Determined

First, thanks to all your well-wishes and support. The good news is I finished the marathon. The bad news is that it took so long—6:44:39—that it doesn’t feel like much of an accomplishment.

Is there anyone as optimistic as a marathoner? We say things like, “I’m going to achieve a personal record,” “I’m going to qualify for Boston,” or “It’s going to be so much FUN!”

The reality of a marathon is another story.

The alarm went off Saturday morning at 4:30. I had bathed and laid out everything I needed the night before and was eating breakfast by 5 a.m. The starting line was in Two Harbors and I was staying about a half-hour north of there. I wasn’t sure how bad the traffic would be, so I wanted to get to Two Harbors early. Buses would take the runners to the starting line, which was on Scenic Highway 61, closed that morning to traffic.

My husband dropped me off at the motel where buses would pick up. I waited in the lobby and chatted with some other runners. Someone noticed my water belt and asked if I was planning to wear it for the race. I explained that I was a slow runner and how in past races the water stops would close before I got to them, so I wanted to make sure I was able to stay hydrated. “What keeps you going,” one woman asked. I didn’t understand the question--what keeps any marathoner going? “Determination,” I replied.

It seemed to take forever before the bus dropped us off at the starting area. I called Juls and we arranged to meet. As I was approaching the area, there was a beautiful young woman with a big, bright smile. It took me a moment to realize it was Juls! We walked together toward the start and my husband happened to be walking towards us with his camera, so he took our picture.


We chatted as I looked for my running group, then she assumed I’d want to stand in the port-a-potty line before the race began. This woman knows me; she reads my blog! We wished each other luck, then I went to queue up and Juls went off to find someone else she was planning to meet.

In the port-a-potty line I heard someone call out to some guy named Chris, who was standing a few people in front of me. He turned sideways and I realized it was the marathon blogger from our local paper, Chris Carr. I introduced myself to him and met his running partner Troy. I should have taken his picture, since I had the CrapCam, but I didn’t think about it until he was almost to the front of the line. And I certainly wasn't going to get between the man and an available toilet.

I never did find the running club, but encountered a couple of women from there, and we wished each other luck. Then I lined up and searched for KT from my old running club, who was running her first marathon. I never did find her, but some other people I know found me and we chatted until the gun went off.

Dree, a young woman I know who was running her first Grandma’s and second marathon, wanted to run with me. Her dad was running too, but he is much faster and an experienced marathoner. She was feeling under-trained and wanted to stay with me for moral support. I was afraid I’d be too slow for her, but we ran together for the first 12 miles. It was nice to have the company and we dedicated each mile to someone going through some adversity, including Back of the Pack dealing with a bad ticker, and Juls, trying to fulfill her dream of a BQ. After mile 12, Dree wanted to try to catch the 5:30 pace group. Eventually she did and their pace felt too slow so she ran ahead of them and finished in good time. I'm proud of her and more than a little envious.



“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity” as the saying goes. The weather was already warm at 6 a.m. and I didn’t even need the sweatshirt I had brought to stay warm at the starting area. The isolated thunderstorms that were predicted kept the air humid, and when the sun came out, it became downright oppressive. At the water stops, they were handing out ice cubes, which I would put under my cap and in my sports bra. The heat sapped the strength of many runners and I was doing my best to stay hydrated and keep my electrolyte levels up. Thanks to Hal Higdon’s marathon book, I learned to pinch the water cups, which made it easier to drink as I walked. And my dear husband kept popping up along the way to hand me a fresh water bottle or some gels. He kept trying to pass off a banana on me, but I couldn’t stomach that!

I know a girl who told me that Grandma’s was the most boring marathon she ever ran. I couldn’t imagine how someone could be bored during a marathon, but now I understand. As scenic as Hwy. 61 is, it got tedious. There were few spectators for the back of the pack and everyone was quiet. I think around mile 19 I called out to no one in particular, “Are we ever going to get off this highway!” A man said we were almost to London Road. Good.

There were more spectators once we got into town. The water stops were out of ice—it had all melted—so I begged some from the spectators who had coolers! Looking at my Garmin times, mile 20 is where I really started to hurt. The Mile 19 split was 15:42, and Mile 20 was 19:46. It was just around noon when I began Mile 21, and it took me over two hours to go the next 6.2 miles. Both legs ached, from my hips to my ankles. That’s probably where I started walking more than running. My husband called to find out where I was and I told him I was approaching Lemon Drop Hill. Well, I could see it, which was just beyond Mile 22, and to me that meant it was approaching.

