Last month I completed a challenge that I never dreamed I would attempt.  I ran the Twin Cities Marathon. 

I’m not a runner.  “Marathon” was not a term that would ever appear on my “bucket list.”  Still, there I was, shoes on, slathered in body glide, starting down the road for one reason and one reason only… my wife, Betsy.

Five years ago, Betsy checked into the hospital to begin treatment for cancer.  Total body radiation, intense chemotherapy, and a stem cell transplant all helped her fight a rare form of Leukemia that was already in its final stage when she was diagnosed.

It was a difficult battle.  I am lucky that Betsy is a fighter.  And earlier this year we celebrated Betsy’s 5^th anniversary of her bone marrow transplant.  We can now call her cured.  It is in her honor that I decided to run, as part of Team in Training, to raise money for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society.

I took on this challenge much in the way that Betsy accepted hers, one step at a time, dealing with each obstacle as it came.  Obviously the stakes aren’t nearly as high for a marathon, but this was my attempt to give back, to try to take something positive from our experience, and to help those who will be fighting their own cancer battles in the future.

Before I signed up for this challenge, the longest I had ever run was three miles.  Suddenly I found myself on a training schedule where three-mile runs were considered “rest days.” 

I slowly saw my distances grow… 16 miles… 18 miles… and finally a 20-miler.  Everyone told me if you can do 20 you can do a marathon.  I wasn’t so sure about that, considering how I felt after 20.  (It probably didn’t help that I went to a party the night before featuring beer and a “taco truck”… mmmm… taco truck…).

In any case, I finished my 20-miler and then fully embraced the best part of marathon training… the “tapering phase.”  In the final weeks before the marathon you are SUPPOSED to reduce your training and rest your body.  If there’s one thing I’m good at… it’s NOT running.  I added in a premature stretch of “carb loading” for good measure.  If it hadn’t been for the marathon looming on the horizon, it would have been a perfect couple of weeks!!

I spent the day before the race preparing my gear, writing names on a hat that had been sent to me by supporters of my race.  I had asked for any names of people touched by cancer.  I was sent more than 50… complete with amazing, inspiring, and sometimes heartbreaking stories.  Writing down these names was a humbling and emotional exercise that helped remind me why I was running this race, and got me mentally ready for the challenge.

My other task on the day before the race was my music playlist.  I strung together six hours of music on my iPod, trying to match the music to how I imagined I would be feeling during each stage of the race. 

Race day started with an early wake up call to be sure I applied extra layers of body glide, took my Advil, and had enough breakfast to carry me through.  My morning brain struggled to understand why I was up so early just to embark on a torturous run.  I reminded my morning brain it was for a good cause, and we agreed to proceed to the marathon.

The weather was perfect… cool… blue skies.  I gathered with my teammates for a photo and then we dispersed to the starting line.  The massive crowd of runners started to move, and there I was… running a marathon.

I hit “play” on my iPod and started the first of what I figured were five distinct phases of the race:

Phase 1:  I’m running!  I’m actually running!

(Key song:  Run – Ben Kweller – Perfectly captured the spirit that carried me through the run)

The initial rush of the race was amazing.  I was in the middle of a huge mob of people, cruising through the streets of downtown Minneapolis.  There was optimism and excitement.

Music wise, this is where I put all of my “running” themed songs.  I figured for the first 6-8 miles songs about running might actually be inspirational.  I knew later on these songs would only remind me that, yes, I was still running. 

I saw Betsy, and my two daughters, Molly and Julia, twice during this stretch and their cheers gave me an incredible boost.  There was actually a brief moment when I thought, “Hey, this isn’t going to be too bad.” 

Phase 2:  Cruise Control

(Key song:  A Love Bizarre – Sheila E. and Prince – Great beat, great song, and it carried me along for 12 minutes!)

Once I got past the initial euphoria, I settled into the task of ticking off as many miles as I could while I was still feeling pretty good.  Miles 8 to 16 were all about forgetting I was running and getting into a groove. 

I appreciated every distraction during this stretch of the race.  There were bands along the route providing live music.  There were crowds of enthusiastic people.  I found it genuinely amusing when people clapping for us happened to be clapping to the exact beat of the music I was listening to on my headphones.  That’s what passes for entertainment during a marathon.

I had written my name on my jersey along with the words “for Betsy.”  I could feel a surge of energy every time I heard someone call my name.  I got an even bigger boost when people would yell out, “Do it for Betsy!”

Phase two was still good.  Even enjoyable.  Then I hit:

Phase 3:  How did I get here?

(Key Song – Sunshine – World Party – Perfect for reflection on the journey)

Miles 17-20 were all about introspection.  The miles started to pass more and more slowly.  I still enjoyed the crowds and the excitement, but I also started to turn inward, concentrating on the events in my life that led me to that moment.

I pushed through the 20-mile mark, and then I started to hit:

Phase 4:  The Wall 

(Key Song:  All Will Be Well – The Gabe Dixon Band)

When you cross the 20-mile mark at the Twin Cities marathon, you run underneath a giant inflatable “wall.” A couple miles later I felt like I ran into a brick wall.  On the incline up to Summit Ave. my legs pretty much abandoned me.  I had to put my head down and start simply concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

Two things kept me going during this stretch:

1.       Betsy and the girls met me at mile 22.  Betsy was holding a sign that read “Happy First Date Anniversary!”  I had completely forgotten, but the marathon happened to fall on the 13^th anniversary of our first date.  This dose of serendipity (and big hugs from my family) gave me a needed lift.

2.       As I reached the end of Summit Ave. and passed the Cathedral, the song “All Will be Well” came on my iPod. “All will be well” was a phrase that became a mantra for Betsy when she was in the hospital.  When this song came on I had to hold back tears.  A flood of memories rushed into my mind about the last five years and the deeper meaning behind my run.

Phase 5:  Here Comes the Sun

I didn’t have many specific expectations or hopes for the marathon.  My goal was to finish before they shut down the course, without doing any permanent damage to myself. 

But in the back of my mind I did have one other goal.  I wanted to cross the finish line to the Beatles song, “Here Comes the Sun.”  This was the song that Betsy and I listened to just about every morning when she was in the hospital.  I wanted that song to provide the soundtrack to the end of my race.

The song came on my iPod a few minutes before the finish so I hit “pause” and then “play” again when I could see the finish line.  I then did what can only be described as a slow motion imitation of running, but the best I could do, for that final stretch. 

I saw Betsy and the girls cheering wildly for me as I passed by them.  When I crossed the finish line I was hit with a wave of emotion that completely caught me off guard.  I tried to keep it together as a volunteer put a medal around my neck.  I tried to keep it together as I grabbed bananas and potato chips.  But when I finally exited the race area into the arms of Betsy, Julia and Molly it was too much.  I lost it.  I was too exhausted to fight it anymore.  I was relieved to be done, and so grateful see my family.

When it was all over I felt good.   Not good as in “I think I’d like to do this again.”  (I announced my retirement from the marathon circuit immediately following the race)  I felt good about the experience.  I felt particularly good about being able to give back to an organization that helped me get to this point… where five years after her diagnosis with Leukemia, my wife could be waiting for me at the finish line.