Heartbreak Hill is Sometimes Heartbreaking

At the Portland Half Marathon
for race pace training.

After six months of training I was prepared to take my chances at qualifying for the BOSTON MARATHON. The California International Marathon in Sacramento, California was my first hope to qualify. It was going to be great! I was promised down hill, great weather and a awesome hotel to rest my weary head when it was all over. My reality did not line up with these promises!

I kept the finish line in my sights all weekend.

Thirty weeks of training, hundreds of miles logged on rolling hills, 2 half marathon races and a grueling Hood to Coast completed, proper nourishment and hydration, countless books and magazines read. I was ready...kinda.I grew up in sub zero degree weather. I walked to school uphill both ways in the freezing cold and pouring snow. However, nothing could have prepared me for 26.2 miles at 20 degrees...above zero. I realize 20 degrees would have been likened to a heat wave. I assure you 20 degrees is quite certainly in no means a heat wave. At the start line 9900 of us huddled to keep warm. I do not hug total stranger by nature, however I found myself clinging to runners around me trying with all of my might to rob them of their body heat. (Okay, that didn't really happen.) 5, 4, 3, 2...the horn blares signaling commencement of the race. And off my ice blocks ran!

I had my strategy. Follow the pace leader for the 3:35 group. Hold on for dear life and hope my legs hold out. As the horn sounded I took off like a....what did the fox say??? 8:12 pace Kristen. This is a long race. Hold back and get comfortable. HA! Comfortable?! Yes I thought that very word and still find it slightly comical. Mile one....it's all downhill. Literally, mile one was entirely downhill and although starting off in a dead sprint seems like a good idea (I considered it) I assure you it is not. I zipped past porta potties at mile two thinking, "If you have to use a porta potty at mile two this is going to be a very long race for you." I cried at mile three thinking I may just be able to do this. I helped a fallen runner at mile five after slipping on ice at an aid station. Quite frankly running past anyone who has fallen just seems like poor sportsmanship. I sang out loud, oh yes out loud, at mile 7 and 8. What can I say? Kelly Clarkson and One Republic motivate me. I'm sure they will be calling for me to become one of their back up singers.

On our way!

At mile ten my calves started to cramp from the cold and those blasted rolling hills (all downhill my ass.) My fingers began to refreeze at mile 12 as I downed orange slices that were a better idea than they were a reality. At mile 13.1 I thought. "Kristen, just imagine your car broke down and running is the only way you'll get home." I quickly realized that running was the only way I was getting home. Mile 15! Where did that hill come from and do I have to use those porta potties? It can wait. Electrolytes? Check! Mile 17, I'm doing pretty good. On my first marathon this is the mile I crumbled and the mile I feared the most. Made it to 18 with flying colors. The fatigue was setting in. Fuel blocks in and powering on. Miles 18,19,20 I held steady, but celebrated at 20. 6.2 miles to go. Who can't run a 10K? Don't answer that. I spent my youth running six miles. It was my go to workout. I've got this! Then it happened. Mile 21.5! Where the hell are the porta potties when you need them?! By the grace of God I looked up from the two foot in front of me view I had been holding. 100 yards in front of me was my shining blue beacon of hope. I sprinted a 100 yard dash that would make Carl Lewis proud. (go ahead and Google him. I will wait right here.) 21.5-22 all uphill. Why when land is being blasted they couldn't have used an extra stick of dynamite is beyond me. 22-24 I felt my hopes of Boston slipping away. Holding an 8:12 pace, I dug deep. I pushed and pulled my frozen block legs through every step, but no matter how hard I tried my pace kept slipping farther away....8:13, 8:14, 8:15, miles 25-26 8:17, 8:18. An extra Gu as I felt my legs trembling, my teeth chattering, my head spinning and my heart drop. No time for tears. I had .2 miles to go and no matter what that clock said I was not going to walk. I was not going to cry. I fought my battle. I held strong. I came to terms with the fact that we do not live in a Hollywood movie where the endings are always happy and dreams and dedications always come true. And sometimes the greatest reward is in the journey and not in the outcome. I sat and wept at the finish line. I had tried with all I had and by all numerical accounts, had failed. I thought little of the 18 minutes I had shaved off of my last marathon. I forgot about my triumph sailing through mile 17. The hill at mile 21 I had conquered was a distant memory. I focused too hard on not meeting my goal that I had little time to enjoy my triumphs. How often in life do we do this?

Have you forgotten to high five yourself for your little triumphs? Have you focused too much on your goal that you have forgotten to enjoy the journey. Take a moment every so often to write down your accomplishments, however small, they are still accomplishments. Trust me on this one...there will ALWAYS be someone better than you. You will always think you could have done better. This isn't the point of life. Be great in each moment and live triumphantly.