This past Sunday was the final summer season event, the Nike Marathon in San Francisco. What a day! I went to cheer on my teammates with whom I've been training these past five months, and to help run them in at the last mile. I had to leave at 6:15am on Sunday in order to get up to the city and find a place on the course for optimal cheerleading. I went with my mentor, Ron, and we settled on a large hill around miles 8 and 9 on the course (near the Presidio coming out to the Cliff House) for the beginning of the day. We were dressed for running, had some hydration strapped to our backs, and were prepared to lose our voices.
The first wave of participants were the walkers. They had started at Union Square at 5:30...1 and 1/2 hours before the runners were scheduled to take off! They came ambling up the hill and it didn't get too lively, but the first thing I noticed was that there were so many purple jerseys! This is the signature clothing piece of the TNT runner, and I had forgotten that the Nike Marathon is a joint effort between Team in Training and Nike, so there were naturally going to be thousands of TNT runners/walkers from across the country. Plus, the majority of them were going to be women. So, for the next six hours, my cheers were filled with "Let's go, ladies!" and "Looking strong, girls!" - and it was odd when in slipped the occasional "Way to go, dude!" However, I think the men appreciated the individualized attention amongst the swarm of females.
The attitude during the first 10 miles of the race was considerably excitable and light. The runners were cheery, vocal, and waving - full of energy and not too sweaty either. We could chat a little bit, and here and there I ran alongside my friends, dispersing little bits of advice for the journey ahead: "Save it for mile 20 - everyone else is going to drop like flies at that point - conserve it now - drink a few cups at every aid station! - stick to your walk/run! - grit your teeth and push at the end! - see you at mile 25! - we're rooting for you!" They were feeling good, were unbelievably fresh in the legs, and prepared for anything. Little could I predict that mile 25 would be a while different cheerleading experience.
After warming up on the hill with five or six of my teammates who were competing, I headed down to mile 10 (on the Great Highway) and out to the finish. The finish had to be situated near the half marathon mark (13.1 miles), but the full marathoners went an extra loop back around near SFSU. The half marathoners looped up from the Great Highway into Golden Gate Park, and then back out to the finish, while the marathoners looped through the park, back out, past the finish, up towards Lake Merced via the Great Highway for the second half of their race, and then back out to the finish. I can only imagine the mental strength it took for the full marathoners to pass the finish area on their way out for the second half of their race.
The finish itself was located near the intersection of Fulton Street and the beach, and it took up nearly a mile with all the promotional tents, food tables, finisher memorabilia, and the mainstage where the bands were playing. Mile 10, however, was right near the Cliff House, and for those of you who are familiar with that viewpoint, it is quite breathtaking on a clear, sunny day such as yesterday was. The ocean pans out at the bottom of the hill, lapping at the sandy beach dotted with patrons, and the crest of the city lies just beyond that in the glinting sunlight, beautifully framed by the distant foothills of the surrounding mountains. While I breezed down this hill with a smile on my face, Ron was running our teammates down and travelling back up to catch the next group. Up there, cheering on the team, he said it was quite amusing to hear the constant steam of expletives from out-of-state participants while rounding the corner and coming face-to-face with the startlingly gorgeous scene before them. Ron heard the phrase "Holy S***!" more times than he can count...and he helped all of them record the Kodak moment more times than he cares to mention.
I moved in towards mile 25, which was as simple as jogging down from Mile 10 to the start of the park leg, and crossing the street to where the Mile 25 marker stood. How awful, I thought, to have to run out on your Mile 14, and have the finishers coming in from the other direction barely 100 feet across from you...you literally see how far you have yet to go!
By the time I got down to that area, it was around noon, and the first runners were coming in...the very strong runners. But as the next two hours passed, form and function degenerated in most participants, and by 1:30, some of the finishers were looking really haggard. These were the runners who burned everything up in the first half of the race, believing that the first 10 miles would be an indication of how their last 10 would go. They forget that the last 2.2 are the actual definition of the marathon.
