26.2 Miles. Because 26.3 Would be Crazy

Before you start, this is going to be a long one. You might want to use the bathroom, grab some more snacks and refill your coffee (or wine) before you dive into this.


It's been five days since the race. I've been trying to think of the best way to put it all into words, but there's no perfect way. There's never a perfect way. I am overflowing with everything I want to say. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I ran a marathon last Sunday. I ran the Chicago Marathon. One of the most well-known marathons in the world. And I was part of it. And I loved it. Yes. You read that right. I ran for almost seven hours and it was wonderful.

When I decided to sign up last February, it was such an abstract, future idea that I don't think I ever thought it would actually happen. I've run races before, but none as far and none as successful as I would have liked. And yet, I made the choice to sign up for the Chicago Marathon. Not only that, I signed up with a charity and pledged to raise $1000 for that charity in order to run. I set my goals high.

Let's be clear. I did not love every moment of the last 7 months. I did not love every moment of training. I definitely did not love figuring out how the heck I was going to raise the money and then begging my friends and family to donate. In fact, there were many moments I hated it. There were a lot of restless nights. There were a lot of panicked texts to my mom and brother about how it was a mistake and I was never going to raise the money and I wasn't going to live through the race. I wanted to rewind to the moment I registered and cut off my hands and slap myself in the face with them for thinking the girl who only started running two years ago and never follows her training schedule and is a terrible procrastinator would be able to achieve any of these goals.

But I didn't. My mind was set. I was either going to finish or die.

I'm not normally one for quotes or inspirational...stuff. But there were a few soundbites that honestly helped me. They helped me so much that I wrote them out and taped them to my wall. The first one is a Muhammed Ali quote. "I hated every minute of training, but I said, 'Don't quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.'" The other two are ads. The Lowe's slogan "Never stop improving" and Nike's "Game on, world." When you put them next to the ads, you know they're just tools to get you to buy products. But separately, they're pretty good right? I don't need to be talking about my kitchen to have the desire to strive to improve. There's never a perfect final product. Things can always get better. That one helped me get out of bed, put on my shoes and run. "Game on, world." That phrase got me through the runs themselves. It put the spark deep in my chest to take on and fight the world. Because "world" can be everything. It can be the hill I'm running up, the rain I'm running through, the people starring at me from their cars, the people in my past who never gave me a chance to prove myself, or me, Erin, for doubting myself. Game on.

Finally October arrived. I was as trained as I was going to be. And thanks to the amazing people I am lucky enough to call my friends, I hit my fundraising goal. I will never be able to thank people enough for that. They give me hope for the world. On the 6th, the day before the race, I headed down to the Expo. The biggest one I've ever attended. The energy was amazing. A GIANT room full of people who are simultaneously off-the-charts excited and terrified. It's not a place I want to spend my life in, but it sure did get me pumped for the race. Got my shirt and some fun free stuff and headed out. Tried to go about my day the best I could. Eating enough, but not too much. Eating things that would fill me up but not overfill me. Drinking enough caffeine to keep me awake, but not too much that I wouldn't be able to sleep. Sitting down enough to keep my legs fresh, but not so much that I got stiff. I had a lot on my mind.

That night, the night before the race, I attended The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society Team in Training, the charity I raised the money for,  Inspiration Dinner. My intention was to eat my carbs and go home. I was there alone and had no intention of spending my, much needed, energy mingling with strangers. Because I hate mingling. But, of course, the night was so much more than that. I took notes on some of my favorite quotes and ideas.

Every 9 minutes a person dies from a blood cancer and with our 400ish Team in Training participants in the Chicago Marathon, we raised over 1.1 million dollars. And most of us raised the money for people we don't know and have never heard of and will never meet. How amazing is that? No instant gratification. No celebrations or public recognitions. A completely selfless act.

We had a speaker. I sure do wish I could remember his name. He was introduced as one of the most famous runners who had never won a race. He had wonderful things to say. "You know everybody gets the same medal, right? Then I don't know what your big hurry is." "World records have been set on this course. And you are crossing that same finish line." He talked about how the best and hardest and most important part of the day wouldn't be crossing the finish line, it would be crossing the start line. So many people say they want to run a marathon. Say they're going to start training. Say they're going to sign up this year. And they never do. But we did. I did. I didn't just say I wanted to run, I signed up and trained.

