardens, open spaces, trails, and forest, is among my favorite places in the world. (Yes, we're absent one boy here; Luke was the photographer.:))

We lolled on the beach (well, the younger, more active set played beach soccer) and noted that despite the presence of thousands of people taking advantage of our One Sunny Day, it didn't feel crowded. Humanity at its best.

Then we meandered around Lost Lagoon and got back to nature in the big city. I love it!