Personal Narrative Essay: Running A Marathon

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When I first met the man that would become my husband, I told him that there was something that he needed to know about me. “I don’t jump”, I said. “I don’t throw, hit, or catch and I definitely, definitely don’t run”. It was important for me to tell him this, as this meant that at cookouts there would be no horseshoes or volleyball, there would be no office picnic baseball and there definitely, definitely would be no charity 5K runs or any other races. All of this was true, until I decided to run a marathon. My dad is an Ironman Triathlete. At 60 years old, he completed what is widely considered to be the most difficult one-day sporting event in the world, consisting of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, and a full 26.2-mile …show more content…
Through thirty weeks of training, I learned about what kind of pants, shoes and socks work best with my body - wicking sweat while keeping me warm or cool as needed and preventing chafing. During countless hours of running five days a week including long, multi-hour runs on the weekends, I determined what kind of music to play on my iPod to keep my thoughts inspired and what kind of energy gels to carry in my belt pack to keep my body fueled. I built discipline, allowing me to get out of bed at 4:00 AM for yet another 16-mile training run, and grit, teaching me that my indomitable spirit could do anything that my mind decided that it was going to do. Eventually my blisters turned to callouses and doubt turned to belief, and I knew that I would cross that finish line and become a …show more content…
Being the adventurous person that I am who believes that anything worth doing should be done in the most committed way possible, I decided to run the Extraterrestrial Half Marathon in Rachel, Nevada. This race starts at midnight in a remote area of the Mojave Desert. The runners are bussed from Las Vegas to the “Extraterrestrial Highway”, which runs alongside Area 51, and has one of the largest numbers of UFO sightings in the country. The website for the race boasts that the area has no cell phone service and all runners are required to wear reflective clothing and headlamps so that free range cattle and rattlesnakes can be seen in the darkness of the route. In the wee hours of the morning under the full moon, I approached the end of the race where I was to turn left and run up the gravel driveway of the Little Ale’Inn to become a half marathoner. After being immersed in solitude and blackness for thirteen miles, it was exhilarating to see the spectators lined up and cheering for me as I turned to run the last one-tenth of a mile to the finish line. My face lit up with an ear to ear grin, I turned from the pavement to the gravel, my foot slipped, and I promptly fell flat on my face. I heard the gasps from the spectators as I stood up – hands, knees and ego bloodied and bruised – adjusted my smile, limped to the finish line,

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