(And What | Learned From It)

HICAGO, ILLINOIS, April 21, 2002—For many people, their most unforgettable marathon is their first. A first marathon often ranks right up there with other memorable firsts—first kiss, first love, graduating from college, getting married, having a baby, first job, first raise . . . you get the point. And my first marathon was unforgettable.

Before I decided to try a marathon, I had completed hundreds of 5Ks and 10Ks and a handful of 15Ks and half-marathons over a period of 17 years. I was just a very busy working mom who ran primarily for fitness and stress relief. In my early 30s, I toyed with doing a marathon. However, I decided I didn’t want to spend what free time I did have training for a marathon at the sacrifice of spending time with my beautiful baby son, whom I already felt guilty about not spending enough time with because I worked full-time.

I kept running and lived my life and the years slipped away quickly. All of a sudden, I found myself turning 41. I had a little speed for someone my age, and in small races I sometimes placed in my age group and had even been the masters winner on occasion. Now, my son was older and didn’t need me or want me around as much. Time was ticking away, and I was starting to fear that if I didn’t run a marathon soon, I might never run one. And I had to run a marathon, because it was on my all-important list of things I had to do before I died.

It was Thanksgiving Day 2001. I had just completed the St. Petersburg Times 10K Turkey Trot. The outcome of that race was the proud achievement of my goal to run a sub-45-minute 10K. So what next? It hit me then that my next milestone just had to be that elusive marathon. I went home that Thanksgiving weekend and picked a marathon.

I didn’t know what the “good” marathons were. (I know, I know; there is something good about all of them.) I had only vaguely heard of Boston. I found a Web site called marathonguide.com (now bookmarked as a favorite, but back then just happened across by chance) that listed all the marathons and reviews. I

randomly picked the Ocala Marathon. I lived in Fort Myers, Florida, at the time, and Ocala was only a few hours north. The Ocala Marathon would be run the first week in February, which gave me about 10 weeks to train. It was fewer weeks than the marathon training plan I found online, which mapped out 16 weeks of training, but I generally ran about 35 miles a week. I was also in pretty good shape, so I figured 10 weeks of training was enough.

Over the next several weeks and through the holidays, I trained for Ocala. Being in southwest Florida, I trained in very mild, often humid, weather. I feared it would be cold for the marathon since Ocala was up north. I hated the cold, having grown up in Chicago. To me, cold would be anything less than 60 degrees. (Little did I know that the 40s are the perfect temperatures to run a marathon, not the 60s.)

FLORIDA—WITH HILLS?

Another small detail that I was not aware of as I prepared for my marathon was that there are hills in Florida. If you have ever been to southwest Florida where Fort Myers is, then you know that there are no hills in southwest Florida. It is monotonously flat but beautiful because of the beaches and the palm trees and the Florida flora and fauna. I had lived in Florida only a couple of years, so I didn’t know that there are hills and that those hills are inland and up north, many of them being in—Ocala.

The hills, the unseasonably warm temperatures for Ocala (mid-60s, which I thought I wanted), and one other event contributed to the outcome of my first marathon. I had a 12-mile run scheduled for the weekend before the marathon. The Naples half-marathon just happened to be that weekend, and I had run it several times before. That would be a perfect and fun way to complete my 12-mile training run. Only race day came and went and it wasn’t perfect. I had a great half-marathon. I ran what was then my half-marathon PR with a time of 1:45. The problem was that it left me tired for the marathon the next week. I hadn’t realized I was just supposed to do an easy 12-mile jog rather than a race!

Marathon weekend arrived. After my son, Zach’s, baseball game on Saturday, we dropped him at our friend’s house for a sleepover, and my husband, Mitch, and I headed to Ocala. All the online calculators said that if I could run a 21-minute 5K (which I had done numerous times) and a 45-minute 10K, I should come in right around 3:30 for a marathon. I had high hopes, but I was also frightened that I would hit The Wall that I had started reading so much about. With my primary goal of just finishing the race, I decided to run conservatively with a goal of doing under four hours to be certain I finished.

