I am officially a "marathoner"

A very detailed race reflection about participating in the Every Woman's Marathon on November 16, 2024, in Savannah, GA

I ran a marathon last weekend. In total, it took me 07:31:08 and my average pace was 17:01 minutes per mile. After I crossed the finish line, I had run 26.50 miles. 

Before the Race

Me with my bib at packet pick up the night before the race.

Anticipation in the week leading up to the race was high. By the time we packed the Kia Soul and left for Savannah, I was getting stir crazy. I knew tapering made people feel like this, but it didn’t come to fruition for me until those last few days. I was itching to get back out there and run. 

Upon arriving, we went to packet pick up, where I saw hundreds of people, mostly women, buzzing with excitement for the next day. When I received my bib from the volunteer, all of my training and the reality of the race came into laser focus. Holding it cemented that it was really happening; I was really going to run a marathon. 

It’s not that I thought I wouldn’t, but sometimes when you spend so long waiting for a particular moment or event or day, it starts to not feel real anymore. The days on the calendar inched closer to November 16, but in my mind the date loomed months away. But, standing there with my bib in a community of other women about to run the same race, I realized I had made it. 

Of course, being in possession of the bib is not the same as running the race, but I did feel a sense of completion. I finished my training and now, I got to celebrate. Despite having a headache earlier in the day and feeling jittery with nerves, I had confidence in my running performance. I knew I would do well.

I was excited to run a marathon. 

Later that night, we attended a dinner with my run club. There, I got to see everyone I had been training with for months. We chatted about our thoughts on the race the next day while carb-loading with pasta, mashed potatoes, cookies, and Nerds Clusters. And then it was back to the Airbnb for preparation. 

I laid everything out and counted it twice, thinking of something one of my fellow Blue Sky runners said: “Tomorrow is just my longest long run.” 

And really, that was true. Just my longest long run. I pinned my bib to my Blue Sky singlet and went to bed.

The Marathon

It’d be great if I could say I had the best race ever, but I didn’t and sometimes you want to have the best race ever and you can’t. Sometimes you get vertigo a little after mile seven, do your best to keep running, and eventually just decide to walk because it doesn’t matter as long as you get across the finish line — and I did. 

The race started at 7:00 AM. Being a slower runner, I was in one of the later corrals and got to hear the announcer ask every group of runners if she would see them at the finish line. I laughed out loud at this at first. The question had an ominous quality, an underlying assumption that no, she wouldn’t see us at the marathon’s finish. 

Kimberly and I representing Blue Sky Endurance before the race began.

The first seven miles were fabulous. I was zooming (for me, anyway) and I felt great. A mix of adrenaline and race energy kept me moving. I held my race pace without any problems, took my fuel, drank water, drank Tailwind, and downed a handful of Skittles from a friend cheering me on. The race had set up cheering stations of high-energy folks so it’d be a good time. In the first seven miles, we ran past a group of lady bikers revving their motorcycles, a high school marching band, and another band with featured dancers. Everyone was all smiles, stopping to take photos with the mile markers and celebrating each win along the way. Even though I ran “alone,” I felt camaraderie with these other women who, like me, wanted to celebrate months and months of arduous training.

All smiles at mile seven.

 When I got to Kimberly for my mile seven restock, I felt great and was all smiles, excitedly sharing how well the race was going for me. She offered encouragement, told me I was doing good, and said she was excited to see me at our next predetermined meet-up point. I waved and went on my way. And then, a few minutes after that I started to feel dizzy. I ignored the feeling at first, and kept running my normal intervals, trying to keep up the same pace. Soon though, I realized that it wasn’t going away. 

This — vertigo — happens to me sometimes. Sometimes the episodes are short, only lasting a few minutes. Other times, I need to lay down for an hour and stare at a fixed point to try to get everything to stop spinning. I’ve tried a lot of methods to permanently resolve the issue, but it keeps happening. That said, when I realized I was dizzy, I knew that this was my normal vertigo, not something dehydration- or exhaustion-induced. 

