Inspiration
Flatman's post inspired me to officially put this down somewhere and is a true account of how I finished my first marathon. It's not about a volunteer per se, but a spectator, who inspired me.
My projected time to finish was five hours. After taking a long hiatus from running, I decided much like Jessie's husband, to come back with a marathon. After 16 weeks of training, I was ready for the big race, the Marine Corps Marathon. I had no idea of the true size of the event even though as a Marine in Washington, DC many years earlier, I knew there was an entire company of Marines dedicated to making this race one of the best supported races in the country, which I have heard many people say that it is indeed.
Not only could I not grasp 18,000 people running a race, I had no idea of the number of spectators on the course. I would have to say that with exception of the bridges crossing the Potomac, almost the entire course was lined with spectators several rows deep. And the final mile, as you turned onto Route 110 was just a massive horde of people cheering and screaming for you as you hit that last mile. When I came off the exit and onto that road, as a straggler, practically alone, I didn't hear cheers, I heard a roar. Gives me chills and gets me choked up thinking about it now as I write it: THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE. A ROAR. For me... cruising in just ahead of my five-hour pace.
Corny, but I closed my eyes and pumped my fist once as I ran through the roar. But as the mile drew to a close, the crowd thinned as most near the end wanted to be at the finish line by the Iwo Jima Memorial. One short steep hill to go and I was getting tired. Maybe I'd walk. Just the hill. Nothing to be ashamed of, I'm going to finish under my goal by about 15 minutes. Don't hurt yourself trying to be a hero, my brain said.
My legs refused to give up that easily though and hit the hill running. But they faded fast... this hill is short, but steep! For a second I lost the rhythm that kept me going for four and a half hours and I stutter stepped, stopped, tried to get going, but couldn't. I told myself not to quit, but maybe all the negative messages from my brain caused my muscles to turn a deaf ear altogether. They didn't hear: DON'T QUIT. DON'T.
Just then, the owner from the small company I worked for, who I didn't ask to be there, who never said she would be there, was overcome with excitement and bolted underneath the rope, jumping out TO ME, this runner, her employee, straggling into the finish of some marathon, some race she didn't quite get, but was inspired by nonetheless, and I inturn, she said, had inspired her. ME? She cheered. My legs, jump-started by her excitement, picked me up and carried me through to the finish.
Energy is transferrable. It moved from her to me that afternoon and I felt it.
Support people. Cheer for them. Volunteers, spectators, whoever, you really do help people finish. I know it.
Thank you Grace for that afternoon in October!
My projected time to finish was five hours. After taking a long hiatus from running, I decided much like Jessie's husband, to come back with a marathon. After 16 weeks of training, I was ready for the big race, the Marine Corps Marathon. I had no idea of the true size of the event even though as a Marine in Washington, DC many years earlier, I knew there was an entire company of Marines dedicated to making this race one of the best supported races in the country, which I have heard many people say that it is indeed.
Not only could I not grasp 18,000 people running a race, I had no idea of the number of spectators on the course. I would have to say that with exception of the bridges crossing the Potomac, almost the entire course was lined with spectators several rows deep. And the final mile, as you turned onto Route 110 was just a massive horde of people cheering and screaming for you as you hit that last mile. When I came off the exit and onto that road, as a straggler, practically alone, I didn't hear cheers, I heard a roar. Gives me chills and gets me choked up thinking about it now as I write it: THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE. A ROAR. For me... cruising in just ahead of my five-hour pace.
Corny, but I closed my eyes and pumped my fist once as I ran through the roar. But as the mile drew to a close, the crowd thinned as most near the end wanted to be at the finish line by the Iwo Jima Memorial. One short steep hill to go and I was getting tired. Maybe I'd walk. Just the hill. Nothing to be ashamed of, I'm going to finish under my goal by about 15 minutes. Don't hurt yourself trying to be a hero, my brain said.
My legs refused to give up that easily though and hit the hill running. But they faded fast... this hill is short, but steep! For a second I lost the rhythm that kept me going for four and a half hours and I stutter stepped, stopped, tried to get going, but couldn't. I told myself not to quit, but maybe all the negative messages from my brain caused my muscles to turn a deaf ear altogether. They didn't hear: DON'T QUIT. DON'T.
Just then, the owner from the small company I worked for, who I didn't ask to be there, who never said she would be there, was overcome with excitement and bolted underneath the rope, jumping out TO ME, this runner, her employee, straggling into the finish of some marathon, some race she didn't quite get, but was inspired by nonetheless, and I inturn, she said, had inspired her. ME? She cheered. My legs, jump-started by her excitement, picked me up and carried me through to the finish.
Energy is transferrable. It moved from her to me that afternoon and I felt it.
Support people. Cheer for them. Volunteers, spectators, whoever, you really do help people finish. I know it.
Thank you Grace for that afternoon in October!
posted by TriDaddy at 7:28 PM
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