Marathon

It all really started in June, on my birthday.  A few of us were chatting, and Nick mentioned that he was gonna do it.  After our conversation, I was convinced to sign up.  I did, in early July.  I took my vacation to Bulgaria, and after that the training officially started.  I had a 14 week schedule printed and on my wall with the words "If it was easy, everyone would do it. It's the hard that makes it great."

Yesterday was the day, Sunday, 18 October 2009, 31st Annual Istanbul Asia to Europe Marathon, the only marathon that takes place on two continents.  Months after my birthday.

I want to describe to you how I feel right now, how I felt, but I can not choose the right words or perhaps they do not exist.  I can only describe what happened.

Thursday night: flew into Istanbul.  Saturday: this is where it started.  The evening rolls around, I eat something and suddenly am hit with a pounding headache like I've never had before.  What was wrong with me?  Stress?  Food poisoning? Both?  I fell asleep for a short time, woke up and the headache was still there.  Krisia gave me some headache medicine.  I went to the bathroom and threw up.  I felt better after that, and I could sleep.  I didn't toss and turn all night, I got a good amount of rest actually.  

Sunday: 7 am my alarm goes off.  It's raining.  Damn.  Oh well, nothing I can do, have to run no matter what.  I have breakfast, I put on my running shorts and t-shirt.  I pin my bib on, #597.  I attach the chip on my shoes for tracking my time during the race.  It's still raining.  I eat breakfast, and I go.  The taxi takes me to Altunizade near the start point.  I'm not sure where to go so I ask the policeman and he takes me to the Fun Run starting point instead of the Marathon starting point.  I start to panic a bit, afraid I'll be late, but I keep my nerves and walk on to where another guy tells me to go.  I get there with about 15 minutes til the start.  A man is yelling things in Turkish and in English over the microphone.  All around me voices - in German, Spanish, Russian, English, Turkish, Chinese, etc.  Everyone was excited.  People moved their feet, stretched a bit more.  I took it all in, especially the huge Bosphorous bridge towering just ahead of us, the first part of the race.  2 minutes, 1 minute, 10 seconds.  Gun fired, GO!

