Becoming a Runner

I often brag about my little sister.  The one who races Ironman without training.  The one who ran a double marathon just for fun, since she had to cross Wyoming off her list of 50 states anyway.  The one who, after I qualified for Boston in March 2009, decided she would qualify too so she could run with me.  And she did.  And she ran faster than me in her qualifier. 

I don't often brag about my big sister.  And by big, I mean 17 months my senior.  She's actually a good 15 pounds lighter than me, despite being 2 inches taller.  My big sis and I were cheerleaders together in high school.  We stood on the sidelines while my lil sis swam, played basketball, and threw shot.  We traveled to swim meets together when lil sis swam in college.

At some point my lil sis did her first Ironman and then ran a marathon (I know, backwards, right?).  This was before I knew what a triathlon was, let alone Ironman.  I graduated from college, moved to Orlando and decided to get in shape.  Following in my sister's footsteps, I decided I would run the Disney Marathon.  I did.  It was fun, and I was hooked.  The three of us decided we would run a sister's marathon, and signed up to run Des Moines 9 months later (big sis's first marathon).  Side by side, in matching tank tops (designed by lil sis) and pink scrunchies, we ran 26.2 miles.

Life moved on and I kept running marathons, eventually moving to Arizona and taking up triathlon.  Lil sis took up the 50 states challenge and is busy crossing marathons off her list at the rate of about 5 per year.  Big sis ran a couple more marathons in the midst of starting a family.  Fast forward 7 years.  Big sis has trained for 2 marathons.  With each one, as race day approached she was sidelined with a stress fracture.  Osteoporosis runs in my family and my sis, after 3 kids, was diagnosed with osteopenia.  Her body could not handle the rigors of a traditional marathon training plan.  She was devastated.

She watched as lil sis and I ran off to Boston.  She watched as we took on Ironman.  She watched as medals accumulated on my shelf.  In her heart, she knew she was better than her marathon PR of 4:59 indicated.  When we ran the trace on a weekend that I was home visiting, she ran comfortable and conversational to my out-of-breath and just trying to hang on.  She longed to finish another marathon and prove to herself and to the world that she was a runner.  She was afraid to sign up for another race for fear she would have yet another DNS to add to her list.  But she did it anyway.

Grandma's Marathon 2011.  That was the goal.  She would fly into Duluth, MN and run Grandma's.  She swore she'd never need to do another marathon, if she could just do one more.  She started boot camp classes.  She gained strength and muscle tone.  She ran on the treadmill in her basement when the kids were at school or napping.  She ran on the trace with friends for her longer runs.  But as the miles accumulated, her risk of injury increased.  We met in California for a week long vacation in May.  With a rental house a quarter mile from the coast, we couldn't help but run.  We ran every day.  We ran 18 miles, 7 miles, 13 miles.  We just ran, breathing the salty sea air and feeling the cool breeze on our faces.

When she returned home, having overdone it in California, the familiar pain came knocking.  With race day still 6 weeks away, she stopped running.  She rested and did her strength exercises.  We talked on the phone and she told me she didn't know if she could finish, but she was going to start.  She signed me up for text updates during the race.

Saturday morning, I got the first update as I was getting ready to leave on my bike ride.  She was past the 10k mark.  I rode and thought about my sister.  I channeled positive energy her way.  I knew that if things were going to go wrong, it would probably be in the first half of the race.  By then she would know if her leg was going to force her off course.  I got home and checked my messages.  She was through 20 miles.  I laced up my running shoes for my 20 minute transition run and headed out the door.  I knew that by the time I finished my run, she should be crossing the finish line.  I thought about my sis and everything that she had been through.  All the heartache.  The training.  The hoping, wishing, praying, sacrificing, bargaining.  I choked back tears as I ran, knowing that she too was choking back tears of joy as she approached the finish line.

She ran a 4:06 yesterday.  A 53 minute improvement in her marathon time.  I tried to leave her a voicemail message, telling her how proud I was of her.  I made it half way into my thought before I broke down crying.  Finally I just told her to call me back.  Not only did she finish, she killed her time goal (sub 4:30) and ran an even pace through the entire 26.2.  Her first half was a mere 2 minutes faster than her second half..  People spend their entire careers trying to run so evenly.

My big sis is a silent hero.  She figured out a way to overcome her obstacles.  Isn't that what life's about?  She quietly flew off to Minnesota, laid the smack down on Grandma's Marathon, and flew back home to her kids.  Kids who know her as mom.  The one who makes the PB & J sandwiches for lunch, and reads to them before bed.  The one who helps them with their ABCs, and takes them to swim lessons.  They don't know her like I do.  She is strong, selfless, dedicated.  She is a super hero in running shoes.  When I was little I wanted to be just like her.  I still do.