© MarathonFotocom

Oh, so close

My first “real” attempt at running a sub-2:43 marathon on a certified course was at Boston in 2014. Grateful to run on such a historic and beloved course, I loved every minute of that Boston Marathon until the very last minute, when I crossed the line in 2:43:27. I was 27 seconds too late for the Olympic Trials qualifying time. Twenty-seven seconds! The next three attempts were close as well: Grandma’s Marathon 2014 = 2:45:59; California International Marathon 2014 = 2:43:42; and Boston Marathon 2015 = 2:48:07. I was seconds or minutes away from qualifying each time.

I felt that I had failed. My confidence dropped. I wondered if I really had it in me to keep training at this level. Could I pull it off? Had I come close enough to throw in the towel and be content? Why would the hunger to succeed not go away? Why was it so persistent, consistent, and persuading?

Of course I had to try again.

In June 2015, I toed the line again—at age 34. I planted myself at the start line of the Grandma’s Marathon in Minnesota. We were standing in the pouring rain with more than 6,000 other runners in Two Harbors, Minnesota, right along Lake Superior. The course took us along the lake for 18 miles, tracking a straight and gentle route along the water and a treelined street. Then the marathon course continued through a residential area, finally ending in Canal Park in Duluth.

I remember it like it was yesterday. The other elite runners surrounded me, waiting, as I was, for the gun to go off. The nerves, the tension, the excitement! I asked myself: would this be it? Would this marathon be the one that satisfied my hunger, that taste for victory? I

Looking strong during the early miles at Grandma’s Marathon.

was going for something I had never accomplished before. I was aiming to cross the finish line under 2 hours and 43 minutes to qualify to run in the 2016 Olympic Trials Marathon. Could this finally be the one?

The gun went off, and so did we. Crossing the start line is sometimes harder than stepping over the finish line. As I settled into running, even at a quickened, adrenaline-soaked pace, I remembered, “Oh yeah, I know how to do this!”

My fears dissipated after six miles. The first six miles of any marathon are not an indication of how the rest will play out. It usually takes me that long to get warmed up and start to feel strong. The rain subsided into intermittent sprinkling, the clouds broke and let the sun in at times, and we had a view of Lake Superior through the trees that lined the point-to-point course to the aerial lift bridge in Duluth. The course was green and luscious.

Race goal: 2:42:59.

A bouquet of support from family and friends

I was lucky enough to have my husband, Matt, my dad, and my stepmother at the race to cheer me on. I saw them at mile nine and gave them a quick glance, then forged on ahead, giving every ounce of focus and energy to the finish line. Knowing they would greet me again there, I wanted to make them proud. They had sacrificed much to be there with me, not only on that marathon but many previous ones. They aren’t the only ones who encouraged me along this journey. My friends and family from home have all given love, support, and prayers in my behalf.

One of my race mantras was: “I may or may not win (aka reach my goal time), but I will run like a champion.” This helped me keep my head high and press on, focusing less on the outcome and more on each step along the way. I wrote on my hand with marker before the race the words, “Courage, Calm, Strong.” Every mile I chanted in my head “6:05,” as that was the pace I wanted to keep. I came in the halfway point at 1:20:21 .. . just need to double that with a Jittle wiggle room. A few other girls and I worked together on and off, meaning we ran with each other and kept each other company without even saying one word. I had to stay focused each mile and work, but my body cooperated and welcomed the challenge. I thanked God through the entire run for the opportunity to race.

Ineared mile 18 and took into consideration how I was feeling. Every mile took focus to hit a consistent pace. My watch said I was at a 6:07 average pace, perfect, but still eight miles to go. My legs were fatiguing but still responding. I knew there was Lemon Drop Hill at mile 22. I aimed to take it at a consistent pace and had also determined to save some strength to push the last three miles of the race, where my pace historically slowed. The hill isn’t huge, but at this point in the marathon the incline mentally magnifies significantly. Calling upon my mom’s methods, I