Race morning was warm and a little humid. It was a small race with very little fanfare. Mitch was doing the half-marathon, which started a few minutes after the marathon. He accompanied me to the starting line, kissed me good-bye, the

starter yelled “Go” (no gun), and we were off. I was fairly well prepared for the marathon. As I started off through the parking lot and onto the road, however, something was wrong. My legs felt heavy and tired, and it was only mile one. I planned to run nine-minute miles, which would put me at the finish a couple of minutes under four hours. But in the first mile, I seriously wondered whether I would be able to finish even a half-marathon let alone a whole.

The hills were also a surprise. They weren’t mountains, but they were pretty big hills for Florida. Why hadn’t the reviews mentioned them? And I started to get warm as the temperature rose into the 70s. Maybe cooler would be better for a marathon even if I had to be a little uncomfortable at the start. I was glad I hadn’t overdressed, as I was not one to throw off clothes that I might never see again. And my legs felt tired the whole race, so I didn’t enjoy much of it. I attributed my tired legs to having run Naples the week before. But I was fit and strong, and eventually my endurance and will kicked in. I ran most of the marathon. I didn’t walk until the last mile, and even then it wasn’t for more than two minutes. I finished the marathon in a time of 4:05.

UNFORGETTABLE, BUT NOT NEARLY MY MOST

Although it was such a small marathon that I got third place for my 40-44 age group, I had not reached my goal. I was not used to setting goals and then not achieving them. Ultimately, I was happy to finish Ocala but disappointed to not break four hours and disappointed in myself for walking, even if it was for only a few minutes. So my first marathon was unforgettable, but it wasn’t my most unforgettable marathon.

My third marathon was unforgettable, too, and ranked right up there as far as firsts go. It was the San Francisco

» The author, navigating the hills of Ocala in her very first marathon.

Courtesy of Carol Greening

this marathon in the summer in southwest Florida. I trained for the hills (because I knew San Francisco had hills) on the Fort Myers Beach bridge—over and back, over and back, over and back, dripping what seemed like gallons of salty sweat in the 95-degree humidity. San Francisco was the marathon where I qualified for Boston for the first time, with a 3:47. (By now, I knew what it meant to qualify for Boston.) Mitch and Zach were there at mile 25 to run in with me, and then we had a week of vacation and rest in California. That day was such a glorious day that I ranked it right up there with the all-time best days of my life—right behind the day I gave birth to my son and my wedding day. But that marathon was not my most unforgettable marathon, either.

Then there was my fourth marathon. I ran the big LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon in the fall of 2002 and got a glimpse for the first time of the marathon greats of our time. Paula Radcliffe set a world record that day. It amazed me to think that Paula and Khalid Khannouchi and many other elite runners had run the same ground I was running and that I was doing the same thing they had done—albeit much, much slower! Nothing could top the thunderous energy of the crowd support in a big marathon like that. At one point during the race, I felt as if a whole stadium of people were cheering—for me! I set what was then my PR of 3:45 that day in Chicago. That was unforgettable.

And at my fifth marathon, Florida Gulf Beaches, I had been very sick in the days before the race with a head cold that left me weak and congested. But I would not let being sick affect my game plan. No way. Marathon day was unseasonably

» Running the same ground as Paula Radcliffe and Khalid Khannouchi in the 2002 LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon, and loving every minute of it.

o g cS s

» The author, getting drenched with her husband at the Jacksonville Marathon.

warm and humid, but no matter. I set out to conquer the course anyway. Being dehydrated from taking sinus medication and from the heat, I hit The Wall. That, too, was unforgettable, as I walked much of the second half of the race, asking myself why I had ever started running marathons in the first place. I had run five marathons over a one-year period up to the time I ran Gulf Beaches. After Gulf Beaches, it took me a full year to summon the courage to put myself through potential torture again by running another marathon.

But eventually I couldn’t resist, and I did run more marathons. I ran the Jacksonville Marathon—more than half of it in torrential rain. I ran the inaugural Sarasota Marathon where the weather was perfect, I was familiar with all of the sights, and I knew many people along the course. I set a PR of 3:39 that day. It was the first time I had an opportunity to run a hometown marathon, as Sarasota is now my hometown. These marathons were also unforgettable.

And I could go on. There is something unforgettable about every marathon I have ever done: beautiful scenery; great crowd support from family, friends, and strangers; camaraderie with my fellow runners; great exercise; milestones reached.

