marathon training (guest post from Beth)

In my first year out of college, I decided I should try to run a marathon. I had time to train--no kids, no weekend work, and Todd was working 80 hour weeks. It seemed like a good thing to try. I had a few half marathons under my belt. So my dad and I signed up for the Leukemia Society Team In Training and set our sights on the Mayor's Midnight Sun Marathon in Anchorage, Alaska in June 2001. I quickly discovered my training group in Lexington was not going to work out so I continued to train alone. I ran on the routes I knew around campus and experimented with gels and water and power bars. Sometimes Todd would join me for the end of a long run. But something goes wrong on every run after 15 miles. I blame it on low blood sugar or something like it. I become a cursing fool. I lose the ability to think rationally and begin to act like a redneck with a really foul mouth. The only time I have ever flipped the bird to a driver who yelled something crass at me was at mile 18 of a training run. I know better than that--every female runner knows better than to invite a further response from someone in a car. Todd patted me on the back one time around mile 17 or so and said something like "good job, keep going" and I responded with a less than pleasant remark. I am pretty sure he was laughing inside as he ran on but I apologized profusely later and we still laugh about it today.
The day of the actual marathon was no different. I was my normal self until about the 15 mile mark. We were running on tank trails by then and it was dusty and narrow and slow going. I knew by that point I was not going to hit my goal finish time and it was making me mad. By mile 20, I was absolutely miserable. I dropped an F-bomb with every step for the last 6.2 miles. That is not an exaggeration. When the speed walker from Georgia passed me again at the 24 mile mark, it took every ounce of self control I had left to not tackle him. He looked completely calm and had the same pace going he had at the start. I knew I would feel better if I could just mess his hair up a little bit. When I finally crossed the finish line and saw my time, my first comment to my father was "Holy @#$%! I am slower than Oprah." I was upset because I knew that distance got the better of me and that meant I would have to try it again someday. Looking back, I know I missed the point. I had finished an incredible race in an incredible place with my dad at my side (well, actually quite a bit ahead of me) and I was upset about my finishing time. I have not had the inclination to try that distance again. I will have to someday. If you want to train with me, I hope you don't offend easily.