Aftermath

Of course I can't reminisce about running without giving a little more space to my one marathon (yesterday's post)...

First, let me say that my time--four hours and thirty-eight minutes--still stands, 34 years later, as the record for the longest amount of time I have spent doing anything without taking a break. That's like a half-day's work! I spent four hours and thirty-eight minutes running. Every single step.

The fact that My Awesome Husband Greg was there that day, along with one of my running buddies who had grown up in Detroit and knew the route and all the back roads, and kept popping up--at least four times at different places along the 26-mile route--played no small part in my not stopping to walk. I never knew when someone might see me "cheating." (But I did consider stopping to encourage the large man with blood running down his legs from where his Bermuda shorts had badly chafed his thighs. He was no longer running.)

Greg met me at the finish line on Belle Isle, and I literally collapsed into his arms. Naturally, there were long lines at the porta-johns. No one enjoys waiting for one of those things, but sometimes you just have to. I felt like standing up any longer would be an unnecessary show of bravado, so I lay down in the grass, letting Greg hold my place in line.

My little rest on the prickly grass had exactly the opposite effect of reviving my energy. I realized I could no longer walk without someone (Awesome Greg) helping me support my weight. We were still some distance from our car, me with little hope of ever seeing it again, when a couple of angels in a sedan stopped and asked if we would like a ride. Without even glancing at my husband to see what he thought, I accepted.

The rest of the day is a blur. I'm sure I spent it eating and sleeping. Surprisingly, the next day I was able to walk, and before the end of the week, I was running again. I still wonder if Mr. Bermudas finished his race.