THE SECOND WAS THE MOST

Lest I digress again, however, let me just tell you that my most unforgettable marathon was, you guessed it, my second marathon. Before I ran Ocala, I had planned to run just one marathon and then cross it off and move on to the next goal on my list. But when I didn’t break four hours at Ocala, I knew that I had to run another marathon to try once again to achieve that sub-four-hour goal. All the numbers said I should be able to do it, so by God, I was going to do it!

By now, I had started to get into marathon running. I was hooked. I started subscribing to a couple of running magazines including Marathon & Beyond, which was recommended by marathonguide.com. Now I knew what Boston was, and not only did I want to break four hours, I wanted to qualify for Boston. For a female runner, aged 40 to 44, I needed a 3:50. That seemed very doable to me.

Since the marathon season in Florida basically ends in early March because of the heat, after Ocala in February, I had to go somewhere besides Florida for my next marathon. I certainly wasn’t going to wait until the next winter to run another marathon in Florida. I had to achieve this goal—now!

Most of my extended family, including my parents, lives in the Chicago area. It made sense to go to trusty marathonguide.com and find a spring marathon in Chicago. I found the Lakeshore Marathon, which would be run in April, right downtown. Perfect! [had been down on the Lake Michigan lakefront many times growing up, but I had moved away from Chicago at 22 and had never gone back and run the awesome path along the lake. Now I would have my chance!

The Lakeshore Marathon looked to be the ideal marathon to reach both my sub-four-hour and my Boston-qualifying goals. By now, I knew that cooler temperatures were better for running a marathon, and Chicago was sure to be cool in mid-April. I also knew that flat was faster, and running along Lake Michigan in Chicago had to be about as flat as a pancake. There would be no surprise hills. I was sure of this.

This time around, I trained harder. I started training just a week after I finished Ocala, for another 10 weeks. In the end I had, in essence, more than 20 weeks of marathon training. I also had more long runs, including the ultimate long run, which was the Ocala Marathon! At this time of year in Florida, the weather was cooler, so I felt much better training. I had also lost a few pounds and was down to about 120, which was fairly slim for my 5-foot-6-inch frame. When it came time to fly to Chicago, I was ready, much more prepared than I had been for Ocala.

On a Friday afternoon, I left Mitch and Zach behind in Fort Myers because of work, school, and sports commitments. I flew to Chicago and spent Friday night in the suburbs with my parents. It was nice staying with my folks without any kids around—nephews, nieces, and even my own son. I hadn’t had any oneon-one time with them in a long time. Friday night wasn’t terribly cold, but the predictions for the weekend were grim. The temperature was expected to drop significantly on Saturday night, marathon eve.

AN EXPO TO FIT THE MARATHON’S SIZE

On Saturday morning, my sister Kathy and I drove into the city for the expo. Ocala’s expo was nothing (literally nothing)—a rack of shirts and a table of sunglasses.

The Lakeshore Marathon’s expo was slightly more, with several aisles of booths in a hotel meeting room, and it seemed just fine to me. I had not yet run any of the big marathons and seen how phenomenal an expo could be.

It was a fairly warm day. People were commenting about the unseasonably warm weather in Chicago. I felt right at home with the humidity. But at the expo, the vendors talked of how the temperatures were supposed to drop significantly that night, and they hawked thermal shirts and wind gear and gloves. Although my cold-weather gear was old and not high tech, as I rarely had use for it in Florida, Thad brought it with me just in case I needed it.

I suddenly realized I had forgotten my sunglasses. I bought a cheap pair along with a couple of gels, just in case there weren’t any at the water stops, where the race brochure promised they would be. When Kathy and I left the expo after I got my race packet, I noticed that the wind had picked up considerably. We crossed Grant Park and went to the Art Institute briefly to see the French Impressionists, which are my favorites. I miss them, living in Florida with no serious museums to speak of.

As we made our way back to the parking lot where Kathy’s car was parked, it grew colder and windier by the minute. It was hard to even walk against the wind, and I began to dread the following day. Chicago isn’t called the Windy City in jest!

Kathy drove me to my brother Mike’s apartment, where I would spend marathon eve. Mike lived with his girlfriend, Lisa, on the North Side, close to Wrigley Field. I liked his flat and thought that it would be a fun place to live if I were young and living in the city.

