The Progressive

While I still consider myself a beginner at this runner thing, I know all too well a marathon is beyond out of reach for me right now.  Duh. 
But when I read about The San Francisco Progressive Marathon, I was so excited I almost wet myself.  A progressive marathon is an event you run a total of 26.2 miles.  23.1 miles is done on your own, any time leading up to the event, whether it be in a week or a month.  The last 3.1 (5k) is done on marathon day.  I signed up immediately, knowing San Francisco is THE place to in the summer.  Cool weather, enough said.  I advised my running buddies of the event and had one sign up with me. 

Planning this was easy, of course.  Carrying out said plans not so much.  Trying to fit in vacations and family time and running always easier said than done.  A week before the event, we were scheduled to be in the mountains.  No running there, I knew that.  High altitude running is not for me yet.  Due to the impossible heat of Sacramento in July, my running was patchy at best.  Not so great, but it was at least attempted. I knew I could still pull off a 5k in San Francisco- a city brimming with my own personal familiarity and history, a place near and dear to my heart for a multitude of reasons.  Namely that my dad was born & raised there and is now laid to rest nearby.  'Frisco is truly 'his' city and now that he's gone, it means even more to me.   
So as the date drew near, not only was my training out of whack, but the vacation eating set in as well.  Cool.  Then my running buddy backed out.  Even cooler still.  I was alone.  The fear in me rose to a high.  I had never done a run alone.  Okay, forging on. 
The morning of the event, I woke in plenty of time, despite not sleeping much at all.  I got things together, had planned to get there plenty early, eating a little something, hydrating and warming up.  Didn't happen.  It took us over an hour to find parking that didn't have the price of $50 for the day.  No kidding. San Francisco parking is no joke.  Or maybe it is, or at least should be.  As we parked, I was pretty sure my husband was ready to start drinking heavily and I wanted to beat someone to a pulp.   The stress of parking and timing left me literally running to the start line while slamming a Gu gel for breakfast.  Alrighty then. 

I had my worst time ever, but you know, I don't care.  I was there.  I did it.  I was so inspired by the view and the fact that my dad was nearby made it all worth it.  I slowed to take pictures, I chatted with other runners, I did what I needed to to enjoy it.  I thanked the biker dude volunteers as I ran by, I gave them high fives, super glad I didn't spill their coffee and the best part?  I got my medal. 

I grew up in a family with a few swimmers.  They always got medals.  I never had a medal in my life before I started running.  The two I've gotten are simply for participating, but they mean the world to me.  I earned them simply by being brave enough to do it.  That's no small task for me. 

While leaving San Francisco, I looked at my frazzled husband and mentioned "next year it will be easier, since we know what to expect"  I think he really wanted to throw rocks at me.