Why did I run Richmond?
After the Marine Corps Marathon (MCM), I was asked by quite
a few people whether I was going to run Richmond 3 weeks later. I honestly didn’t know. After I crossed the finish line at MCM, my 1st
thought after “thank goodness that is over” was “no way am I doing this again
in 3 weeks.” I’ve said that before. “No
way am I ever doing more than this 10K; no way am I ever, I mean EVER, doing a
marathon.” I let the days following the
MCM be about rest and recovery. I had
developed some IT band (ITB) pain around mile 18 of MCM and was concentrating
on healing that. I’d rather take a few
weeks off and still be able to run well into the future than be a warrior and
risk further damage. I stretched, I foam
rolled, walked and, ever so slowly, added running back into my routine. But, I still wasn’t sure about Richmond. Whenever I was asked, I joked, “ask me the
day before the race.”
Tuesday of race week I went on a pain-free 4 mile run. Thursday, I decided to go pick up my bib and
shirt at the expo. I mean, I HAD paid
for them as part of the Sportsbackers training team. Friday, I constructed a race plan. I’d run at a comfortable pace as long as I
was pain-free. I’d walk all downhills,
since that is where my ITB pain usually shows up. I would not push it. Having a good time and finishing with a medal
and fleece blanket were my only goals.
Saturday, race day. I
woke up in the middle of the night to hear it absolutely pouring. No worries, it was supposed to end by 6. Then by 7.
Then, maybe by 8. I tried to keep
my feet dry as long as possible before the race and got into my corral right
before the start. And I just kept moving forward for the next 4 hours and 37 minutes.
But the running itself isn't why I ran Richmond. I ran Richmond because of the wonderful MTT
coaches. The ones who spent countless
hours with us when they could have spent time doing other things. The ones who got us to the starting line in
the first place. I ran for the coach who
ran with me on Main Street. I don’t know
why, but I have never enjoyed that stretch of the race. Maybe it’s because it is right after mile 16
and the Lee Bridge and the legs are starting to feel fatigued, I don’t
know. Whatever the reason, Coach Karen,
she distracted me just enough to keep going.
I ran for the elite runner on the side of the road with an
injured ankle. He had slid on the
downhill right before the Huguenot Bridge.
His race was over. I ran for the
random enthusiastic runner on the Huguenot Bridge from Philadelphia who told me
I was crazy to run two marathons in 3 weeks. I gave him a smile and said, “I know, but aren't we all crazy?” He couldn't argue with
me. I ran for the random Marathon Maniac (it’s a real thing, look it up) on Boulevard who tried to convince me that I only needed to
do one more marathon by January to be a member of the club. No thanks, I’m crazy, but I am not a
maniac. Come on, I have to draw the line
somewhere.
I ran for one of my children’s teachers whose son lost his
life on the Lee Bridge just over 18 months ago.
She was running, as well, and I knew that no matter how hard that bridge
was for the other 6000+ runners, it wasn't going to be as hard for us as it was
for her.
I ran Richmond for the spectators. At the end of the Lee Bridge, I saw a 2012
MTT teammate whose cheer gave me an energy boost. I ran to see a coach from the first half
marathon I ever did. Every year, he is
camped out at the same spot on the marathon course. It’s the only time I ever see him, but I look
for him. I saw him, and he gave me a “way
to go, Kimberly.” He knew me when I
swore I’d never do a distance further than the half marathon and said, “We’ll
see.” He knew I would finish a marathon before I did. I ran for the two unexpected hugs from church
family I received somewhere between miles 20 and 21. There were very few spectators there, and I
was feeling pretty tired.
I ran for the mile 23 water stop. That stop has been our church’s water stop
for years. Even before running was on my
radar screen, I handed out water there to runners while my babies were in
strollers or baby bjorns. That water
stop is my oasis. People I admire and
love are there. They are my
cheerleaders. And not just when I
run. They are excited to see me, and, I
, them. It is always what carries me
through to mile 25. Because let’s face it,
miles 23 through 25, they are hard, hard miles.
Close to the finish, but not that close.
Almost done, but not quite.
Within reach, but just out of reach.
I ran for mile 26.2. Even
though I had walked a lot of the last 6 miles, my legs found energy, and I
sprinted. Strangers were screaming my
name. It’s pretty cool, I’m not gonna
lie. It never gets old: the awkward, shy
girl is suddenly a popular, cool athlete.
It’s pretty amazing. OK, so maybe
the last .2 mile WERE about the running.
But the first 26 miles weren’t.
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