A week ago, my brother Eric and I were among the roughly 500 people who ran the Yakima River Canyon Marathon. Yes, it was 26.2 miles (surprising how many people ask me that!). It was my first and his second, and I wasn't really ready but I did it anyway.
You see, I got pretty enthusiastic back in February. I'd been using my elliptical trainer some, so I figured I'd be able to do some running. There is this thing, though, called the 10 percent rule. It's simple: when running, don't increase your weekly mileage more than 10 percent per week. I'm sure I was doing more like the 40 percent rule, which it turns out is a nice recipe for shin issues. Mine got pretty bad, so I eased off on the running for 3 weeks prior to the race and only did cycling and elliptical training.
Thus it was, then, that I knew things might not go very well last Saturday. It was a brisk morning (30 degrees at start time) and it was nice to get started running. My legs hurt from the get-go, but I was optimistic I would warm up. I did, but I was back on the way to pain by about the 3-4 mile mark.
This marathon has a lot of cool people and a nice low-key vibe. I ran with one guy (who was in the Marathon Maniacs club) for a few miles and we chatted about his job overseas and how he does electronic stuff for the Navy. Then, he pulled away around 8 miles and I never saw him again. I was on my own for the next 10 miles. My iPod would've really come in handy through there, but I made the mistake of believing the registration paperwork that said they were forbidden. It turns out it would've been fine.
It was a beautiful, sunny day to be in the canyon, though, and I had a lot of time to look at it. There were food/drink stations roughly every 2 miles, and eventually I got smart enough to take full advantage of them (hint: drink 2 of the 1/2 full cups at each stop and down all the carbs you can stomach).
I pressed onward and met some other interesting people. I passed an older guy wearing stars and stripes and carrying the American flag. As a couple passed him, he said, "God bless America!" They didn't respond much . . . turns out they were from Japan. As they talked a bit more, he explained that he's originally from the Philippines. So, this marathon gets people from all over the place.
The first big hill is 14 miles into the race. I got some extra motivation and a chuckle from the booming music I could hear as I ascended. Some guys with trucks had loudspeakers at the top of the hill blaring AC/DC and they were dancing and encouraging runners as they passed. It was unexpected to hear AC/DC echoing through the canyon.
Miles 14-18 took some serious resolve. Those mile markers started to come really slowly, and I could tell my pace was lagging. Frankly, I prayed and did a lot of staring at the next reflector alongside the road telling myself I could run as far as the next one. My shins were getting absolutely destroyed by the vicious side-slope of the road. Yet, I knew that Laura and the kids would be waiting at the finish line and I really wanted that awesome moment of happiness and self-triumph.
Spencer W. Kimball once said that, "God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other . . ." I believe God answered my prayers using Mike and his willingness to serve others. He came alongside me somewhere around the 19-mile mark. In all my efforts to keep kids under control at the spaghetti dinner the night before, he was one of about 3 runners I'd met. My bro Eric had talked to him more and told him it was my first marathon, and Mike had said that if he found me struggling, he'd be sure I finished.
And that's exactly what happened for the next 6-7 miles. He said I could set the pace and he stuck with me until the very end. (In fact, the results say I beat him by 2 seconds :-) There's a rather large hill (400 vertical feet) at the 22 mile mark, and it sailed by because Mike was there and he can talk non-stop. In fact, he can talk that much just about running because he's done around 250 marathons. He also does ultra-endurance events (like Badwater) and is in a club for people who have done marathons in all 50 states (turns out he's done this like 3 times over . . .). Knowing this, I looked at the club's webpage when I got home and there was a note from him right on their intro screen saying he's doing a 10-day, 500 mile event to raise money for Camp Sunshine (more on that here). Turns out he's a pretty extraordinary guy who's 63-years-old, a retired firefighter, and an ex-smoker. He started running marathons in his 40's and did his first 100 marathons in 8 years.
Needless to say, I very much appreciated Mike and all the inspiration and motivation he provided me. In turn, I provided a donation to Camp Sunshine, which I'm betting is how he'd like to be repaid. That, and returning the favor to some hapless first-timer someday.
When I crossed the finish line, I was overcome with a mix of emotions. For the first time I can remember since William was born 6 1/2 years ago, I cried. It was grueling and seemed like I'd never make it, but I kept my faith and I believe that God provided a way.
Laura and the kids were there and they cheered loudly. They all had "Team Jacobsen" shirts emblazoned with Go Dad Go! on the front and numbers 1-6 on the back. Very cute and fun and cool. My wife rocks. :-)
I got a finisher's medal, and the kids exclaimed excitedly, "Daddy, you WON!" Funny thing is, even though my time of 5:42 was like 3 hours from a win by the clock, it felt like a win to me. I was in it to finish, and I did. I defeated my doubts, my lack of training, and my screaming shins. And yes, I will do it again. Mark my words: I'll knock 2 hours off that finish time.
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