When we walked to the start area, my first words were, "I think I'm gonna throw up." There were all these very serious looking runners decked out in top dollar gear; and then there was me. The impostor syndrome kicked in big time. Self-defeating thoughts boiled over but somehow I managed to ignore them. "You are ready;" I thought, "you can do this."
I fell in to the crowd, stretched my legs, and focused. True, this was twice as far as I'd ever run before. True, I felt ill-prepared, ill-equipped, and foreign to the scene, but "screw it," I thought, "you've been wanting this you're whole life." I would watch the Boston Marathon on TV when I was a kid, and I remember wanting to be a part of such a celebration of human willpower and endurance.
The first 21K were a breeze. Halfway through I felt no serious pain, no regret, nothing but elation; but by 32K, that had changed dramatically. My knees and thighs were on fire, all rhythm lost, each step a painfully conscious act. "10K to go," I thought, "you've run a million 10K's." Thoughts like that got me up to 35K.
At 35 K the bottom dropped out. "Seven damn Kilometers to go. That's like five miles!" I had to stop running. Tears welled in my eyes. If it hadn't been for the cheering crowd, I would've let the tears roll down my cheeks. My legs began cramping unbearably. "Quit," my mind said, "there's an ambulance right there."
By the 36K sign, I'd have sooner died than gotten in that ambulance. By then I was running again. Really running. I spent the last 2K running side-by-side with a German guy in a red shirt who became my spiritual brother for just that little while. He'd slow down to be encouraged by me, and then the roles would be reversed only a minute later. I have no idea what this man's face looked like. I couldn't bear to look anywhere but straight ahead. I knew only the sound of his breathing and the color of his shirt, but he was the most important person in the world to me, if only briefly.
Finally, the finish line in sight, I saw Jalina as my daughters jumped onto the red carpet with me and we finished the race holding hands. Nearly unconscious, I realized that this was one of my most proud moments. I collapsed in a state of complete pain, exhaustion, and bliss. All I can think about now is the next one. Maybe Rome.
Lvov says:
When I was standing on the side of the red carpet at the finish line I saw Daddy run in and I heard my mom yell, "Phil!" and so I jumped up and grabbed his hand. It was VERY sweaty! When he came to the finishing line, there were tons of people with him running next to him.As Daddy and Akychame and I were running up the red carpet through the stadium, I heard people on the sides and on all the levels of bleachers around us clapping and hollering, and they were blasting loud rock-n-roll music. Well, first I looked up on a HUGE TV screen and we were on it! I saw Daddy and me holding hands on the screen! We were on German TV! There was silver confetti all over the place and it was awesome. The lights kept shining in my eyes like I'm a famous girl running with my famous dad!
Akychame says:
My mom had to stand behind the gate, but since kids were allowed to run to the finish line with their parents, Lvov and I waited for Daddy on the red carpet. And I was really excited when I saw Daddy running up because I was so happy for him! There were sparkles falling down from the ceiling, and there were colorful, moving lights everywhere. It felt like we were stars. I was holding Lvov's hand while she held Daddy's hand and we ran toward a big crowd at the end where there were tons of runners laying down on the ground grunting about their legs hurting. Daddy collapsed on his butt and said, "AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!" And I was very, very proud of him!
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