Nevertheless, I downed a couple of salt tabs and drank a few cups of Mortal Hydration at an aid station. My pace slowed despite my best effort to keep moving along — and then the frustration set in. When I got to Kimberly at mile ten, I broke down in frustration. This is not the only time this would happen. 

I told her this wasn’t the race I wanted to have. I didn’t train to have to deal with vertigo on race day, go slower than I wanted, and walk a whole bunch because I was dizzier when I was running. She helped me take some deep breaths and keep going. She’d see me a little after the halfway point. Maybe I’d feel better by then, and if not, if I needed a break or to rest, that’s fine. I could take it. 

Of course, I didn’t want to take a break. I trained for this! So, I kept pushing along, eventually having to stop a few times to get my bearings. Each time other racers came up to check on me. One woman offered a supportive, “God, that sucks!” and sometimes admitting something sucks is better than pretending that it doesn’t. The sense of community along the course also helped me move forward. Rather than competing against the other women, we were all there, chasing the same goal and dedicated to helping each other reach it. There were many times that not only did someone stop to check on me, but also stopped to check on other racers who were experiencing injury, illness, or just a mental block. We had a mutual understanding of the task at hand: we are running a marathon, and it’s hard, but we can all finish, even if we’re dragging each other across the finish line. 

So, I got to my next refuel stop with Kimberly. She suggested I sit down or lay down for a few minutes, but I didn’t think I had the time. I knew going into the marathon I would be racing the clock for the 07:45 cutoff. Not finishing, getting diverted on the course, or getting pulled off the course weren’t options. So, I told her I wanted to keep going, and I did, and I was still dizzy, and I got even more frustrated. 

In those moments between miles 13 and 20, I felt disappointed in myself. I knew I was capable of more, and yet, I couldn’t do it. The frustration mounted when I saw Kimberly again at mile 17. Exhausted — physically and emotionally — I finally gave in to her suggestions to sit down. So I sat down, and then I laid back on the sidewalk, eyes closed, feet on the floor, feeling the world spin clockwise around me. I took some deep breaths and opened my eyes, focusing on the tree branches above. 

“The 6:45 pace group just passed by. You have plenty of time,” Kimberly said, opening up the calculator on her phone. As long as I maintained at least a 30-minute mile I would finish before the cutoff. Still dizzy, albeit a little less mad at myself, I kept moving. The sun sat high in the sky as we ran around a college campus and its track. At that part of the course, trees were sparse, as were spectators. I had stopped playing music and let myself enjoy the silence. 

By the time I got to Mile 20, the doubts in my mind cleared — as did the vertigo, for a bit — and I remembered I had nothing to prove.  A surge of hope and peaceful complacency took over. I was doing my best, and sometimes my best looks different. When I started this journey all those months ago, I had one goal: to cross the finish line. And I would do that, whatever it takes. It doesn’t matter if I hate the highway. It doesn’t matter if I walk. It doesn’t matter if I have vertigo. It doesn’t matter if I’m in last place.

If this moment of mental clarity hadn’t come, I don’t know if I would have finished. Mile 21 through nearly mile 24 all took place on the side of an empty highway, under full sunlight. I could see the other racers — and the distance — stretch out ahead of me.

On the dreaded highway.

 Most of the race, despite double-backing in some parts, wound around streets and through neighborhoods, which has the glorious effect of masking how far you’re actually going. But when you can see it? All bets are off. It’s the same reason I hate running on the track. I know where I started and I can always see the end. Seeing the distance reminds me how slow I am. It reminds me how much further I have to run. 

The highway, in essence, just really really sucked. But, it was only another obstacle I had to overcome, and I’d take running on the side of an empty, sunny highway over running while dizzy any day. 

Now, I don’t want to underscore my own mental fortitude too much. Yes, I had to tell myself to keep going, but the runners around me, the spectators, my running team, and Kimberly all encouraged me to continue. I also received messages (in my earbuds) from family and friends who couldn’t be there to spectate. Every time the robot lady started text-to-voicing the messages, I felt a surge of energy. My dad, mom, mother-in-law, and close friends kept me going, especially those last six miles. 

