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Time-Starved Runner Revels In Joy Of Doing Half

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By MARY SHEDDEN | The Tampa Tribune

Published: January 31, 2008

Forgive me, runners, for I have sinned.

It's been 12 months since my last — and first — marathon.

I became drunk with the adrenalin of crossing the finish line at the 2007 Gasparilla Marathon. I was 40 years old and had accomplished something I never in my wildest dreams imagined possible: 26.2 miles up, down and all around Tampa on my own two feet.

The pain, I realized afterward, wasn't as bad as childbirth. After all, I gave birth twice — once without an epidural. I could do 26.2 again.

"I'm in,'' I declared to my patient and much-younger running partner, Stacey, when a flier promoting the 2008 Disney Marathon caught our eyes seven months ago. It didn't hurt that a supportive co-worker and passionate marathoner wanted to join us. I was a real runner now.

But the Disney Marathon took place last month without me.

I never made it to the starting line at the most magical place in Central Florida. And all I have to show for it is a canceled check for $110.

My injury is serious, one that could take years to heal. I ran out of time.

It seems that in my noble attempt to cram "long-distance runner" into an already-crowded resume that includes journalist, wife, soccer mom, chaperone and volunteer, I forgot there were only 24 hours in the day.

"Running is a lot like life,'' said English distance runner Dave Bedford, known for logging 200 miles a week. "Only 10 percent of it is exciting. Ninety percent of it is slog and dredge.''

I get that. For me, the 90 percent, the training, is by far the hardest part of running a marathon. At a minimum, it's a nearly five-month, four-day-a-week process that drains increasingly more time from your schedule.

Perhaps that's why just 410,000 Americans completed marathons in 2006, according to Running USA's 2006 annual report. By comparison, 3.26 million crossed the finish lines at 5K (3.1 mile) races that same year. A marathon is a huge commitment millions are unwilling — or, more likely, unable — to make.

What started as four hours a week morphed into 12 hours by training's end, not counting clean-up or pre-dawn travel time to and from the YMCA. Running was a must each Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday. Especially Saturday, when the long run took place outdoors. And as I'm never going to be fast, long runs were a major time commitment.

To make life, work and running balance, my husband, Sam, and I treated marathon training like a third child. My human offspring, Sam V and Julia, already were busy with activities: soccer games, dance practice, school projects. I sat down with a calendar and added the new baby — and knew its care was something only I could do.

This challenge (or burden, depending on your perspective) meant my spouse of 15 years would become a single dad on Saturdays. I might show up by the end of a soccer game or before a party ended, but it was a gamble we couldn't take; he was in charge.

Sometimes, it meant begging other families to take the kids. Stacey, who works nights, graciously showed up by 6 a.m. every Saturday so we could get in our distance. Stacey's fiancé even jumped in to help, enduring a gaggle of young girls playing soccer one early morning.

When I started running nearly seven years ago, it was simpler. Move for 30 minutes three times a week to make time "for Mary,'' suggested my friend Victoria. She and her husband, Gary, are avid runners, but not the kind non-runners hate. They don't boast about personal records, and they offer to run at my pace. Better, their casual wardrobes aren't made up exclusively of running shorts or race-day T-shirts.

Gary and Victoria set simple goals for me. Run to the next mailbox. Double knot your shoe laces. Blow your nose while running. It worked, and I conquered my first 5K in a springtime run along Pass-A-Grille Beach. It was there, at the finish line, that Victoria issued the challenge.

"If you can run a 5K, you can run a marathon,'' Victoria said then. And she's still saying it, as she prepares to run in April's Boston Marathon, her 16th marathon and one she's running for a Boston-area homeless shelter and service center called Lazarus House. "You needed a goal," she told me. "You needed the next thing.''

When I finished my first 5K, the time tied to training was manageable and I loved feeling fit. The kids were 6 and 2. I could squeeze in a quick session on the treadmill as they went to swim class or the playroom at the YMCA.

Today, running is a part of my life. But my family — and the kids in particular — are growing quickly and getting busier. Strollers have been replaced in the car trunk with soccer gear. Play time at the Y has been replaced by acting classes and Girl Scout meetings.

A year ago, I was able to meet Victoria's marathon challenge. Maybe because it wasn't the thought of physical pain I ever abhorred: My nemesis is the clock.

It was months ago when I decided I couldn't fit the Disney Marathon training into my life. Time would win this round. I wanted to start a book club and help Julia with some new groups. And I really missed seeing my growing son play the sport he loves. "I'm out,'' I admitted.

I was confident I did what I needed to stay fit, sane, and the best mom and wife I could be. Still, it hurt the day I received the Disney Marathon runner's information letter in the mail. I still have it, unopened.

The good news is, I haven't stopped running. I still get out a couple of times a week, doing what I can. In fact, I'll be at the starting line for next weekend's Gasparilla races. But this year, it's the half-marathon for me. A six-week crash course of training and I should be ready for the 13.1 mile route. The spouse and kids are on board.

I'll be sad when I see the full marathon racers split from the "halfers" at the Davis Islands bridge, but I'll be happy knowing some of them are "maiden" marathoners, reaching a goal they never imagined possible.

And I'll head my way, toward a different finish line. This race is shorter than the one a year ago, but it won't be my last. After all, I'm a runner.

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