You don't stop running because you get old, you get old because you stop running.

My Dad and I at the finish
of the St. George marathon

It was one year ago that I ran my first marathon. Now, explaining how it was to run a marathon to someone who has never run one, is like trying to explain color to a blind person... you just can't quite ever give it justice.
Training for the marathon is truly the hardest part. The shortest training schedules are four months long and require about an average of an hour of your day devoted to just running. That's all fine and dandy during the summer, but as soon as you start school or a full time job, it soon becomes a hindrance when you barely have time to feed yourself, needless to say

finish your homework, take all your tests and get to work on time.
But it's that feeling while you're running that makes it all worth it. Just being able to go out there and do something that you put yourself to. Running brings out the true character in people. Mentally it's one of the hardest things you'll ever do. No one can make it any easier for you, and no one will appreciate the achievement more then you.
That's why running is hard... it's all up to you.
The St. George Marathon was on October 3, 2009... all summer I had been training. I had gone running five days each week on the long flat roads in Boise. I would do short fast distances and then long slow distances past all the smelly cow fields, past all the deep canals and sandy side roads, listening to my books on tape. But then I came back to school. That made it really tough on my running schedule, there was a lot of things to balance in life and stress was definitely rising. I kept thinking how crazy I was for even signing up for the marathon, it had seemed so cool and noteworthy at the time... but now, facing the reality of it- I really just wanted to quit.

Yes, there really was a moose laying
with some cows. 

Thing is though, I had already bragged to everyone about it- my work buddies, my church group, people in class... running a marathon does give you bragging rights. So, sad as it is to admit, I guess it was the humiliation of failure that kept me going until race day. :)
I slept worse than a little kid on Christmas Eve the night before our race. You're not suppose to do anything or eat anything different then you would have, for fear of upsetting your stomach. This is only relative, because before you go run 26.2 miles... nothing seems normal. I had only gotten up to 22 miles on training which also scared me because I had died- really, I started seeing moose laying with cows and cried for about five miles (which really makes running a lot harder). So doing that distance again but even further, needless to say, intimidated me. But I couldn't let everyone down, especially C. I wanted to do something he couldn't. Which is saying something, because that man can do anything he puts his mind to.

All 8,000 runners in line for the porta potties

The race starts at six in the morning, and up there in the cliffs of St. George, it's actually pretty cold. They had set up campfires of which we all stood around, comparing and sizing each other up, bragging about how many marathons we had done (or never done) before and about our supposed goals for finishing times (which are always rounded down an hour or two). Note to those about to run a marathon: hit the bathrooms about half an hour before the race starts, or you're going to miss it.
My Dad and I (he ran with me) went one of the 180 porta potties at the start of the race and literally waited in line for thirty minutes! It was insane, bladder's go crazy right before a race and that's not something you want hanging on you for 26.2 miles. The race started and we were still in line for the stupid bathroom. But no worries, the line wasn't moving anywhere. Ten minutes later, we got out of the bathroom and were able to start the mass migration with 8,000 runnners (80% of whom would actually finish) to the starting line.
I got to the line and stuck in my handy iPod, having so lovingly charged it the night before, I had trusted in its entertainment to ease my running doubts for those 26 miles... but it failed me. I was going to be stuck for the next 26 miles with nothing but my self-doubts (and my Dad, but he's in the 'zone' when he runs). :) [love you Dad]
The first six miles were heaven, I couldn't believe how easily they passed. Our goal was to hit sub five hours (I thought this was crazy because I had never run one before but Dad was insistent). They have unique helpers along the way too... they're pacers. And each one of them somehow instinctively can keep a certain pace the entire way, and others can pace themselves by it. We stuck by the lady with the five hour pace (as so depicted by the balloon attached to her back).

The marathon went great for those first six miles. I even initiated myself as a true marathoner by running off into the bushes to do a last minute pit stop. But at mile seven is Veyo Hill. Next time you're driving on the highway, look at the hill percentages upgrades... you know the pics with trucks driving up or down them and a sign saying a percentage. Once you find one that's 8% you can think of me... because that's what Veyo Hill is like for one flippin' mile. But that's not what kills you, it's the next three miles after that that just keep going up and up and up. You don't hit a down hill until about halfway through the marathon. This is where you're hill training in Provo, UT really pays off. These hills suck the energy right out of your legs... but just as soon as you think it's over.. you're only halfway. That's why marathons are hard.

Me during the race

Physically, your body calls it quits because it is hard. Mentally, it seems draining and impossible to keep going when you're tired, you're bored without your iPod and that stupid balloon lady is way too far ahead of you. Everyone else seems fine, and people keep passing you. But if you stop, you're letting everyone down.
So why do we do it? Because it's the only thing I can go do all by myself, and no one can make it easier for me. I don't stop because marathons show what life is all about in five short hours. If I stop running in my marathon, for the rest of my life, it'll be that much easier for me to quit on other things. You never quit because things get hard- marathons are all about pushing through that wall. Finding the power that lies in oneself- like they say, tough times don't last, but tough people do.
The wall comes at about mile 16 or so. This is where your body switches into auto mode. You stop thinking about the pain, because if you do, you'll go crazy and start seeing moose and crying or something like that. You have to be really tough here. Even just a sniffle at the pounding of your knees and the sweat that has now become layers of salt on your stinging eyelids cannot start. I couldn't even think anymore, it was just keep one leg in front of the other. For each mile we would walk one minute with the water or gatorade that they would give and this really was a saving grace because it was the one thing that I would look forward to every time I had to start back up and feel the stiffness in all my joints.
At mile 20, my Dad really drove home what marathons are all about by dedicating each mile until the finish to someone. He had his iPhone so at each mile marker, we would text whomever and say, "So-and-So, this mile's for you." We dedicated to each member of our family (this took up about three miles), then mile 24 was our spouses, and then that last push mile 25-26.2 my Dad looked over at me, and with tears in his eyes said, "I'm dedicating this one to my Dad". Then with those long held back tears, I looked at him and said, "Me too".
If there was one lesson my Dad has ever taught me about life, he couldn't have taught it better then at this point. I was tired, sore and very ready to be done, and I was 20 years old. My Dad, who is about 20 years my senior, taught me that the best way to get through life's hardest and most painful trials, is to do it for others. To always find others to serve, and for this wisdom too, I'm sure Grandpa was proud that day.
About half a mile from finish line, the adrenaline was fading because you still can't see the finish line. Who should show up then, but the most amazing man (next to my Father). Cam hopped through the crowd and ran by my side in his hiking shorts and Tevas. To this day, I'm not sure if he understands what that meant to me, that in my hardest push he would come out and run not in front or behind me, but always beside me. That man will always be my number one motivator. But he had to let me finish it alone, so he jogged back into the crowd and shouted at me to keep going and that I truly was, almost there.
I couldn't feel my legs as those words started to burn inside me, I started sprinting. The crowd's were cheering and probably wondering who this crazed tear-stained girl was as she passed through the finish line with her hands in the air, five minutes sub five hours.

Veyo Hill

Marathons are hard... and that's exactly why we do them.