By the time we got to Mike’s place, the temperature had dropped noticeably, at least 10 degrees. It still wasn’t too cold, and I welcomed the change, as the humidity had vanished from the now-crisp air. Kathy didn’t stay, as she had to drive back to the suburbs where she lived and wanted to get home before dark.

That night, I treated Mike and Lisa to a pasta dinner to thank them for letting me stay with them. I also wanted to do everything right in preparation for the marathon. The books all said to eat pasta, so by golly I was going to eat pasta. Although Mike and Lisa had a car, this was Chicago, and everyone walks everywhere in Chicago or takes the subway or the El. We walked more than 20 minutes to the Italian restaurant. I didn’t say anything to Mike, but as we walked longer and longer, I started to worry that I was not resting my legs as I was supposed to be doing. I had already walked around downtown quite a bit with Kathy that day, and now I was walking again and getting a little tired.

No crowds of people were waiting to eat, either, as is often the case at Italian restaurants on marathon weekend when at the big marathons. Lakeshore would be another small marathon, and the people at this restaurant weren’t even aware of its existence. Even so, the ravioli was good and filling and just what I needed.

TURN ON THE HEAT? IN APRIL?

I noticed on our way back from the restaurant that the temperature had dropped further. The wind had become bitter, and I wrapped my thin jacket tighter around me. I was glad to finally arrive in the warm vestibule of Mike and Lisa’s flat. When we got upstairs, Mike turned on the heat. The heat! We hadn’t used the heat in years in Fort Myers!

Mike turned on the Weather Channel in time for us to see that the temperatures were supposed to get down in the low 30s overnight. I had a sense of foreboding. I could not remember the last time I had run in 30-degree weather. Even when we had lived in Northern Virginia for five years before moving to Florida, the minute it got cold, I headed to my treadmill in the basement to do my running. I was dedicated to running, but I had to admit that my dedication was, in essence, to fair-weather running.

Mike offered to drive me to the marathon in the morning. He and I set a time to leave, and I turned in. It was only nine o’clock. Lisa had fixed up their spare bedroom for me. By now the wind was howling against the windowpanes. I knew that I was going to need all my cold-weather gear, so I laid it out. Then I packed my small running pouch with my gels, a $20 bill, and my new sunglasses, which is all that would fit.

I washed up and got into bed under the warm quilts. Listening to the steady whir of the furnace, I had the usual prerace jitters that kept me from sleeping. I was worried about the weather, but not too worried. I probably got at least four or five hours of sleep, which is not bad for a marathon eve.

I was awake long before 5:00 A.M. and hit the alarm button just before it went off. It was still dark as I took a quick shower without washing my hair. By the time I went out to the living room, munching a banana as I walked, Mike was already there with the TV still tuned to the Weather Channel. He gave me a look of pity, and I knew something was up.

Imagine my dismay when I looked out the front window into the darkness, and in the dull glow from the streetlight saw a steady, heavy downpour pattering the street. Then Mike pointed to the TV. My heart fell when I saw that not only was it raining, it was 28 degrees! Ugh!

The weather was going to be absolutely horrible. I couldn’t imagine running 26 miles in the cold and rain. It was not the kind of weather anyone would want to go out in. Rather, it was the kind of weather that made a person want to cuddle up under warm covers in front of a fire. I thought about not doing the marathon. Then I told myself that I hadn’t trained for weeks and weeks and weeks and then flown all the way to Chicago to be a wimp, so I bucked up. Besides, what would I tell all the people back in Fort Myers, if I didn’t do it? I was not a quitter, and I wasn’t going to quit now. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to run in this kind of weather, but I had to at least try. If I had to stop or be carried off the racecourse, so be it.

By the time my brother dropped me off at the race site, it was only drizzling. The marathon organizers had erected some tents so that we could stay warm and dry and out of the blustery wind until the race started. The people from the northern climes had all of their great high-tech, cold-weather gear on, of course. I saw only one crazy guy in shorts—the rest all had on running tights and jackets or long-sleeved shirts and gloves. I wore a runner’s bra, a tank top, a long-sleeved runner’s shirt, my warm-up jacket, running tights, gloves, my runner’s watch, and an ear band. Earlier, I had stuffed the gels and $20 bill into my warm-up jacket pockets instead of using my runner’s pouch. I obviously wouldn’t need those new sunglasses. I had thought I might shed clothes once I started the race and warmed up, but I never did warm up that day, and I kept everything on.

