It's been more than two weeks since I spent a few hours there, but I still can't get my mind off the Mile 21 mile marker. I've been there before. I've been there as a runner (ouch). And I've been there as a coach at many races. But this time, I stood there for a long, long time. I did not "coach" anyone by running alongside them. I was injured. So, I just stood there waiting. Waiting first on Christi and Cravey. Then waiting on Adam. Then waiting on Kerbow, Connie and Kim.
Now how do you describe Mile 21 of the San Antonio RNR Marathon? Well, this year the first word that comes to mind is HOT. Yes, way too hot for running 26.2 (or any other distance for that matter). When I first arrived (via taxi) I was with Christi and Cravey's husbands and Little Tony. Big Tony calculated their arrival and I quietly mentioned a couple of times that he might not want to count on that time anymore. I felt certain they would be off pace by then. The heat was unbelievable. Plus, even in the best of conditions, most people get a little off pace by that time. When finally we saw our girls, we prepared to hand them the boiled potatoes and salt. Immediately I noticed Christi's face. She looked pale and seemed confused. I was worried, but when she questioned me about her dizziness, I replied, "You're ok. You just ran a long way". Her husband and son were standing there, so how could I say what I was really thinking? She wasn't sweating. She was dazed. I felt certain she was suffering an electrolyte imbalance. But I also knew her running buddy Angie was down the road and she's a nurse. So I let her go and said a quick prayer.
Then I stood alone to wait for Adam and the girls. I chatted briefly with other fans and the SAG guy who was stationed there. His radio went off a few times and I got to hear about the people being rescued from the course. I really liked this guy. He and his wife are both cancer survivors and since I was at the time dealing with the possibility that Bill's cancer was back, it was uplifting to talk to him. God puts special people in our path sometimes right when we need it most.
Was it psychological or physical? I stood right by the mile 21 marker and for some reason, that's where it seemed to hit many runners. Suddenly they stopped, moved to the side and stretched or sat or cried or vomited. Being a social vomiter, I found myself gagging a few times. I hadn't eaten all day and was not about to dip into the salt and potatoes. Several runners noticed my cooler and asked if I had any ice. I felt horrible telling them I did not, but made sure they knew an aid station was just under the bridge.
I watched all the Team in Training coaches run back and forth and up and down. They were worn out, but maintained their spirit of enthusiasm, not letting on that they were in just as much pain as the participants they were helping.
There were fans who were cheering happily and saying things they thought were comforting such as "You look good". But I knew what the runners were thinking: "I look and feel like shit". They were in the BMZ (bite me zone) so they didn't want the same upbeat cheers they received at mile 8. They just wanted the finish line.
Over and over I saw one person after another look up at the mile marker and their eyes said it all: "It's only mile 21?" Five miles never seemed so far away. The pain, the exhaustion, the feeling like you've just run straight to Hell and gotta keep on going. No words can describe the profound weariness of Mile 21. As I finally saw Adam Clark, I wasn't sure whether I should grab my camera or cheer for him or run up and hug him. He told me he was fine other than the pain in his ankles. I was quite surprised that's all the trouble he had considering the most he'd run in training was about 14 miles. I texted his wife to let her know he'd passed Mile marker 21 and then waited some more for the girls.
The scene never changed. It remained torturous from the moment I arrived til hours later. I started thinking about the marathon winners, the elites who had been at this very mile marker many hours before. Some people think they don't have as much pain as the slower runners. Having run at various paces, I gotta say faster is much more painful.
Once Kerbow, Connie and Kim came by with their supporter Jill Mills, my job of waiting at mile 21 was complete. I said goodbye to the SAG guy/cancer survivor and thankfully got a ride from Jill back to the hotel. I took one last peak at the mile marker and thought, "unless you've done it, you have no idea". The courage it takes to get from 21 to 26.2 is great. It's not strong legs or lung capacity or heart rate or the right amount of training. It's courage. It's believing that no matter how bad your body feels, you can do this and not only that, you WILL do this. I learned a valuable lesson at the mile 21 mile marker in San Antonio. That last five miles of the journey is for champions, no matter how fast or slow they are, no matter their age, no matter their ability. That final five of the marathon requires courage, believing in yourself. Wow! That's impressive.
Oh, and by the way, my theory on the elite runners is true. Later in the night when Christi, Cravey and Lisa were limping up the stairs at the River Walk, right behind them were the winners of the race (the guys from Africa). Christi apologized for being so slow and those men said, "Oh no, we are in the same pain as you."
