Stephanie Dreyer

Austin Motorola Marathon

February 16, 2003

Standard Disclaimer: I always write my marathon tale shortly after the marathon, while still experiencing a "runner's high." As a result, it's so full of proverbial cheese that readers may experience irregularity. Continue at your own risk.

It's Marathon Day! I am one among 6000+ crazy runners gathered in that darkest hour before dawn. But even freezing temperatures and the smell of 50 port-a-potties are not enough to dampen that unique feeling of fear/anticipation that only a runner appreciates. I find my friends at the start – Teresa, Karen, Clea, and Steve. Is everyone ready? Countdown, the horn blows, 6000 watches beep (including mine) and we are off!!

Miles 1-6: I don't know if the first 6+ miles really pass more quickly, or if they are just erased by the overwhelming impression of the last 6. Either way, I don't remember much about the beginning; just a beautiful sunrise, a brief chat with an older fellow about his 70+ marathons, and a steady 7:35 reading on the watch with each mile.

Miles 6-12: By now we’re warmed up, loose, and cruisin'. We make fun of people wearing garbage bags and Texas Flag shorts. We make up a scavenger hunt – points for spotting dogs in sweaters, guys peeing behind trees, and those big foam “We’re #1” fingers. We’re keeping a even pace, thanking the nice people who came out to cheer -- these miles pass easily beneath our steady stride.

The half-marathon relay point is always fantastic. People are lined on both sides of the road, a live band plays to the tempo of your feet, and you know you're halfway home. Hey, there's the UT Marathon Team Cheering Squad! They see my jersey and go wild! High Five! Thanks Guys!!

Mile 15-16: Strong headwinds all the way down to the Hula Hut. Karen’s been sick. She’s not feeling well and decides to slow it down. She wishes us well, and we continue on without her. My patient and supporting husband, Greg, waits on the roadside with our dog KC. Slobbery kiss for luck (from KC). I'm feeling the first twinges of fatigue by now, and seeing my boys puts a little spring back in my step.

Miles 18-23: East Austin, not much to see, the crowd has thinned, no more runner chatter, just noisy breathing. Everyone’s focusing inward. The fatigue twinges are now longer than the intervals between. The little monster of fear and doubt is nipping at my heels and the distance between the mile markers grows dramatically. 7:40, 7:45, 7:50 - seems like lead weights in my socks are dragging me down.

Miles 20-25: The battle of the wills is in full swing. That little monster has caught me by the ankle, crawled up my leg, and latched onto my brain! Chest burning, legs smarting, this is where stubbornness is really an asset. I look over at Clea and see she’s fighting the monster too. “I’m a little woozy,” she says. I ask if we need to stop. (Last year she gave up first place in a race to stop when I wasn’t feeling well. I thanked her by puking on her shoes.) She says she’ll make it though, so we continue at pace. Clea is 4’11” of pure determination. I’m inspired.

Mile 26: Entering the home stretch. It's only a mile, but it's a long one. The end is in sight. The crowd is back, lined on both sides. Everyone cheers. The little monster is banished by a surge of confidence. Unfortunately the surge doesn't drive away the discomfort, but it makes it bearable. Just concentrate on form -- Right, Left, Right...

The Finish Line: Clea and I cross together. I hear my name announced. I know it's just one name among 6000, but for a moment, it's all mine. We are sucked into the welcome cluster of finish-line volunteers. Medic asks if we’re OK. “Yes, just tired.” Someone hangs a medal around our necks. Gatorade, Congratulations, Oranges and Bananas – it’s all a little unreal, but we made it!!

Summation: This was my fourth marathon. Each year I seem to get a little slower (the finishing clock was 3:25, up from a 3:04 PR two years ago), but it’s not so disappointing when you consider that each year’s overall experience gets a little better. The race has become symbolic for me. It’s become the thread that ties the rest of my year together. No matter how crazy everything else gets, no matter what goes unexpectedly wrong, if I can just pull it together for one long journey on a cold Sunday morning, I know I still have some measure of control. The doc told me a few years back to start exercising because it would build a stronger heart, stronger lungs. Perhaps more importantly, I’ve found that running builds a strong will, a strong sense of self, and strong friendships. The analogy is applicable everywhere – home, school, work, you name it. So all that being said, here’s the moral of my sappy tale – even if you don’t like to run, find something worthwhile and attack it with conviction. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.

- Stephanie Dreyer