At the top of the hill I stopped in the medical tent for some Tylenol. I don’t usually take painkillers while running, but I didn’t think I’d finish without it. I asked for some Biofreeze, but they only had ice, so I sat down and iced my legs. Yes, that was stupid to sit down. My Mile 23 split was 26:26! But I got up to finish the race. I never considered not finishing. Knowing how important a positive attitude is during a marathon, I would not let myself think any negative thoughts. Quitting was not an option! Whatever it took, I would cross the finish line. Turns out, it took a lot.

I hobbled along the next few miles, and was singing that stupid 25 Miles song. (My iPod battery died several miles back.) I counted the streets, until I finally reached Downtown Duluth. The streets were brick and I had no intention of trying to run on brick—I ached enough! The sky was turning dark over the lake and I wondered if it would hold until I finished. One official advised me that severe weather would arrive in a half-hour. Thanks, I can see that. A police patrol drove by and told me to get on the sidewalk (Grandma’s permit has a 6-hour limit.) So I got on the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians and using the wheelchair curbs so I wouldn’t have to use my knees to climb up and down. "Fifteen minutes until severe weather approaches," another official warned. Great.

And then the skies opened up. Right around Mile 25. Well, I had run in the rain plenty of times, so I knew I wouldn’t melt. I was just glad there wasn’t any hail or lightning. But water gushed down the street and my shoes were soaked. Although I was still walking, the Tylenol had kicked in and I was able to pick up the pace. A man and a woman passed me and I asked where they came from. I thought I was the only one left. They assured me there were others behind me, but I didn’t look back.

Lucky for me they were there so I could follow them. The route wasn’t clearly marked any more and I saw them ask for directions. As I passed the back of the Convention Center, a crowd of people were huddled under the roof, trying to stay dry. I assume they were runners that had already finished their race. They let out of a roar as I passed by. I was too focused to acknowledge them, but I heard them and it went straight to my heart.

I had continued with my mile dedications, for the troops, for my husband, for the volunteers, and at Mile 24, for Team Hoyt. That’s when I remembered the quote from Dick Hoyt about it takes courage to finish. It spurred me on. I was really close now. I dedicated the final mile to me. Not exactly the right spirit, but screw everyone else, this one’s for Team Dorine! Now I was almost to Canal Street, where I would turn right and head straight to the finish line. My phone rang, but I ignored it. I was sure it was my husband and I knew he’d see me soon enough. I didn’t want to take the time to mess with my phone. I just wanted to be done.

I turned down Canal Street and there was my husband, ready with his camera. The race photographer was gone and the clock was down. The chip mats were still there, though, and they chirped as I crossed. No cheering crowds. No glory. But my sweet, loyal husband stood by and waited for me. I just wanted to cry, not because I was disappointed over the time, although I was, but because I was so tired. It didn’t feel like much of a victory; it just felt empty. We walked down the deserted finish chute and someone came over and handed me a medal. Then another volunteer came and took my chip off, and directed me to where I could get my finisher’s shirt.

I picked up my gear bag and went into the changing tent. My running clothes were so drenched from the downpour, I literally had to wring them out. When I came out of the tent, I gave all my gear to my husband then he went to get the car. I tried to find some food. There was a food area, but it required tickets. I thought it was for the athletes, and I kept asking where I get my food ticket. But it was a commercial party and my money was being carried to the car. I was getting frustrated. And I’m afraid, bitchy. I wailed to a volunteer that I needed some effing food! Then I apologized for swearing. I don't like to abuse volunteers--they don't get paid enough! He pointed out a tent (no sign) where the food used to be. They were packing it up. I went over and asked if they had any bananas left. A woman reached into one of the boxes and handed me three bananas, an apple, two boxes of raisins, and a couple of Cliff Builder’s Bars. Paydirt! I thanked her and told her I’d share it with the other runners, but the only people I saw were not interested. So I ate while I waited for my husband to pick me up.

He drove me back to our hotel, which was probably 40 miles north of Duluth. I slept for about an hour, then dressed and we went out to dinner. I wore my medal like it was a pearl necklace! There were other diners wearing medals, but I was the only woman with one. A lady came by my table and congratulated me. I didn’t enlighten her on how badly I ran; I just said thank you. Then ate my chocolate dessert. :-)