The two quotes from the night that I won't forget and will apply to all other parts of life are, "Whatever happens tomorrow, that's your story. Good or bad. That will be your Chicago Marathon experience." and "Your attitude is a choice. Whether you chose to be happy or miserable, the distance is the same." The first quote is great because it encourages such a feeling of peace. Things are going to happen, things beyond our control. But that's what makes our personal stories. That's what makes our experiences different and special and unique. And rather than fighting or hating them, embrace them. The second quote is so perfect for the way I've been trying to live life lately. "Happiness is a choice." And wouldn't you rather be happy for 26.2 miles than miserable? And then bring that into every day life. Whether you chose to be happy or miserable, there's still going to be 24 hours in the day. Time is not going to speed up if you're angry. So shake it off and embrace your experience.

Now. Finally. Race day. Set my alarm for 4:15am. My first thought when I woke up? "My god I'm not ready what am I doing???" My second thought? "Shake it off, Clax. Today's the day. You're doing this." And I did. I had set out everything night before, was totally prepared, feeling rested, feeling great, threw on some inspirational music and began the journey that would change my life. The weather was good. The train was full of other people that were balancing the line of peeing their pants out of excitement and terror. Got to the Charity tent on time. Checked my gear. Used the portapotty (another fear I no longer have). Waited in my corral, holding back tears during the National Anthem, and started the race.

I will never have the words to explain my feelings throughout the race. I probably hit every emotion possible though. And then hit them all again. But never once did I regret running it. In addition to my body hurting, my face hurt from all the smiling. I'm not kidding. And my thumbs hurt from all the "Thumbs up" I gave. So many thumbs up. The positive energy and pride and joy from all the other runners and from every single person cheering on the streets was absolutely unreal. People woke up at 8am on a Sunday to cheer for strangers. To make signs for strangers. I had my name written on my jersey and every time someone yelled, "Yeah Erin!" "Erin! You look great!" "So proud of you, Erin!" I wanted to kiss them on the mouth. While I was walking and drinking water at one point, one girl even yelled, "Erin! Erin! What are you doing?? Go! Run! You got this!" People had stereos set out blasting music and singing for everyone. Other people had water and hard candy and oranges and bananas. And the volunteers. You guys. The volunteers. Amazing. They were everywhere and they were helpful and they were encouraging. I'm overwhelmed just thinking about all of it. We ran through 29 neighborhoods. Each of them beautiful and unique and a piece of culture and history. Chicago is amazing.

Once again, let me clarify. While my attitude was positive and I loved this race, it was hard. It was a lot of miles. No seriously. A lot. And it hurt. Everything hurt. There were a couple points around Mile 18-20 I thought it was never going to end. I thought I would actually run until my legs fell off. I wanted to lay on the ground and nap real quick and then finish. Every time I ran by a Med Tent with the beds and the chairs and the massaging, I started to drool. I wanted to trip and twist, sprain or break something just so I could sit down. There were a couple miles when all I could picture was my bed and how good it was going to feel to lay in it. I was thirsty but didn't want to drink too much because if I had to stop and pee, I would never start again. I was rocking a combination of running and walking and whenever I would start to jog again, it was an out of body experience. I had no idea how my legs were moving, just that I was still moving forward.

But then someone would cheer my name. Or one of the Team in Training coaches would run with me and check in. Or I would see a sign that would make me laugh. Or a sign that said, "Pain is temporary, Pride is forever." And all of a sudden I was at Mile 23. And then I was at Mile 24 and I could smell the BBQ at the finish line party. And then I was at Mile 25 and everyone was yelling "last mile!" And then I could see the final turn. And then I set my music to "Chariots of Fire" and found the last bit of energy to jog up the final hill, passed the bleachers with people still cheering, sticking it out to the end, passed the news crew and the cameras and I heard a man say, "And here we have Erin Claxton!" and I crossed the finish line.

I was wrapped in a heat blanket. I was handed a water and a banana. They ran out of medals, which was annoying, but so unimportant. I got my free beer and wandered back to the charity tent to get my stuff and my free lunch. The tears finally came halfway through my ham sandwich and my 312 when I opened my phone to all the texts and Facebook messages of encouragement from friends. I made it home, slowly. Obviously I was sore and mentally drained and wanted to sleep for days. But I had so much pride that the pain was overshadowed. Because I finished a marathon. And here I am five days later and all that sticks out in my mind is how good I feel and maybe, just maybe, don't quote me yet, but maybe I want to do this again...