Better Together

I could feel my heart pumping so strongly it felt as if it would pump right up my throat and out of my mouth. My legs were burning, on the verge of cramping. My skin was taut from a mixture of sweat and salt and sun. Everything in my body was screaming at me to stop and give in to the instant relief of a slow, walking pace. But I saw the 26 mile marker and decided to push through, to finish strong for the last .2 miles. (That or I might have been delirious. One of the two.) So I sprinted. And as I rounded the last corner, the pavement pounding beneath my feet, I saw the time clock and almost burst into tears of joy. (In fact, I probably would have cried, but I don’t think I had the energy to.) I had just beat last year’s time by an hour.

Rewind to 3.5 weeks earlier. I was sitting at the dinner table with Jake and his family and our friend Chris, and I told them my crazy idea. I had been on a run earlier that day, and my route took me on a portion of the Park City Marathon Course. While I was out, I saw several runners on the path, and I just knew… I knew they were training for the marathon. (Ok, I actually had no idea whether they were training or not. But they sure looked like they were. HA.) Call it competitiveness (most likely), call it determination (maybe a little of that, too), call it stupidity (absolutely), call it whatever you like. But I saw those other runners, and it triggered something deep inside me. After an entire summer of thinking there was no way, I didn’t have time to train, wasn’t going to run it again this year, I decided with 3.5 weeks left that I wanted to run the Park City Marathon again.

I know. I’m CRAZY.

Fast foward 3.5 weeks again, though, and somehow… I did it. But here’s the thing. Yes, I worked my butt off, I trained, and ultimately I ran every step of the 26.2 miles, which I’ll be honest, I’m pretty proud of. BUT, I never could have done it by myself. And that is the absolute truth.

I couldn’t have done it without my family, particularly my mom and Jake’s mom. They encouraged me during those few weeks of training, and during the race, they followed me around the course, cheering me on literally every couple miles. Nothing like having your moms along :)  Then there was Chris. Chris just happens to be a professional road biker (yeah, no big deal), and he took it upon himself to become my coach… my trainer, my meal consultant, my motivator. He wrote out every workout for me, kept me on track, and helped my diet. He even made my dinner the night before the marathon. And during the race, he would show up every few miles on his bike to check in on me, asking me if I needed any food, bringing me water, etc. (Yes, I realize how spoiled this is.) He was the best coach I could have asked for. Lastly, of course, there was Jake. My wonderful, encouraging husband. He became not only my biggest supporter, but also my accountability partner. On the days when I didn’t want to get my work out in, he pushed me to get it done. On the days I needed to go on a long run, he would pick me up at the end of it so I could run on the course. On the days I had a great workout, he celebrated it with me. He followed me around the course during the race, too, and he was the first one to hug me when I crossed the finish line. He will always be my biggest fan.

It’s been a little over a month since I ran the marathon. Part of me is still incredibly stoked. Part of me still can’t believe I did it. But all of me knows it wouldn’t have been half as rewarding if I couldn’t have shared it with everyone that I love. And really, that’s what matters the most anyways, you know? I mean, not to get all Jack Johnson on you but, if you ask me, everything’s better when you’re together…

Happy Thursday :)