Swason lead me to victory on Sunday with her commanding athletic
spirit, her empathetic guidance and her perfectly timed words of powerful encouragement.
As we stood shoulder to shoulder in the pack of 1,987 runners awaiting the starter’s
pistol Swason and I discussed our pace and agreed that we would stick together
if we could, but no worries if we split up.
Bang – we were off.
I was scared and anxious, I’ve been running this distance
for a few weeks but it felt so different. The cement was hard, I missed my last
potty pit stop and all these runners looked so strong and elegant. But Swason
stayed with me, even though I didn’t turn my head to see her, I knew she was
there.
I usually jog easily until about 4.5 miles however as I reached mile 2 my right calf began to cramp. As the pain increased I thought
I would “run it out” until the turn around at 3.1 but the pain quickly spread
through my right hip up to my shoulder then down to my foot. I tried to ignore
it, I tried to focus on the traffic lights 6 blocks away, I tried to think of
all of you cheering me on and Susan gliding easily over my left shoulder but
when my right foot began to burn then go numb the fear of a thrombosis rupturing in my
right leg finally convinced my body to stop.
Swason
stuck with me as I felt the heavy pressure to complete the full 6.2 miles well
up inside. She slowly and calmly led me through a series of stretches as I explained
my symptoms. This was an entirely new side of Swason that I never experienced, she
was the composed all knowing expert and I was the novice seeking her help. If I
wasn’t so focused on relieving the pain and quieting my inner angel of death
screaming “YOU ARE GOING TO DIE” I would have hugged all the air out of her –
but I don’t think dominators do that, so I didn’t.
After the
stretching Swason instructed me to walk for 1/10 mile then reassess my pain. I
took off at my speed walking pace and moved to the center of the street instead
of the right gutter where I had been jogging previously so I wouldn’t interfere
with the “real” runners. After making
these adjustments I was free of pain and back at my cruising jog– ya know why?
Cause I wasn’t running in the right gutter! Full on rookie move…ughhhh. Yeah,
so when the street slopes to the side and there are big metal grates over the storm
drains ya don’t wanna run there – lesson learned.
At mile 3.1
Swason took the lead at the turn around calling over her shoulder, “It’s
shorter on the way back.” I knew mathematically that couldn’t be correct but
Swason is the harbinger of truth and a marathon trainee so I accepted her words wholeheartedly as my smile grew wide and my feet welcomed the forgiving softer asphalt of the return
trail.
Mile 4 my ear buds revolted, silencing my music and my GPS lady who tells me I'm a running superstar every ½ mile. I tucked the useless cord and buds into my sports bra and tried not to focus on my echoing heavy breathing and the unknown distance ahead.
4.5 miles
and I hit my wall, as per always. I felt heavy and slow. Swason had pulled
ahead and if I had any extra breath I would have called out to her …. just go….
leave me here…. I’ll be ok. But as my head screamed out to Swason in silence she
turned as if sensing my psychic cry and yelled out “Only one and a half miles!”
Swason's words were perfectly timed, she didn’t have to say “You can do it” because
I knew she was certain I had the power to conquer the next 1.5 miles and then I
thought of T-bone’s beads on my laces that spelled out “Glew” “Strong” and I pumped
my arms and pushed my legs.
Swason
remained a few steps ahead, guiding me closer to 6.2 miles. When the 6 mile marker
sign came into view my emotions erupted, stunting my lungs and clamping my
throat shut. I gasped twice finding no air then I focused on the back of Swanson’s
left shoulder, her gate was relaxed and steady, I wanted to feel that. My lungs
loosened and I was back in the game just in time for a recreational runner, who
was heading towards me in the opposite lane, to give me a massive high five as he
yelled out, “You’re almost there!”
Swason and
I crossed the finish line at 1:12:13 just as we began, shoulder to shoulder
with broad smiles and laughter (me with tears). The announcer sang out our
names like a European football announcer calls GOAL-A GOAL-A GOAL-A as my mom eagerly
rang a cowbell, tooted a duck call and held a sign exclaiming Swason's and my awesomeness.
We were awesome… we are awesome and so was my mom with her generous spirit,
unending support and superior effervescent cheer leading.
10K
Sunday ended with a celebration French Toast brunch attended by Mom and…. Sweets. Yes Sweets and I didn’t work as dating partners, and yes things were said and done that filled
my head with crap but we are working really well as friends. Sweets has always been a champion of my
physical achievements and while dating not only did he introduce me to scores
of new activities while never doubting my ability to conquer challenges but he
named my gams “Adventure Legs”. Sweets also was the first to tell me that my strength
and power were worthy of a 10K and supported me wholeheartedly throughout my
training. Sweets understood what Sunday meant to me, it wasn’t JUST running 6.2
miles, it was bigger than that, it was the sum of all the parts. Sweets and I never unpacked our emotions and shared
our lives, but somehow he got it, he got that this 10K was bigger than a race
and it was wonderful that he desired to share in the glory of my big day and
eat my leftover bacon and french toast.
