I am a marathoner.

Somewhere around 1:00 p.m. on Sunday, Tracey and I completed the Rochester Marathon. We'd been running for almost five and a half hours. Our legs were stiff, our feet were sore, our bodies and minds were exhausted, but our spirits—and our heads—were as high as could be. Here's the story of our race.

The day began when we woke up at 5:30. We put all our running gear on, and Tracey's dad drove us to Frontier Field, where we picked up our timing chips. It was a very chilly morning, low 40s. After picking up our chips, we took a shuttle bus back to the starting line and bounced around to try to keep warm. It was fun to see the street fill with runners, and before we knew it, the national anthem was being sung. Not long after, the starting gun went off. We excitedly jogged out onto the course. I was struck by the sound of hundreds of feet pattering against the pavement.

We struggled to keep our pace slow. All the advice we had gotten, whether in books or from friends who had run marathons, included a warning not to go out too fast. We reminded each other not to speed up a couple times a mile for at least the first ten miles or so. I think this allowed us to finish fairly strong.

The miles just fell away one after the other for the first couple of hours. We couldn't believe how quickly we were getting from one mile marker to the next. It helped that there were lots of spectators for the first third of the race, including a few friends we didn't expect to see. I admit I had been a bit cynical about the idea that spectators help all that much, but I stand corrected. It definitely keeps you going when you hear people cheering you on.

The canal trail is really long. It runs from roughly mile 9 until mile 22. That's a long time to spend running along a canal, but the scenery was quite nice, and we had run along most of that route during our training, so it was familiar to us. If it had been a really hot day, this part of the race would have been pretty rough, because there's not too much shade.

But the weather was not a factor. Well, actually, it was a factor: it was perfect, never hot enough to make us sweat too hard, and this in turn kept our spirits high.

By the time we turned off the canal trail into Genesee Valley Park, I was starting to feel stiff, but I could taste the finish only four miles away. And soon enough, we turned out of the park and crossed the Ford Street Bridge into the downtown area. By this time, we were starting to drag a little bit. But not too badly—I think we were reaping the benefit of starting out slower than was comfortable. Amazingly, my knee never bothered me, not for one second. I did have some new pain in my right ankle and foot, but I ran through it and after a mile or so it went away.

When we made the final turn toward the finish, we both got a little choked up. It was hitting us that the sixteen weeks of hard work was about to be over. The pounding our knees had taken, the Saturdays we had given up, the constant preoccupation and fatigue that overtake your life when you prepare for something like this...it was all about to come to its fruition. When we looked up and saw our family and friends there cheering us across the line, it overwhelmed us both. And then we had crossed the finish line and we were hugging Abel and Tracey's parents and each other. And it was over. Incredible.

It struck me a day or two later that running a marathon is both a tremendous feat of self-reliance and impossible to do on your own. In my case, I owe Tracey my gratitude first and foremost. Without her running next to me, I would never have done those long Saturday runs. I tried this once before and failed. She made it possible to finish the training this time. Our friends Brian and Becca, who finished about a half hour faster than we did, were our running partners during the week and our childcare traders on Saturdays. We watched their kids while they ran, and they watched Abel while we ran. I'm not sure how we could have pulled off the long runs without them. Tracey's sister Lora and our brother-in-law Rich were a big help on the longest days, when Brian and Becca were on vacation. Our neighbors and friends Jason and Lisa took care of Abel for us on short notice more than once, including Lisa coming over to sit when we made our crazy decision to set out on an 18-mile run at 9:15 p.m. Tracey's mom and dad were a huge help too, especially on race day. Our experienced runner friends were a big help, especially my sister Beth, who is an awesome distance runner and had lots of great tips and encouragement. And we will not forget all our friends who came out to the course to cheer us on—sometimes moving from one place to the next and waiting for us to pass. We're so grateful for all the great support we had throughout this whole experience. We have fantastic friends and a great family.

And now I can say it: I am a marathoner. Not many people can say, "I ran a marathon." I can say it. I ran a marathon. Not a fast one, but then, that wasn't ever the point! 26.2 miles is a long-ass way to run, even at 13 minutes per mile. And I did it.

The recovery has been better than most people suggested it would be. For a couple days, my right foot bothered me quite a lot. But other than that, it has just been stiffness in the legs and a bit of a limp when descending stairs. I'm writing this before bed on Wednesday night, and most of the pain is gone now. That said, if we had been running for time, I'm sure our bodies would have been wrecked even more.

Now for some photos, which our friend Scott Cranfill took with his phone:

Here's us just before we crossed the finish line. We were both pretty misty-eyed at this point.



And here we are with our training partners and our #1 fan, Abel!



This will be my last post here, but I'll leave the content up as a reminder for myself and an encouragement to other first-time marathoners. Keep your eyes on my old blog, POSTUS FREQUENTUS, for interesting content from me. Thanks for reading!