GRIM VISIONS OF LAMBS AND LIONS AND ANNA’S HEAD

As we lined up at the start, I felt extreme trepidation. I knew that many runners before me had endured much, much more in the pursuit of their running dreams. But I was still just a working mom who ran primarily for fitness and stress relief. I wasn’t a martyr or out to kill myself. As the wind gusted right through my jacket and I could see my breath as I nervously exhaled, I didn’t even know whether I was capable of finishing this marathon. I couldn’t help but think that maybe this time I had bitten off more than I could chew. I felt like a lamb feeding myself to the lions or Anna Karenina making the sign of the cross and then throwing herself under the train.

Yet at the same time, I was excited. I had trained, and I was prepared, and this was the culmination of all I had trained for. I was finally going to run this beautiful course that ran right along Lake Michigan. In good weather, I would have been in heaven.

The gun sounded, and we were off. I felt pretty good in spite of the cold. I was into the second mile when someone ran up from behind me and yelled, “You are dropping gels!” Great. I realized that my two gels and $20 bill had fallen out of my jacket pocket. I really did need to update my gear and get a jacket that had zippered pockets and, come to think of it, one that was a little more waterproof, as | already felt wet.

I like the mile markers in races because not only do they give me something to look forward to, but they allow me to determine my pace and try to hold it. I was into mile three before I realized that I had yet to see a mile marker. Later, someone told me that many of them had blown away in the night because of the heavy wind.

Because the course was very poorly marked (I think I saw only about four mile markers on the whole course), I started out a lot faster than I had planned. The first marker I saw was at 5K, and I was at 25 minutes! That was eight-minute miles. I had planned to do nine-minute miles and then kick it in at the end! I told

myself that I was going way too fast and would tank in the end, but I felt pretty good, so I decided to keep my pace a little faster than I had planned.

The first half of the race, we ran against a very strong head wind (40-mileper-hour gusts at times). The huge, ice-cold breakers coming in off the lake and pounding the concrete rocks and walls sprayed water onto our running path, which was only a couple of feet off the lake. It was wet and slippery and colder than I ever imagined it could be. Several times I stepped precariously close to the water’s edge and thought that if the wind happened to gust at that moment, I would be gusted right into the water. It looked so green and dark and cold that it was the last place on earth I wanted to find myself.

DREAMS OF BEANTOWN

My half-marathon time was 1:51. That was an 8:30 pace! I could do it! Not only could I make my goal of going under four hours, but I could make my secondary goal of going under 3:50 and qualifying for Boston.

Much of the second half of the course was off the lake, and the wind was now with us. By now, however, the rain had turned to sleet, and I was soaked inside and out. We ran this portion of the course on a dirt path that, because of the rain, was a sloppy mess. We constantly dodged huge puddles or dodged splashing mud from someone who had not managed to dodge them.

The Lakeshore Marathon was also an inaugural marathon in 2002. As an unseasoned marathon runner, I was unaware of the potential downfalls of running an inaugural marathon. Everything hasn’t had a chance to be fine-tuned in a marathon’s first year. As a result, problems that can seem minor to organizers can be huge to the runners. For instance, many of the volunteers did not know what mile their water stop was at, which would have helped because of the lack of mile markers. In addition, many of the water stops were out of water or Gatorade, and I was not even close to the back of the pack.

Consequently, I started to feel a little dehydrated, even though it was a wet day. I thought half-seriously that maybe I should just open my mouth and some sleet would drop in. My spirits were still up at this point, so when I had that thought I laughed out loud.

At mile 18, I swallowed down a tasteless GU (appearing at the water stop as promised) with some water. At this point, my sister, Mary, her husband, Ben, and my niece, Katie, came dashing out from their car where they were sitting with the heat on. They were a team of three, screaming and yelling and cheering for me. I waved to them until I was out of sight. Mary told me later that that was the only time they had emerged from their car, and as soon as I passed by, they had run back to their car and headed for home. There was no way they were going to stay out in this horribly inclement weather. They were used to bad weather, but the weather that day drove even the native Chicagoans indoors.