Off we went, people still chattering, me looking at the view over the bridge, men stopping to pee off the side.  I started slow, people were passing me, but I didn't care.  
I got to 5km, wow, that went fast, I thought.  10km came after, and I was still feeling good, observing the people around me, thinking I was finally here.  
15km:  I had finished the first big stretch and felt good about it.  I have to do this one more time, and then I'll be so close.  I felt good.  Somewhere around this point, a Spanish guy struck up a conversation as we were running.  This was his seventh marathon.  We exchanged some small talk, and he gave me some advice.  "The marathon doesn't really start until 30km," he said, "All of this is just practice."  I got what he was saying, and I still felt good.  We crossed the half way point together, 21.1 km, and we noticed the lack of support in this area - not too many people on the sides cheering us along.  Only a few sporadic cheerleaders to speak of.  We caught his crowd together and they cheered him wildly and took pictures.  Soon after this, he went on ahead and I was left again to my own thoughts.
25km:  I got tired, I started to feel it, and I was thirsty.  I drank more water.  There were water stations and apple stations along the way.  25km was on the longest stretch.  I wasn't sure where exactly it ended but I was just hoping to reach the 30km mark - this was my goal.  
It started to rain again, harder than before, but I finally reached the end of the loop and started heading back.  My clothes were soaked, and my t-shirts felt heavy.  I tried to avoid the puddles, but despite my efforts water still found its way onto my socks and feet.  No matter, I thought, must keep running.  
30km:  Wow,  I thought.  I've made it this far, to 30km (almost my longest training run), and I still feel pretty good.  I kept going, feeling proud.  I rode that high for a bit, but then I started to see it - people were stopping and walking.  They were taking breaks.  My legs were hurting, my hips, too.  I felt tempted by it.  I started to get mad at them, but then found that I had no energy to get mad, only to keep running.  
32.5km:  Ok, Steph, I said to myself, if you make it to 35 km you are allowed to walk.  With that on my mind, I kept going.  This 2.5km block seemed to go on for a long time.  It was getting hard and tiring, but I just kept thinking how I had passed 30km already and I was well on the way, and that if it was easy everyone would do it and that I couldn't stop and walk and then be completely proud of myself afterward.  Then, I saw it...
35km:  Again I felt proud and had a high, but this high was much shorter than the last one.  Ok, Steph, you can do 5 more kilometers, right?  My left hip was hurting a lot and I could feel it in my knees too.  People continued to stop.  Some people passed me.  I passed some other people.  An Englishman said, "hey there, lookin' good? Are you gonna make it?"  "I hope so," I responded.  He didn't say much else then, which was good because I couldn't say much else, but throughout the rest of the race he'd occasionally say a few encouraging words.  I decided I only needed to accomplish two more 2.5 kilometer runs so that was my new motivation.
37.5 km:  I was hurting, I could feel it, but I couldn't let myself stop.  Ok, I just have to get to 40 now.  If I can get to 40, I know I can make it.  I started to think about my steps and how many meters I was doing.  Was that 500 done or just 300?  Damn, I can't tell.  
This part of the race was close to the sea, and we could see cruise ships waiting at their docks.  It was all quite beautiful, Istanbul in its grace :)  Some cheerleaders were on this leg also... "keep going! Just 2 kilometers more!"  What?? I thought, I didn't see the 40 km sign, are you sure?? I wanted to yell that at them, but instead I only said it in my head and wondered about the distance.  My legs hurt, my hip, but I tried not to feel them. Finally....
40km:  I saw the sign, damn false advertising cheerers, but at least they yelled for us.  I felt a lot of fight inside me when I saw that 40km sign.  I got determined.  "I'm gonna finish this race, I'm gonna run across that finish line if it kills me, if it's the last thing I do," I told myself.  After the 40 km mark was a short uphill to the left and then into the gardens of Topkapi Palace (a famous site in Istanbul).  Through the gardens we ran, the Englishman just ahead.  There was a downhill, and that hurt worse than the uphill.  I tried to control my legs as I seemed to be sprawling down the hill.  Off the downhill, and the garden's end was in sight.  At this point I knew... when I get out of this garden, the finish line will be in sight.  I had been dreaming of the finish line, of catching sight of it since kilometer 26 or so.  It was one of my motivations - to look at it, to be in its presence and then to cross it.  
As I left the garden, I was on a road taped off and there were lots more people cheering.  It lifted my spirits and then I saw the sign that I will never forget, that I wish I could go back to and see again just to relive this moment - it said "500 meters to the finish line."  Then, I knew for sure - I was gonna do it.  I had another burst of energy.  I continued, and I started to feel emotion bubbling within me.  Then the next one "400 meters" and then "300 meters."  Tears started to come, and then I heard a voice, "Go, Stephanie!"  It was Krisia :)  I hadn't expected her to be there because she'd been feeling ill earlier that morning, but there she was - with my camera in hand, shouting for me, encouraging others to shout for me.  The tears really started to come.  "Stop it," I thought. I stopped the tears but the running continued.  "200 meters" and there it was - an incredibly beautiful site: the white arch with the red lettering which said "Finish Line."  I picked up my pace, and the tears came again.  I was gonna do it.  Every one of those steps was precious.  "100 meters," and people were cheering, I looked at them, I looked at the sign, I looked at the carpets where time would be recorded from the chip on my shoe.  
Then, I crossed.  I did it.  I finished.  I was breathing so heavy and someone handed me a bag with my medal and a banana and some juice.  I didn't know what to do then.  I knew Krisia would be coming up to meet me, and I just looked into the bag and felt my legs burning with pain.  Finally, Krisia got to me, and we hugged each other and cried.  "I'm so proud of you," she said.  "Thank you," I said.  Her presence at the finish line meant the world to me.  I can't express how great it was to see her there, to have her cheering me on.  Words escape me.....

Ok, words have come back to me.  Still I can't tell you the feeling of finishing that thing, of not stopping, of accomplishing something that I never thought I'd do, of being a runner, of completing a marathon.  It is one of the most beautiful experiences of my life, and one of the things that makes me most proud is that I did it.  I had support of course from everyone, but I did it myself.
I got myself up at 5:00 and 5:30 am.  I ran 33 kilometers when I was by myself and there was no one there except myself to tell me to keep going and suck it up even when I wanted to quit.  I ran away from the maniac dog that kept barking and scaring me outside the one university building.  But you know, I also failed sometimes - missed two of my longer runs for simple reasons.  I didn't always succeed with my training program, but in the end, I did.  I succeeded, but I also know that you were there to support me (through everything) , and I thank you greatly for that.  

I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 42.2 kilometers, 26.2 miles, 4 hours and 37 minutes.  I am so happy and sore.

Originally written for GlobeTrotting and Leaping