marathon run/recovery run (from Catherine White)

some beautiful writing to share from my friend Catherine White (with whom I ran many a long training run in Seattle early on Saturday mornings over the last few months) 

Marathon run: April 15, 2013, 10:20AM, Hopkinton, MA.

Honored to be a part of the world’s most storied marathon, joined by runners from all over the world. Humbled by the half million people who turned out to cheer all of us on: children handing out orange slices, yellow-jacketed volunteers proffering Gatorade, Wellesley women sporting outlandish signs soliciting kisses, rowdy beer drinkers offering their beverage of choice, innumerable fans with inexhaustible enthusiasm. Hugging the left side of the course, exchanging countless high-fives with supporters. Grateful to have caught sight of Team Hoyt. Heartened by sightings of my family cheering me on at mile 5 and mile 20. Slowed by aching glycogen-depleted legs from Heartbreak Hill to the finish. Unbelievable crowds cheering us on through the last stretch on Boylston Street. Relief to have completed a challenging run.

26.22 miles, 3:31:25 running time, 8:03 minute per mile pace

Devastation: April 15, 2013, 3:15PM, Cambridge, MA.

The phone call from my worried mom asking if I was okay. Disbelief. Raw grief. Concern about my friend Emily, fellow runners, enthusiastic spectators, amazing volunteers, devoted police. Making it through the rest of the day in a daze at my sister and brother-in-law’s condo in Somerville, distracted. Fielding numerous calls, texts, and emails from concerned friends and family. Ellie's nightly journal entry: "Today the Boston Marathon exploded." A long night spent attending to loud sounds. Three hours’ sleep fraught with terrible dreams of the city under attack.

Recovery run: April 17, 2013, 9:08AM, Woodstock, VT.

Aching, stiff legs resisting movement. My seven-year-old daughter accompanying me. Mesmerized by her small steps in purple sneakers with electric green laces. Briefly holding her by the hand, ready to pick her up at a moment’s notice to evade the too-close dog whose bark is less than welcoming. Appreciating Ellie's joyful observations of sunlight hitting a creek, bird songs, soft gravel under our shoes. Hearing only the sounds of our feet and the morning songs of spring birds. Turning around at a mailbox decorated as a cow. Coaching Ellie to successfully navigate the final hill up to my cousin’s house: shorten your stride, pump your arms. My little runner, my pride and joy.

3.11 miles, 36:31 running time, 11:45 minute per mile pace. A recovery run in the fullest sense of the word.

Marathon run: April 15, 2013, 10:20AM, Hopkinton, Massachusetts

Honored to run the world’s most storied marathon, joined by runners from all over the globe

Humbled by the half million people cheering us on

      children tendering orange slices

      yellow-jacketed volunteers proffering Gatorade

      boisterous beer drinkers offering their beverage of choice

      Wellesley women sporting outlandish signs soliciting kisses

      innumerable fans with inexhaustible enthusiasm

Hugging the left side of the course, exchanging countless high-fives with supporters

Grateful to have caught sight of Team Hoyt

Heartened by sightings of my family cheering me on at miles 5 and 20

Cajoling aching glycogen-depleted legs to carry me from Heartbreak Hill to the finish

The overwhelming roar of Boylston Street’s crowds

Relief to have completed an arduous run

26.22 miles, 3:31:25 running time, 8:04 minute per mile pace

Devastation: April 15, 2013, 3:15PM, Cambridge, Massachusetts

The phone call from my worried mother

Disbelief

Raw grief

Concern for fellow runners, enthusiastic spectators, devoted volunteers, dedicated police

Fielding calls, texts, and e-mails from anxious friends and family

The rest of the day in a daze, distracted

My seven-year-old daughter’s nightly journal entry, whispered in small letters:

      Today the Boston Marathon exploded

A long night spent attending to sounds perceived as ominous

     Scarce sleep fraught with terrible dreams of the city under attack

Recovery run: April 17, 2013, 9:08AM, Woodstock, Vermont

Aching, stiff legs resist movement

My daughter leads me

Mesmerizing small steps in purple sneakers with electric green laces

I take her hand, prepared to lift her to evade the too-close dog whose bark is less than welcoming

Her joyful observations

      sunlight hitting a creek

      vestigial patches of winter snow

      damp gravel yielding to our shoes

      lichen-wrapped stone walls whose makers long ago left this world

We hear only the sounds of

      our feet

      our breath

      morning songs of spring birds

She decides to turn around at a mailbox decorated as a cow

I coach my daughter to successfully navigate the final hill to my cousin’s house

      shorten your stride

      pump your arms

My little runner, my pride and joy

3.11 miles, 36:31 running time, 11:45 minute per mile pace

A recovery run in every sense of the word