Seeing part of my family buoyed me, however, and I thought that it was just what I needed to make the final push. I still felt good. Around what I figured was mile 22, still no Wall. Awesome. I could not tell my pace because of the lack of mile markers, but based on what people around me with more sophisticated running watches and gadgets (or perhaps because they had seen mile markers that I hadn’t) were saying, it appeared that my pace was still not far off 8:30.

I began to think that I was home free and that I was going to have a really good finishing time. Then—the surprise. The path turned at this point and went back along the lake. This part of the course was by Shedd Aquarium and the Adler Planetarium. These buildings are on a peninsula that juts into the lake. We turned and found ourselves running straight against the wind, which was now stronger than it had been at the start of the race. I felt like I was running and going absolutely nowhere. This was our plight for the next couple of miserable, endless miles.

It was at this time that I started to feel the effects of the cold. I had now been running in the cold and wind and snow flurries and sleet for more than three hours. T realized that I could not feel my face. It was numb.

WHAT IF WE’RE BLOWN INTO THE LAKE?

As I again ran close to the water’s edge, I began to feel dizzy and a little removed from my body. At this point, it crossed my mind that I had not seen any ambulances or emergency personnel along the course. What if someone did fall in the lake? We were fairly spread out by this point, and there wasn’t always another runner just behind to even see someone fall in and find help. What if / fell in the lake? As dizzy as I felt at this point, I thought it was not a far-fetched possibility. I shuddered and moved farther away from the frigid, murky water.

I did not fall in. However, I did start hallucinating. I thought I saw an ambulance on the road and tried to flag it down, but I couldn’t lift my arm so it passed me right by. In reality, I probably didn’t even see the ambulance, but I knew at this point that if I had seen one and it had seen me, that that would have been the end of my race.

I started to think that I might be slowly freezing to death. I wondered about the homeless (and there are many of them) who choose to eke out their existence in the cold, cold city of Chicago. Why didn’t they choose a warmer city? How did they survive these elements that were often much worse than we were now enduring? And in the back of my mind, of course, I thought that I was probably not going to achieve my goals. I had no idea how long they had taken, but I figured that the last couple of miles had probably been at least 12- or 14-minute miles.

Finally, what seemed like an eternity later, I rounded a corner and crossed the finish line. It was anticlimactic. The day was so bitter by now that very few spectators were watching the runners finish. No one clapped, and no one called out my name as I finished. Even at the much smaller Ocala Marathon, my name

and my city were announced when I crossed the finish line. I had been running, running, running for what seemed an eternity, and then all of a sudden, I crossed the finish line and I stopped, and it was quiet. My brother Mike walked up then and he pointed to the clock: 3:54! Although I hadn’t qualified for Boston, I had broken four hours and bettered my marathon time by over 10 minutes. After what Thad just gone through, I was very proud of myself. I had not only started when Thad felt like quitting, but I had finished!

The muscles in my face were now frozen. I couldn’t even move my mouth to say the words that I wanted to say, which were, “I need water!” While the outside of me was cold and wet, my mouth was now parched and dry. By now, I was also shaking. Mike had brought me a big beach towel to dry off, but what I really needed was a big winter coat.

Thad received my medal when I crossed the finish line, and we quickly picked up my shirt, which was given at the finish line rather than distributed at the expo. (Many, many shirts went unclaimed that day.) also gota little sapling tree wrapped in foil, because this marathon was celebrating Earth Day.

I just could not make my feet and legs move enough to walk to Mike’s car, parked a few blocks away, so he went to get it. We arranged that he would come by where I was standing by the street and I would hop in. I waited about 10 minutes for my brother. They might have been the longest 10 minutes of my life. I was shaking uncontrollably at this point. I looked behind me and saw several ambulances (here they were!) and knew that if any one of the paramedics saw me, they would head me straight for a stretcher.

