I think. In truth, I've never been pregnant, nor borne a child. But from what I've seen and heard, much of the hard work happens in the months leading up to delivery, way before the squishy new human arrives on the scene to steal the show.
Don't get me wrong, running the marathon was a blast! I'm so happy it went well, the weather was good, I didn't get sick before, during or after. And I have only good things to say about the Philly organizers, our gracious hotel staff (THANK YOU for the post-race shower!) and even the onlookers themselves.
Most runners know though, even if their earnest fans don't realize it, that the marathon itself is just icing on the cake. The grand finale. The curtain call.
Think about it. For months, you imagine yourself successfully running 26.2 consecutive miles. Without stopping. OK, maybe you walk briskly at the water stations. It may be raining that day. Or snowing! For sure it won't be balmy, at least at 5am in mid-November, waiting for the race to start.
But forget all that. On race day, you know you'll pin on your number, walk the mile from your hotel to the start, and line up for the race. The starting gun goes off and you go! At that point it's too late to worry that you forgot to bring an extra GU pack, you didn't wear your luckiest pair of underwear, or you drank too much water during the night and will probably have to find a port-a-potty somewhere after mile 15. The fact is, it's only 3-5 hours until you're done.
Afterward, you bask in the glow of warm wishes and congratulations from family and friends. You wear your medal around the house for a few days. You eat extra turkey at Thanksgiving, knowing you don't have to get up at 5:45am the next day to get in an 8-mile run before work.
All of that comes after 5 months of enormous focus on this one goal, with some deprivation and minor suffering along the way. Days when you shivered uncontrollably while cooling down after a late October run. Evenings at the lake, when everyone else raised their wine glass to cheer the sunset and you sipped ice water (by the way, I felt WAY too sorry for myself about cutting out wine for a month, until a new mother gently reminded me that she'd had mostly water for the previous nine months). Week after week where nary a cookie, chip or bite of cake passes your lips. Early to bed, and WAY too early to rise. Lots of sweat, a skinned knee here and there. Gatorade, protein powder and ice packs for the knees.
Yet in the end, it's worth it. You've got your medal to prove to the world you did it. You know now that pain is mostly relative. You realize that deprivation isn't permanent.
'Would you run another marathon?', people ask. Would you have another baby? Too soon to tell I think. :)