It was very tough to try to cheer the runners on during this stage of their race. Many were silent, painful grimaces etched on their faces, others were in tears, and some were absurdly weaving back and forth. There were those who had to walk, there were some who pushed through while cursing up a storm, and still some who deliriously thanked you for running alongside them during those last few hundred feet. I hope that my cheers of "3 stoplights left!!" helped them then; I remember wanting only to see the actual finish line when I ran in Portland - for some reason, having a view of the finish will get you through the mental storm when you're on that last leg of the race. Most of the spectators were silent; I assume because when faced with those expressions of true grit and painful determination, you're just not quite sure what to say. However, I remembered that the simplest act of just clapping, merely showing your support, was truly appreciated during that last push for the finish.
As I helped run in some of the team members, I was struck by their strength and mental willpower. My brain was mostly mush when I was running into the Portland finish, that little voice in my head a booming loudspeaker "Finish. Finish. Push. Breathe." I could see them struggling against that same voice, their bodies ready to collapse from the repetitive pain of putting one foot in front of the other. And somehow, beyond all belief, they pushed. At the very end, the most inspiring of actions was that final give-all from a runner who was torn up, chewed up, and spit out by the grueling, unforgiving course. The statement was unspoken, but resonated deep within all and anyone who was there to watch it happen. It's a raw, pure glimpse of that which we try to define as the human spirit.
The runners streamed in until nearly 2pm, and the last walkers were escorted from behind by a police cavalcade. After the ceremonies and hugs and tears and bananas, we all headed out to get some more food, to shower, and prepare for the victory party. It was only when I finally sat back down in the car (after 6 hours and nearly 12 miles on foot), did I realize that I had forgotten to apply sunblock that morning. Thus, the nickname "Sunburn Sarah" was born.
For the rest of the evening, through the spectacular 10,000-person buffet dinner celebration at the Moscone Center, during the thumping DJ-inspired dance fest, and all the way to the after party at Jillian's at the Metreon, I was bowled over by looks of shock at my new skin tone: "Sarah, you are so RED!"
It was so unbelievable, people kept wanting to poke me and test out exactly how burned I was. (As if the grimace of pain on my face would give them a litmus test for the severity.) I had enough sense to apply ice packs and take some ibuprofen before we ate dinner, and while hydrating for the rest of the evening, I managed to temper the burn until I could get ahold of some aloe vera. The beautiful irony is that I work for a Cancer Center and know better than to stay in the sun with nothing less than SPF 30 for a maximum of an hour....
Hanging out with the team after the race, giggling at their limited range of movement, and commiserating with them on the intensity and immensity of completing the day's physical test, I smiled to myself as I thought about all the hard work we had completed for the past five months, all the early morning runs we conquered, and the triumph we shared in joining the "less than 1% of the population who have completed a marathon." As I looked around at the crowd, I couldn't believe that we could now call ourselves marathoners.
I was speaking with my running buddy, Cheytna, about the process of doing a marathon, of trying to define it for those who have yet to complete one:
She said that, at the beginning, you don't really have a reason for signing up for a marathon. Something just makes you do it, and you don't realize what an incredible journey you're about to have. The very idea is impossible to understand, or even focus on, and even while training, you're not conscious of how the race itself will change you. And then, one day, you wake up and you realize 'I've completed a marathon.' People will ask you to explain it, how it feels to have done it, but it's like trying to explain becoming a human being. The only thing you understand is what it feels like to have done it, to be changed in that manner.
Imagine being an astronaut, and preparing for space travel. You train and train hard, simulating what is going to happen, preparing for the unexpected and dangerous, dressing up as if, and planning out how to accomplish the journey. But the minute you step into that shuttle, strap in, and lift off, you embark on something so extraordinarily unimaginable to most people, you realize, right then, that no one has invented a way or words to express the experience. The only truth you know, the only proof that you have, is the feeling of the experience. Try as you might, your words fail you and you find yourself staring at someone who is staring back at you, the kinetic memory of an impossible feat struggling to express itself in a language you learn only by surviving a physical and mental monsoon. The feeling is there, but the appropriate words do not exist.
Then you find yourself out on the racecourse, cheering your teammates. You understand for the first time what 'unlimited potential' looks like, and your voice rises in your throat when you see someone complete a spectacular physical feat, understanding what they are experiencing, your own spirit igniting at the recognition of its mirror image in a stranger, and your humanity verified in the accomplishments of those who push themselves beyond the boundaries of what we know is possible. You become human, you become connected to all other humans, when you let out that shout in support of their spirit.
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