Two of my labors were shorter...

Than the time it took me to run the marathon.

To be honest, it was the hardest thing I've ever done.

The day started out 'nice' if you think 80 and humid is nice. Start time was 6 am. They gave the option of starting at 5:30 if you were walking or thought you'd go ove 6 1/2 hours. They 'officially' timed for 7 hours (most races is 6, but that's what small towns are all about).

I wore my obnoxious yellow shirt from the Dam to Dam race two weeks earlier. At the start, I met up with another gal with the same shirt - and the same goal - just to finish. We finished within 2 minutes of each other at Dam to Dam and immediately 'clicked.'

The race started on time, and off we went. It didn't take long for the field of 130 runners to thin out. Kim (the other gal) and I joked about duking it out not to be last - how true! Before long, it was the two of us clicking of 11:30 minute miles.

The first two miles are always 'hard' for me - that's about how long it takes me to get loosened up. Anyway, mile 2.5 was the first aid station. Took a cup of water and walked to the trash, threw the cup away and went off again.

The aid station were 2.5 miles apart for the first 10 miles - everything was going 'great.' We hit the 1/2 way mark (or 13.1 miles) in 2 hours 30 minutes. Great! We can get this done in 5 hours or so! Whoo hoo!

By the next aid station, I could not catch my breath. At all. I finally decided to walk for awhile and my dad joined me. Kim went on with a 'meet you at the finish.' My Dad had brought his running stuff, and was there to run with me if I needed it.

I slowly jogged to the next aid station (mile 15). I stood on the mile marker, put my head between my legs, and truly, honestly debated on quitting.

By this time, it was in the mid 90's. I spend the next 8 miles walking and jogging (if you could even call it that by that point) just wanting to sit down.

Twice I put my head between my legs trying to catch my breath and stood up seeing stars. I didn't tell my parents, as they'd have pulled me off the course.

My dad went with me and cheered me on.

There is no adequate way to express the help my parents were during the race. If my dad hadn't been there with me (and my mom following in the car) I would have quit. Twice. Ok, maybe three times.

And yes, it got hot, very hot. Mid 90's, humid, no breeze, no shade, just rows of corn and beans.

The final two miles were pure torture. By that time, the race official had stopped to check on me twice, asking if I was OK.

He said they'd stick around and wait for me at the finish.

I jogged the final mile past my aunt and uncle's house to rousing cheers from my aunt, uncle, their three kids and families, and my family as well.

Dad hopped back into the car with my mom to meet me at the finish.

I shuffled into town, and knew the finish line was not far off.

Right hand turn, left to main and I saw the finish line.

I hit the finish line and a little old lady met me, put a finisher's medal around my neck and said, "Welcome to Marathon."

I immediately burst into tears. I stumbled over to the gra$$, got on my hands and knees, and cried. (I'm crying now just typing about it.)

My family and extended family gathered around me and congratulated me.

I barely heard it.

They didn't care it took me 6 hours and 36 minutes.

They didn't care I was last.

Yes Last.

Someone has to be first, and someone has to be last.

So what.

I f'ing did it.

And I'll do it again.


Tree, I won't be ready for another marathon this year. But you name it -Denver, Des Moines, Twin Cities, or Kansas City (all in October) and I'll be ready to do the half...