Ode To The Green Beans

Today was the Carlsbad Marathon and I knew all I wanted out of it was a strong training run in prep for LA. What I ended with was a lesson in humility and gratitude, and it was great practice with nutrition and fluids, to boot. I made the decision pretty early on to forgo the Gus in place of the Jelly Belly electrolyte beans and I am so happy I did! No GI distress and no vomit with those little green wonder beans. This is a victory in and of itself for me. I know it is not polite conversation to discuss the intermost workings of the GI track, but I really detest vomit, so to skip it altogether was a beautiful thing for me.

Miles 1-10 were uneventful. It was a beautiful day, clear and crisp, with little wind until the end of the race. The marathon and the half began together this year, so it was super fun to have the company of other runner friends. We went our seperate ways around mile 3, however, and I realized just how all alone I was. Up the hill, Palomar Airport Road and into what felt like the abyss with other strangers. I came in mile 10 just under 1:20 and decided then and there to back off the pace, for fear I might repeat the dreaded experience of Long Beach Marathon when I hit the wall hard. I am grateful that today did not bring fantasies about being hit by a car in order to end my misery. I felt realtively (this term is used very loosely) comfortable the whole time (until about mile 21). After mile 10, the next I looked at my watch was the half marathon point, 1:45:00 exactly, 3:30 pace. I thought this was comical, considering the 3:30 pace guy seemed so far ahead of me. I kept catching glipmses of that group when we did the little out and back fingers. I had been admiring the grace of their stride and unbreakable, blank stares of determination. No chatting going on there at all. I backed off the pace again. I knew the 3:40 pace group was somewhere behind me and I wanted to stay right around that place.

Mile 15 brought a full range of emotion. I was a little discouraged thinking about the fact that I still had 11 miles, and some serious rolling hills, to go. But then, per my ipod, I was sucked into a song "Indescribable". It literally brought me to tears when I was thinking about the lyrics, "Indescribribable, uncontainable. You place the stars in the sky and You know them by name. You are Amazing, God. All powerful, untamable, You see the depths of my heart and You love me the same. You are amazing, God." The part that choked me to nearly a walk was thinking about the fact that I am a small and dispicable human being. Who am I that the Lord would care for me? He knows my heart, yet He loves me the same. The song culminated in "Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee, how great Thou Art, how great Thou Art." I really felt like I was just leveled by feeling my frailty in the universe.

Now, here came the lesson: for the last few marathons, I have been chasing after breaking the 3:40 mark again. For some reason, I have not been able to do this post two kids and it has plagued me. Yet, here I was, trotting along up the hill to mile 18, and it hit me. It is not at all about me. I was running under someone else's name and number. I know this can be objectionable, but really, my friend who gave the number up due to illness, had already paid the fees and simply offered it as a token to my road to LA. I think the lesson I took from this is, even if I could qualify for Boston again and it was not in my name, it doesn't matter. If I could run 3:40, all that matters is that I know I can do it again. I really wanted that little boost of confidence again. I NEEDED it to feel like a true marathoner again, that I had somehow lived up to my potential. Regardless of the name or number, I felt so incredibly humbled by the thought of feeling like I understood this and accepted it. I may very well have left my legs on the course today, but LA is almost irrelavant now. Does Boston even matter? In a word, no. I want to glorify the One who makes it all possible. He has stirred my heart to revisit this and it feels so good to run for a greater purpose.

Mile 18 was the turn around. Here I popped a few more green bean wonders and sipped a little water. The other commitment I made early on was not to overdue the fluid. I rarely drink anything before mile 15 on training runs, and while I would not advise this for everyone, for me, it seems to work. Without the slushy slush in my belly, I felt so much better, coupled with the fact that the day was cool and I felt like my core stayed the same temperature. Most of the water cups I grabbed were to simply toss over my head.

By mile 20, I was feeling my legs. A stitch chewed away at my side, which actually distracted me from the pain in my right hamstring. My calves were tight and my quads ached. At mile 21 I decided to walk through the aid station for the first time and take in some more beans and water (doesn't that sound like a strange prison diet?). Back into some kind of pace, really a little bit of a shuffle, until I got to the top of the next hill. Around mile 23, I was so happy to have some spectators shouting at us and to think we were only a 5K away. This gave me new legs and I passed some runners, thinking about the finish. The wind had picked up now off the ocean and was blowing onshore. I gave myself permission to walk the final hills, at mile 24 1/2ish and then mile 25. I passed some guy in tights. He had passed me around mile 11 and I remember thinking he was a nut for being in tights and long sleeves. He body was flawless as it moved along earlier, but now he looked like he was suffering, slurping his Gu. I felt sorry for Under Armor Man.

Walking those hills renewed my spirit and I felt alive and ramped to run again. I was afraid it might be the death of me to walk, but I think it really did help. Thank you, little green beans! Thank you God, because mile 26 was a beautiful sight, and then on around the corner to the finish. The announcer said, "I can't see her number, but she is obviously a marathoner with a strong finish like that. She's in the blue top, come on people, help me bring her in." That was all I wanted to hear. I felt like a marathoner again. Not because the clock read 3:37 and change, but because I had regained the confidence to go the distance. Two bad marathons in recent past had really killed my self-esteem in the 26.2, but today, I felt confident in a humbled sort of way. I was defintely in touch with my humanity, but in a driven sort of way. The scripture I was recently reminded of that I carried with me today:

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving." Colossians 3:23-24

God is the author and finisher of my race, my life.