I really thought on this early Sunday morning I was going to throw-up. Of course, I should have been used to that feeling by now – the “stress” had been with me for most of the past month or so. But this particular dawn was one of the most significant mornings of my 56-plus years on earth. I think I last remember feeling similar on the morning of my wedding some 35 years ago – or was it the morning of my divorce - but that’s another story!
This one begins about 8 months earlier, when my ex-sister-in-law/best-friend-in-the-world Joan (destiny had given us the same name) sat in my living room over Toasted Praline coffee and homemade banana bread and proposed we train for the Rome Marathon the following March, combining it with a visit to my archeological passions of Italy. As we’ve often thrown crazy ideas at one another over the years (read: "Lucy & Ethel"), I joked, “Sure, why not…” (As a colon cancer survivor, along with several other health problems, I “joke” about a lot of things!)
“When do you want to start?” she asked. "Tomorrow morning", I answered. So, it was as simple as that.
The next day we walked 3 miles around our local beach. The day after that we were so sore, we decided to get serious about doing this the correct way. Since Joan had followed the Leukemia Society’s Team in Training program the year before thinking of doing a marathon in Ireland (but never followed through), we figured she could coach us along using her old notes. (Planning the victory-vacation in Italy afterwards was my domain.)
The training was perfectly scheduled for building up technique and endurance over the course of 4 months avoiding the pitfalls of injury and pain. Not to say we didn’t have any. The first few months brought mostly foot blisters, lots of bandaids and a few sore muscles, but nothing we (surprisingly) couldn’t handle. Yes, we were two 55 year-old ladies--about the most walking we’d ever done were the requisite shopping marathons through our local malls! We’d traveled together before, but again, strolling around Paris does not a marathon runner make! But, somehow the more we trained the more a reality this “life goal” became. You know those, that check-list many of us seniors have, titled, "100 or so things I need to do before I die"!
The training schedule is made up of 5 days walking/running (in my case I’m a slow jogger), with 2 days rest. Each week the mileage is slightly increased until you reach the maximum of 20 miles (even though the race is 26.2 miles, I guess they figure you can do the last 6.2 on adrenaline!). The schedule then decreases for a few weeks, leaving the 2 weeks before the race with no significant training, save for rest, good healthy hydrating and “carbing”. No problem there--not a better place in the world to carb load than Italy!
Well back to my nausea. We had arrived in Italy 3 days before the race to avoid any jet lag. Certainly Rome presented itself in all her glory and the sights were overwhelmingly beautiful. Nothing beats touring the Coliseum, Vatican City and St. Peter’s Basilica – absolutely awe-inspiring! You can almost see the dust fly up from the chariots in the Circus Maximus. And I figured lots of wonderful gelato would make my tummy calm down.
But 6:30 AM came early on March 13 and with it that “pit” stuck in my throat. Not much talking on this morning, just the business of dressing in our running gear and making sure we have our bib numbers pinned on our chests exactly right.
Setting out for the Coliseum where the race was to begin and end, we met another participant from our hotel who shared a taxicab with us. Of course she was young and cute and in fabulous shape, and made Joan and I give each other that “what the hell are we doing here?!” look.
“Too late now, we’ve come this far and I’ve paid my damn $43.00 entry fee!” was all I could muster.
So there we two fools finally were, hearts pounding, standing and shaking with over 11,000 others who were to us obviously Real Athletes, wondering if we’d lost our minds.
Then, BANG!, we were off--so scared that I started running like some crazed monster was chasing me for the first couple of miles. Well, I knew that wasn’t going to work for long, so by the first 5K refreshment table I somehow got a hold of myself and settled into my little jog-pace. Every 5 kilometers there are placed refreshment tables with mostly water and Gatorade, some with bathrooms and some with medical tents. Wet sponges are offered along the course about every 10K for those of us who sweat like 56 year-old menopausal women often do!
The half-marathon appeared to my delight a little past the 3 hour mark. The crowd had thinned and I was ecstatic knowing I would probably finish at around 6 ½ hours. Ok, I thought, I can actually calm down, eat some fruit which was now being offered at the refreshment tables, drink my Gatorade at a stand-still position and generally try to relax.
