The Finish

Eventually, I got there. And those wonderful marathon planners again exercised excellent, strategic placement of the finish line. I could see it for a few hundred feet after turning a corner. A few hundred feet, DOWNHILL. Of course, we all want to run fast to the end. I would have loved to pick up the pace and cross the finish line with gusto and a triumphant arm raise. The truth is, just making it to the finish was all that I could do. I smiled and waved at my friends who were already done and kept plugging away, one painful step at a time, to the end.

The announcer was just as enthusiastic for me as he was for the first few runners across the line (admittedly I wasn’t at the finish earlier, but I cannot imagine more enthusiasm.) I heard him yell my name and my hometown and let out a sigh of relief as I walked (hobbled) to get my medal and mylar blanket.

I met my friends at the end and waited for my sister. Every movement was painful and slow. I have never felt so happy to be done with anything as I was to be done with the marathon. It really is all about finishing. Just getting there takes so much grit and determination. The magnitude of the accomplishment hasn’t really hit me yet.

What did strike me as I crossed the line was the finish line is an open gate. You run through it to whatever is waiting for you at the end. Medals and mylar blankets and a good lunch and friends and family. But beyond that. My favorite quote during training was “There will be days I wonder if I can run a marathon, there will be a life time of knowing that I have.” My friends, my sister, and I were saying after the race, “Welcome to the lifetime.”

Welcome to the lifetime, indeed.

There are gates at the Oklahoma City Memorial that stand at either end of the site. They say 9:01 and 9:03 and represent the innocence of the city at 9:01 that morning, and the lives and a city changed forever after the bombing at 9:03 a.m.

The pain and suffering of that day has changed a city and all who visit it. It started a marathon of memories and hope. I wish that the events of April 19, 1995 had never happened. If I have learned anything from this race though, it’s that every major event, moments of pain and suffering, provide us with gateways to the lifetime beyond it. It’s up to us whether we go through those gateways, whether we endure suffering to find hope, whether we let people help us and push us and support us, and whether we believe enough in the power of love and hope to help others and thank them for being with us. Are we willing to let go of our old selves, to shed our perceived limitations and accept who we become through trials and tribulations? I hope I can do that. I know that the magnitude of the 26.2 miles and the events of the weekend changed me. I only hope I can honor those moments--letting love and hope and perseverance shine through--with my lifetime beyond the finish line.

Stay tuned…