The Intersection of Brook Road and Brookland Parkway: Mile 23

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 1^st 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.