This Is Not A Race Report

My lower back is very tender.
My quads feel more like bricks than muscles.
My nose and lips are chapped.
My toenails are bruised, blistered, callused, or missing.
But I deserve it. I ran a marathon. Again.

They never get shorter. They don't really get easier. They are usually fun. They are always a great accomplishment.

Sunday's Steamtown Marathon in Scranton, PA was no exception. In order to spare everyone, I won't issue a play-by-play of the day's events and emotions. For Abby and me, it was our redemption marathon. After the less than planned events of the New Jersey Marathon this spring, we were looking to prove our capabilities. Our training was interjected by summer vacations, swine flu outbreaks, weekends away, job duties and generalized exhaustion. But we did it. We got through the training, atypical as it was. We got to the start line of the marathon. We made it through the miles, some easier, some harder, some longer, some shorter (really, the mile 16 sign was improperly placed). Most of all, we made it to the finish line. Smiling. Running. Together. Holding hands. Redeemed.

There were sing-alongs: a short interlude of The Sound of Music prompted by a local high school band's rendition of "Do Re Me," several duets to the Grease soundtrack, having to resist the temptation to moonwalk along to Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" playing from spectator radios, dancing the macarena while running up a hill at mile 24.

There were times when the miles felt like they were flying by. Enough that I commented that they must have really short miles up in northeastern Pennsylvania. Foolish, I know.

There were conversations. A recap of our past Halloween costumes. My long-winded, tangential answer to a question from Abby that lasted nearly 5 miles. Small talk with any number of fellow runners who we happened upon.

There were pep-talks. Reminding each other and ourselves that marathons aren't supposed to be easy, our muscles were tired and sore because we'd run for 10, 14, 18, 21 miles, despite our assumed lack of training we were still fully capable, and that the ultimate goal was just to finish, smiling.

And so it was, not quite as planned, but exactly as desired.

A good weekend all around. Got a new t-shirt on Saturday, a lovely Sunday morning run through the fall foliage draping the mountains, a post-race meal of french fries, hot chocolate and frozen yogurt.

Oh, and the pride of another marathon finish. As triumphant and satisfactory as any other.