FINALLY! SAVED BY MY BROTHER

Just as I was sure I was going to pass out and hit the pavement, my brother pulled up. He had the heater going full blast. I got in, peeled off my wet, frozen gloves, and put my face and my hands next to the vents that were blowing hot air. As I started to thaw out, the shaking continued and my teeth started chattering uncontrollably. Mike called Lisa on the cell phone and told her to run a hot bath.

Our route to Mike’s apartment took us on part of the marathon course, the part before the runners hit the Navy Pier peninsula. I saw runners still on the course, struggling against the elements. Now it was my turn to feel pity as I knew what they had in store for them in the last few miles.

Soon we were at Mike’s apartment. As I got out of the car, Dad pulled up. That’s right! Mike, Dad, and I planned to go to the Cubs’ game that afternoon! How would I ever do that? I nearly fell as I got out of the car. Dad said, “You are as white as a ghost!”” Mike and Dad both had to help me up the stairs.

The hot bath was the best thing anyone could have thought of. Once I submerged in the steaming, hot water, everything started to thaw out. Although all my

limbs tingled, I felt immediately better. I soaked in that tub, continually running more hot water, for about a half hour. Then I knew that they were waiting for me, so I left the comfort of the bath and reemerged into the world. I felt reborn! I was now human again.

And we did go the Cubs game. More significant still was that we walked the 15 minutes to the stadium. Mom had sent a warm down jacket and a hat and mittens for me and some big warm wool stadium blankets. We were set! I love the Cubs. We settled into our seats at Wrigley, all wrapped up and warm. I was as happy as a clam. I felt immense peace and calm. I also felt that I could eat anything I wanted to that day and not feel guilty about it.

Later on, I did a little research and realized that I had probably suffered that day from hypothermia. I also had to admit that the last hours of the race and postrace were probably some of the worst hours of my life. I told Mike and Dad that day that it was worse than being in labor and having a baby!

But in the end, I was very happy. I had bettered my Ocala time and had broken four hours. More important, I had battled the elements, and I had won. I was a little disappointed because I felt that I could have done a lot better if the weather had cooperated. I knew this meant that I would now have to find another marathon to try to qualify for Boston. Of course, at this point, I was hooked on long-distance running, so I would have found another marathon to run anyway. After all, I have been running a couple of marathons a year ever since I started in 2002. (And I am just starting to think about attempting an ultra.)

What made me so proud after all I had gone through that day was that I had kept the upper hand. I had seized the day instead of letting it seize me. Because of this, my second marathon was my most unforgettable marathon.

And What | Learned From It

1. Most of us are capable of more than we think. We may doubt ourselves, but if we never set goals and if we never start, we will never achieve them. If we don’t even give something a try, we will never know what we are capable of. No matter what the outcome of any marathon | have done, | am glad that | got to the starting line and took that first step. | was not sure that | could run a marathon in the cold and wind and rain. But no matter what the outcome of the Lakeshore Marathon had been, | am glad that | at least had the will to give it a try.

2. Know your limits. Many, many people did not finish the 2002 Lakeshore Marathon. (In truth, | probably should have been among them.) So many shirts were not claimed at the finish line that the organizers later sent them

to all registrants. | wound up with two shirts along with another third-place age-group medal! Still, | give those folks who started the marathon and did not finish it credit for showing up and trying, but for also assessing the weather situation and stopping because of potential physical harm. If you try something and know that it is beyond your capability that day, there is no harm in stopping! No race is worth permanent injury or death.

. If you don’t achieve a goal the first time you try, there will always be another chance. That is especially the beauty of running. There will always be another race! At Ocala, | achieved my goal to run a marathon but didn’t achieve my sub-four-hour-goal, so | set my sights on Lakeshore. | achieved my sub-four-hour goal at Lakeshore, but | didn’t achieve my Boston-qualifying goal so | set my sights on San Francisco. At San Francisco, | achieved my Boston-qualifying goal. | have a friend who tried several marathons before she finished one, but she kept on trying, and eventually she did finish. A woman in our Manasota Track Club tried for years to break three hours in a marathon. She ran countless marathons, and finally she broke three hours at Jacksonville in December 2005. There will always be a new opportunity to achieve your goals.

. Seize the day. Be the one to control your own destiny. No matter the weather conditions, the course conditions, or the obstacles in your path, once you are there and in the moment, don’t let the day, or things ; that are out of your control, seize you. oss