the inspirational stuff first, the gory details later

Sorry for the informal posting! Thought that an essay would do more justice than my repeatedly rambling. Thank you for your interest!

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I ran my first marathon on Sunday, October 24, 2004. Six of my friends from Los Angeles graciously drove up to San Francisco from Los Angeles to cheer me on and my family also came out to support me. I ran 26.2 miles up and down the hills and along the water and the bridge. It was breathtaking and the company of my loved ones completed the experience. Since then, people have been congratulating me left and right. They say things like, "We knew you could do it," or "It's so incredible that you did that," comments along those lines. I never doubted that I wouldn't cross that finish line. This isn't because I have some sense of high self esteem. Rather, I think all throughout my life people have lent me a very positive perception of myself. I have been fed the finest of fare as far as the buffet of affirmations were concerned. I'm not surprised I finished. With much gratitude, I was carried all the way by so much earthly and heavenly love.

On the flip side, there are those who are truly admirable. The people who have no reason to believe they can do it, for physical, emotional or mental reasons, but who actually still DO IT are the ones I admire. At 6 AM, standing at the starting line by the chill of the Pacific, I did my warm ups behind two of those people. One had "cancer survivor" written on his jersey. Another's had, "Think training for a marathon is hard? Try chemotherapy!" Both of them sent a surge of courage and humility through me. To them, this run is nothing for everything they've been through. Something brought them here to the starting line. There were 9000 people running or walking that day. And there were 9000 reasons to run.

Mine was about gratitude. It was about my father. It was about searching for God's presence. When I started running, I was nowhere near being a runner. I didn't know the joys of a runner's high, the emotions that surface when you've sweat everything else out, the solace and quiet that comes after putting in a few miles, the immense relief and pride that comes when you've outdone yourself. When things got tough, when I got lazy, or when I just wasn't in the mood, I bent my mind around the obstacles. I thought of my reason and just ran. I thought often about my father, his death by cancer, and his sacrifice to come to this country. To bring me to a place where I could afford to volunteer time and money, which truly, by the way, is a luxury we have in this rich country. I thought about the girl I saw who couldn't walk. Her deliberate, careful, calculated steps perched against two caretakers remain a constant reminder to be grateful for my legs. I thought about all the people who could not get up and fight, all the while I could, and thus should.

I carried all these reminders with me for 26.2 miles. Looking back, I learned a lot in that morning. I ran with Prudence, a teammate from Team In Training. We spurred each other onward - me for her when her ankles were hurting, her to me when I didn't think I would make it. At mile 23, my resolve caved in. I asked the Lord to carry me through. Please, Lord, just let me finish. There was no energy in my mind. All the mind games I played with myself vanished. My legs were shaking. My friends Chis, Grizzy and Patrick rode their bikes slowly near me, shouting affirmations at me. Danielle, Callista and Marc ran a mile with me. I saw my mother, brother, sister and my nephew at mile 22. All the love in the world was there yet there was no one to run this race for me. I learned that no one does it for you but yourself. My mother loves using an old adage, "Do your best, God will do the rest." Within our mortal coil, within our abilities, it is essential to do our best. Our lives is His gift to us, what we do with it is our gift to Him.

The run itself was beautiful and exhilarating - a true reminder of what a blessing it was that we ended up living in Northern California for all of my upbringing. It was a standard tour of San Francisco: the ocean, the Golden Gate, the Wharf, Little Italy, all the beautiful homes. The supporters standing on the side lines were much needed. Their enthusiasm pushed me to be the best me I could've been at that very moment. I let Prudence go a bit before mile 26. I just simply had to stop and walk. I told my awesome entourage that I had to finish this by myself. When I hit the 26 mile marker, I sprinted to the end. I passed by hundreds of people screaming my name, Go Michelle, finish, Go! At the other side of the finish line, I saw my friends and family. When I saw my mother, I burst into tears. Eight great looking guys donning tuxes with Tiffany & Co. boxes in hand gave me my finisher's medal. It was a glimpse of what my final stages of life would be like: people encouraging me to press on, friends, family, men and Tiffany's boxes on the other side in Heaven!

Nationally, Team in Training raised over $10 million for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. As a team, Westside Los Angeles, we raised a quarter of a million dollars. People traveled from all over the country and Canada to run, walk and support us. It was a first time marathon for a lot of us. And within that group, we were all reminded. Its not about comparing yourself to others. Its about comparing yourself to yourself - is this the best you can do right now, right here, and for the good of others, too?

I woke up in the middle of the night after I ran the marathon. I felt like I hadn't done my best and it shattered me. Why did I stop before mile 26? Why didn't I just go with Pru and finish with her? I was wrought with self-criticism. When I got back into LA, my friend Aaron had looked up my mile splits. Evidently, I ran my fastest two miles at the very end! I shaved a minute off my mile average for each of those two miles. God carried me and I finished well.

After five months of disciplined training, injuries and a lot of sweat, people tell me that I've become an athlete. Yes, the body has changed a bit, and I can sneak in a bit more food for the ever ravenous appetite, but what has really changed is the mind. I realize now that athleticism had little to nothing to do with it. The difference between those who will endure and those who do not depends on how they answer the call - with fervor or a sense of burden, with elation or a sense of trouble, with power or a spirit of timidity. But before all that, it begins with a simple phrase: Yes. I can.

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The gory details:
ok, ok, some of you are saying: oh yay, but tell us about the blood, the guts, the gore! In the last 21 weeks, I ran a total of 263 miles, putting in a total of 60+ hours of training. I bought two pairs of Mizuno's,consumed lots of carbohydrates that would make Atkins roll over in his grave, and have become friends with the guys at the running store. i ran three times a week, 3-4 miles each time, during the weekdays and did a long run on sundays, 10-16 miles each time. my final race time was 5.46.28. i raised $3600 for blood cancer research through the grace of my donors and by auctioning myself off. i've gone through about four boxes of sandwich bags for icing my shins. many more pounds of ice, at that. my shin splints are ever present, but thank god, they didn't bother me at all during the run. i've used up many, many rolls of athletic bandage, and there may be forever a weird cross hatch pattern on my shins. i slept more, slept better, ate more, ate better, and i think i consumed two alcoholic drinks the whole time (just warning you guys for those who can't sacrifice that, you need to find another hobby). i ran mostly along the beach (gotta love LA for that), and in santa monica and sometimes around and around at la cienega park. 80% of the time I ran solo and the other times were with whomever was up to for a sweaty work out (mike kim, grandizer, raffalski! woot!). my final badge of honor came the night before i ran the marathon: a toenail on my right foot popped off. 20+ weeks of pounding ripped it right off clean at the base. there was a fragile baby nail underneath. coach greg graciously wrapped me up and i did 26.2 miles anyway the next day. and yes, i still have the toenail. yes, i had a lot of fun. yes, it was probably the toughest thing i did in my life. yes, i tried very very hard in training. yes, i met a ton of great people. yes, i sacrificed a lot of evenings out. yes, i got addicted. yes, i will do it again. and finally, yes, i will see you out there. thanks for reading and thanks for being a fan. now look in the mirror and say, "yes! i can!"