nostalgia

ok, so this is a reprint of my mother’s day marathon, circa May 9, 1999……….as printed in the Danville Advocate Messenger, along with pictures……yeah- mamma is feeling nostalgic......

Subtitle: kathy C-dub spends her Mother’s Day finishing Cincinnati’s first Flying Pig Marathon


What kind of idiot spends a perfectly lovely Mother’s Day on a 26.2 mile walking/running tour of Cincinnati?

The answer: 6100 well-meaning idiots, including me, made the trip to Cincinnati for the Flying Pig Marathon Sunday.

Runners who opt for the ultimate challenge do so for reasons that seem perfectly reasonable to the runner and perfectly insane to everybody else. For a non-runner like myself, the decision to enter this race was met with utter shock and dismay.

‘Kathy, how far have you run before this? Only 3 miles?’ they would say as they silently questioned my sanity. “I thought you didn’t run.”

That much is true. I prefer walking to running, but that does not exclude me from completing a 26-mile event. I often walk 6-7 miles at a sub-15 minute pace on my treadmill and on weekends I have been known to load and unload rocks in the building of walks and walls for longer than the 7 hours allotted for completion of the Cincinnati event. I have the stamina and the resolve to finish what I have started when it comes to grueling home gardening projects. Why can’t I transfer these attributes to a 26 mile tour of Cincinnati. I may not be a classic runner, but I am certainly an athlete in search of her event.

Race Day 7:00 am Fountain Square. I am, overwhelmed. I try to remember all the reasons why I am here. I had once commented that I would run a marathon when pigs flew. They are flying today in Cincinnati. All my friends have done a marathon, and I feel left out. Oprah has done a marathon. I have trained enough to lose 7 pounds and 1 dress size. Mostly, I am here because at 43, life is too short not to take risks in challenging the who I am and what I can be. Yes, this is Mom’s Midlife Marathon.

Mile 1. Somewhere on Ezzard Charles Drive. My watch says 12 minutes and a few seconds. Too fast. I will have to slow down. There are scores of runners wearing purple shirts, signifying that they are have raised money for leukemia research. They wear hospital bracelets bearing the name of their ‘training partner’ who has leukemia. I am not running for anyone except myself. I resolve to make a donation to the leukemia society. I start walking with Debbie, a grandmother from Newport. She, too, plans to walk some and run some.

“I did the math. If I walk a mile, and run a while, I can do this thing in less than 7 hours.” She insisted. I am relieved to hear that someone else has come up with the same plan. I am both relieved and validated. I am not thirsty, but I drink a cup of water anyway.

Mile 5. I am in Newport, heading across an Ohio River Bridge. I look at my watch. It is just after 8:00 am. I am on track with my plan. I have walked some, but run more. The route so far has been lined with well-wishers who shout encouragement. Each water stop is like a carnival, with volunteers dressed up in zany costumes. Everybody is upbeat. On the bridge, a barbershop-like group is singing God Bless America, with the Cincinnati skyline in the background. I take their picture with my disposable camera. I am too choked up to breathe for a few moments. I walk again to conserve energy.

Mile 9. Eden Park. 9am. Still on track with walking up hills and running downhills. I am familiar with this area of Cincinnati, as I lived near here for 2 years. I know that there are some long down-hills coming up. I feel really good. I jog for awhile with Joan, from Anderson Township in Cincinnati, who is running today in memory of her mother who died last fall.

She tears up. I tear up. Again, I am so choked up that I cannot breathe. I didn’t plan on this being such an emotional journey. At the water stop, a man from a local TV station hands me a carnation in honor Mother’s Day. I decide to use one of my tissues to wipe away the tears.

Mile 13. Somewhere on Erie Avenue. Not yet 10:00 am. I am elated, because I know that I am halfway through, and I am on target to finish before the 2:00 pm when the finish line will be dismantled. I have met up with some old friends of my husband’s that live on the route. I stopped to take their picture, and they in turn take mine. The water stop has been done up with a pink Cadillac and girls in black felt skirts with pink pigs instead of pink poodles……….

I marvel at the creativity on the part of volunteers. Along the way I have seen people dressed up as pigs, as masked crusaders, as cartoon characters. There has been music, too. I tossed $1 in the donation cup of a teen band playing ‘Free Bird’ somewhere along Madison Road. In O’Brienville, the mood was reggae, with the beat of steel drums to move us along.

Mile 16. Not yet 11:00 am. I give up on running. I have 10 miles to go. I resolve to walk the rest of the way. I feel hydrated, as I have drank one or two cups at each water station. I have fueled up on Skittles periodically, my sport food of choice.

I am concerned about my feet. I feel hot spots. Blisters never crossed my mind until now. I try to put them out of my mind. I am walking now with a woman from California, who has flown in to do the run with her daughter who lives in Cincinnati. She is concerned that her daughter is somewhere behind us and may have given up. I try to reassure her, and in doing do, reassure myself that I could finish.

Mile 20. Noon. I have 2 hours to walk the final 6 miles. I do the math. I can still do this. My hips are numb, and my legs are sore, but I still feel good from the waist up. I have taken off my left shoe to get out a pebble. My sock is bloody. I thought that I must be getting a blister. I resist the temptation to check the other foot. I get up and start walking again. I meet up with a mother-daughter team from Chicago. They are supported by a second daughter riding a mountain bike.

The biker offers to get me some water. I am grateful, as the water stations are being dismantled and the water bottle I am carrying is getting low. I see an EMS crew helping a fallen runner into a rescue van. I try not to think about the possibility of injury or medical emergency. I run through my checklist: hydration, fuel, legs, feet. I don’t feel bad enough to quit.

Mile 24. There is no longer anyone manning the mile markers. I see the mileage spray painted on the pavement. 1:00 pm. I can still finish with 30 minute miles. I am absolutely miserable. I cannot ever recall ever being this miserable. Except during childbirth. Now that was an ordeal.

Nothing that has happened today can compare with the physical and emotional toil of labor and delivery. I think about the encouraging notes that my children including in my Mother’s Day card. I tear up, and plod on.

Mile 25. 1:30 pm. There is a cheerful man running an impromptu water stop. He has tapped into the fire hydrant, and apologizes for the taste of the cool water. I see in him the face of God, for still being out on the course at this late hour. I begin to walk with a woman who has at least 20 years and 100 pounds on me. I foolishly ask if this is her first marathon, too. She is quick to point out that this is her 56th marathon, and that she always finishes this slow. I am humbled, and grateful to be finishing at all at my size. Fitness does come in all shapes and sizes. That was one fit woman. I am reminded of Pheidipiddes, the Greek who ran from the Plains of Marathon to Athens to proclaim the good news of the Greek victory over the Persians. The first marathoner dropped dead after he delivered his message. I put aside this thought and move on.

Mile 26.2. The Finish. I look for Ernst. I know that he will be there, somewhere. He gently takes the camera clutched in my hand to take my picture. It is over in something shy of 6 hours and 48 minutes. Someone hands me a medal: a bronze flying pig. It is something to hold onto whenever I want to remember this day. I know that the memory of today will be glossed over in a few short days, just like the memory of childbirth dims next to the glow of parenthood. A Mother’s Day well spent. But next year, I may opt for breakfast in bed.

Box- Other local finishers in Sunday’s Flying Pig Marathon:

Ernst C-dub 3:24
Rick H. 3:27
Jamey G. 4:12
Joni M. 4:40
Sarah H. 4:41