I walked and ran a little bit when I wasn’t dizzy and so it was safe to do so, but mostly I just remembered to keep moving my legs, keep hitting the pavement with the soles of my purple On Clouds. 

As I neared the finish line, the crowd — both spectators and other runners — had thinned out, and as I made my way down the street, toward the finish arch, I realized that I did it. I trained for months, became stronger in body and spirit, I overcame feeling awful most of the race, and relied on my desire to finish to make it across. 

I passed my friends at Blue Sky and smiled, but kept walking. I was still dizzy and still about a quarter mile away from the finish. I wasn’t sure I could safely run that long, but then I made it to the finish chute where a friend of mine from high school, Derian, and her friends started cheering me on. I picked up my feet and jogged across the finish line and received a medal before a medical volunteer sat me down in a plastic chair with a small bag of Cheez-Its and bottled water.

And God, did it feel good to sit down after that. 

After the Race 

Dana, myself, and Kimberly at the finish.

Despite struggling with vertigo most of the race, I didn’t finish too far off my projected time, and by the time I finished, I didn’t really care about my time at all. The anger and frustration I felt, while valid, was inconsequential to the profound sense of accomplishment I felt. 

I found Kimberly after the race and she told me that the race was just the celebration. Starting the race is the cake, and finishing was the icing on top. I believe that, and it stuck with me the rest of the weekend. I couldn’t stop smiling (even though I was so tired and so very sore) and still, nearly a week later, I keep telling myself, I ran a marathon. I can do anything. 

When we were walking to our Airbnb, I started to feel dizzy again so we stopped so I could sit on a curb for a few minutes until I started to feel better. A woman and her daughter were walking past, but stopped when they saw us. 

“Did you have a race today? How far did you go?” she asked. 

“Yeah, it was a full marathon,” I said. She smiled at me and said, “Congratulations! That is amazing.” 

It’s easy for me to get caught up in accolades and winning and getting personal bests. I’ve always placed a lot of importance on being the best and doing things because I am good at them and because I want to be praised for being good. 

But it doesn’t matter if I’m good. It matters that I do the things I want to do. I learned this lesson with writing, too; I want to be published by a good publisher and I want enviable bylines, but also, I just want to share what I’m doing and make sure it’s fun and it’s part of my well-rounded, creative life. 

I’m not fast, but I’m a runner. And I’m going to keep running, and I still might not be fast, but who cares? If I do a marathon again, I might not do any better than I did last weekend, but the point isn’t in the end result, the power and the meaning is in the doing of the thing itself. 

Acknowledgements 

To Veronica, Rechelle, Aunt Beth, and Rae: Thank you so much for believing in this little project and supporting Running on Sentences! 

To everyone who wrote me a hype note: thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Reading your encouragement before the race was such a lovely experience. 

To Blue Sky Endurance: Having such a fabulous training group all summer and into the fall made such a difference. I feel so lucky to be part of an excellent team. 

To Derian Pugh: It was serendipitous that you were in Savannah watching the race, and honestly the best thing ever to see you before I crossed the finish line. Thank you for staying and cheering and recording me finishing the marathon. 

To Mom, Dad, Debbie, Alyssa, Josh, Alec, and Neil: The voice notes were some of the best parts at the race. They literally always came exactly when I needed them and I will not lie, I did tear up a few times! 

To Coach Dana Henderson: Working with you has been incredible. I’m so grateful for your compassionate coaching; because of you I’m a better runner, and I think, a better person. Marathoning has changed me for the better and I’m excited that I got to experience this with you. 

To Kimberly: I really don’t know what to say other than thank you. I couldn’t have run a marathon without you. From making me dinner after long runs to accompanying me outside when I wanted to do anything but run to cheering me on throughout this journey, there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side. 

To Sansa and Arya: You are the best cats ever and thank you for the snuggles after long runs, and also for being good at being cats. 

What’s Next 

So, when I started this newsletter I thought it would be over once I finished the marathon. Like, the point of it was to chronicle my marathon experience and then it will be over. 

But I don’t think I’m going to stop. I want to continue writing about running and writing and doing hard things and chasing goals, so I will. There are many races ahead of me, and perhaps another marathon in my future.