The Marathon

by Trish Kapinos

It was May 2006 when I decided to take some things off of my “I’ll do someday list” and put them onto my “doing now list.” I have always wanted to run and finish a marathon before I died. So I figured since I wasn’t getting any younger, now would be the best time to start. I announced my plan to several friends and family members.

Two weeks later, one of my dear friends, Richard Moxley, called. He said registration for the Marine Corps Marathon was opening in an hour and asked if I would like for him to register me. I panicked, because saying yes meant I had to do it. Then I remembered my commitment—to finish a marathon before I died—so I told him yes.

Now, what is important to note here is that I am a non-runner. I’d never run farther t han three miles…ever. I had no idea how I was going to do it—just that I was committed to completing a marathon. I began running and discovered that running was clearly the hardest thing I’d ever done. I ran on my own for about four weeks and honestly was ready to throw in the towel, when one night my friend, Richard, the same one who got me into this mess, asked me how it was going.

I told him how hard it was and how much I doubted being able to do it. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Trish, running a marathon is 80 percent mental and 20 percent training. What you need is a running buddy.” That sounded really good. Then, out of nowhere, his wife volunteered to be my running buddy. I play “The Perfect Game,” so of course, I said yes. We had exactly sixteen weeks to train before the race. She helped me plan runs, nutrition, sent me to the right running store for equipment, and off we went. I met Cheryl each Sat urday morning for our long runs.

Every Friday I had trouble sleeping, because the next day meant that I would run farther than I’d ever run before. The really cool part about running your first marathon is that each week you are literally running farther than you’ve ever gone in your life. We’d run six miles, then eight miles, then ten miles … until, ultimately … 26.2 miles! My husband was concerned in the beginning, and he actually tried to talk me out of it because he knows how hard it is for me to breathe. The doctors call it asthma—but I never bought into it. I control my mind, and my mind controls my body. No asthma here. So clearly, I had no need for an inhaler, either.

There were many challenges along the way. Running was absolutely the hardest thing I’d ever taken on, and now I was committed to a marathon. Wow! I had no idea how I would do it; I just knew that I wanted to complete a marathon. So I be gan to visualize. I would see the crowd cheering me on, and at the end, I saw the Marines clapping and cheering me on to the finish line. I could literally hear the cheering in my head, the clapping and roaring—it felt so real that it brought tears to my eyes imagining what it was going to feel like to cross that finish line. To do the impossible! To run a marathon!

There was a song by Kelly Clarkson, “A Moment Like This.” I put it on my iPod, and when it would come on during my runs, it would move me to tears. Can I really do this? Can I run a marathon? I began to hear that song as I crossed the finish line. “… a moment like this … some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this.” It was the hardest thing I’d ever set out to do, and all I could think about was how amazing it was going to be to cross the finish line.

Race Day: I was nervous. I cried during the national anthem. I cried walking to the starting line. Just the thought of crossing the finish line moved me to tears. The gun went off. I crossed the starting line, and all I knew was the next rest stop was 26.2 miles away. It was amazing. You couldn’t have prepared me for running in a pack of people like that. People wrote funny sayings on their clothes. Some people were running for lost soldiers; others were running for fun. I was running to the finish line.

It was fun. At the five-mile mark, I announced to my running buddy, “I can’t wait to run my next marathon.” By mile ten, I was recanting that statement. Miles seventeen to twenty were lonely miles. The course looped out by the water, and few spectators were there. It was windy, and my legs were beginning to feel the soreness of the previous miles. I kept thinking about the finish line—and how amazing it was going to feel when I crossed it. I even imagined a tape line for me to run through. Now, I run fairly slowly, s o there would be no tape for me, but it was fun to imagine.

All I really cared about was getting past the twenty-mile mark where, if you were too slow, they would pull you from the course and your race was over. I got to twenty miles and made the cut. I was going to complete my marathon! All I had to do was keep moving forward. My commitment to finish carried me through those last 6.2 miles of the race. The finish line! That was all I had to think about to keep my tired body moving. Those last six miles are permanently etched in my mind.

My running buddy, Cheryl, was a godsend. You never met a girl like this one. She is the most positive person I know, and there is literally no room in her to listen to whining, complaining, or any self-indulgent, negative emotion whatsoever. We got to the last .2 miles of the race. (Holy rollers—it was up a flipping hill! Who are the sadists who designed this course?) We began up the hill, Cheryl motoring up the h ill like she had wings, me struggling like I was carrying an anvil behind me. Halfway up, I stopped to walk. She got ten steps beyond me and turned to see where I was. She put her hands on her hips and looked at me like, “What happened?” She took two steps toward me, and I couldn’t let her come any closer. I began to run again. (Man, did I mention how much I hate hills?) We got up the hill, and I thought for sure I was going to die … but I kept going, of course!

The Finish Line: About twenty seconds later, there it was, lined in balloons with the soldiers cheering. It was exactly like I had pictured. Only now my body disappeared, the aches, the discomfort, the wheezing was gone, and the lungs no longer burned. The excitement of actually seeing the finish line had me. I was really going to do it … my God, it was really happening!

Just thinking about it now, I am instantly transported back to that magical moment of crossing the finish line. I could see the finish line now, and it was calling me exactly like I’d imagined it would. The Marines were cheering. My running buddy wrapped her arm in mine as we charged the finish line together. In that moment, it was true. I could do anything I set my mind to, and now I had proof. Now I knew it too. I am powerful beyond measure, and in that moment and many moments since, I know life is calling me forth to be great. I now know that I can do anything I’m willing to commit to …anything! And by the way … so can you!

Message: You can do anything you set your mind to.