I ran 3 marathons. What?

Well, technically I ran, walked, and cried through 3 marathons. But, I did it! I ran the St. George marathon in 1998 when I determined that being 26 and not being able to run was lame. Then, I did it again in 2000 after I had my daughter. Both times, my dad was there. The first time in 1998, he was at the last turn with this huge mylar balloon and he was crying and I was crying. It was kind of a big deal. He took me and Michele up in 2000 and put up with us on the loooong car ride there and back. He took us to Las Vegas and we ate at the Venetian. Good times!
So, everyone here already knows my dad died last year 4 weeks after I had Maren. I got this genius idea that if I ran it again, my dad would somehow be there with me. I started training in January and then I entered the lottery to get a spot in the race. I didn't think I would get in, and was surprised to find out that yes, I was in. That meant I had months of training ahead. Boo.
Craig and the kids and I met my mom and Jim in St. George. I stayed the night before by myself and went to the buses alone at 4:30 a.m. The ride up the mountain is long and cold. It gives you lots of time to think about the folly of it all. Once I was up there, I realized there was only one way down for me. Boo. I figured I had done all I could to prepare...the rest I just asked Heavenly Father to help me with. Mostly my pride, because as one dear friend put it: I am one stubborn broad!
My watch died the night before so I didn't have a pace. They ran out of toilet paper in several places and we faced a head wind coming through the canyon. I called Craig and the kids at mile 15 and told them I wanted to go home. Craig was savvy and told me I could go home as soon as I finished. I was too delirious to realize what he was saying, so I just kept going. I had some rocks in my right shoe. I didn't have anywhere to lean to take off my shoe and I knew if I sat down, I would never get up.
All along the way, there are tons of volunteers cheering you on. And lots of people who live up there come out to yell for you. And then there are jillions of signs.
"In our eyes, you're all Kenyans"
"Any idiot can run, it takes a special kind of idiot to run a marathon"
"Your feet hurt because you are kicking so much butt"
It made me think about life and how we all "chose" the marathon and it is hard no matter how well you've prepared. And some things just "happen" on race day. A broken watch, rocks in your shoe, no t.p. Some things you can overcome...some things you can't. And all the way there are people cheering for you. With their voice, their sign, or just their face...they tell you that you can do it. And you can.
So, was my dad there? Yes he was. He held my hand for part of it. Told me I was a Pace so I could do it because I was tough. He also told me I was crazy, but that is a well-established fact.

I made it to the end. I could see Monique and Craig and Riley. And then my mom and Jim and Nathan and Lauren and Maren. And then....3 friends from home that had driven all day to be there. So, another lesson learned. People are pulling for you even when you don't expect it! It was a thrill and a treat to see them there.

I think Eleanor Roosevelt said, "We must do the thing we think we cannot". Maybe she didn't say it. I don't know. I do know we need goals and things that challenge us. Something to work for...something to be proud of.

And btw, I am sooo over running.