I got to witness my first marathon today. It wasn't quite what I expected. I'd been to smaller races where people wore silly clothes and cheered loudly. I expected it to feel like a block party or festival. And it a way it did -- people wore coordinated outfits and costumes while holding signs and cheering. What I didn't expect, was the crazy range of emotions I felt.
I was so nervous I couldn't sleep last night. I did not run in this marathon; I simply went to support my spouse and friends. I couldn't get over how devastating it would feel to have trained so long and hard for something, just to get hurt. So I laid awake last night, meditating, willing my heart rate to slow down. Some of it was also excitement, but it can be hard to tell the difference in the middle of the night.
I figured I was just there for my loved ones, and never imagined how I'd react to the other runners. I cried. Repeatedly. I'd see someone with a look of utter bliss and cry. I'd witness someone struggling through a rough spot and cry. A family with signs saying "go mommy!" cheered excitedly until the three little kids jumped up and down screaming "she's coming! She's coming!" So I cried. (Honesty moment -- just writing about this caused me to tear up. Oy). It was just so amazing to see each person having such an intense, raw moment.
I felt like a poor spectator -- I had no signs, noisemakers, or fun clothes. I couldn't even stand, and sat slumped in my low-to-the-ground slouchy chair. At the very least I should cheer people on, but every time I tried, I'd start crying again, which seemed worse than no cheering. So I sat in silence feeling proud of everyone there.
On a surface level, I was extra emotional because of a contrast in the training these last several weeks. My husband and our friends would run together, bond, work towards a shared goal, and feel physically accomplished. I had a rough few weeks in which I was often stuck on the couch or in bed, and my attempts at using a recumbent bike on low resistance left me feeling frustrated and in pain.
It's always hard this time of year to see runners around and know that I will never again feel the freedom of running through flowering trees. But the extreme contrast of my relapse and my husband's double-digit mile runs was a bit much. So yeah, I was extra emotional watching people much older, much younger, much heavier, than me, even one barefoot, running a marathon, when I was in too much pain to even watch the whole time.
In the end, though, I walked over four miles, which is pretty awesome for the current state of my joints! I might be limping more than my post-half-marathon spouse, but I did it! And as much as they loved joking about me ending up in a med tent as a spectator, I didn't actually get sick! Although we realized that it would actually be great for me if there were that many toilets around every day.
So on one level, it was a combo of pride in my spouse/friends, loss of my own ability to run, and physical pain. But the most profound reason for crying was witnessing the determination on so many people's faces. I hope I never forget what it looked and felt like to see so many people willing themselves on, through terrible discomfort and pain, simply because they believe in something. Some people were running their very first marathon. Some were running as a memorial to someone they've lost. Others were running as a personal feat of strength after recovering from cancer or other illness. Regardless for their reasons, everyone at that race had worked for what they accomplished today, and had to push themselves to the limit for completion. And it was visible in their faces. As much as my friends try to mock me, I don't feel any shame in crying big, wet, happy tears over the triumph of the human spirit.