the longest race
by sandy thorpe

By mile 23 I want to stop. My legs are screaming, I fight the urge to cry, but I just keep running. . .one sluggish step at a time.

I often think about my first (and only) marathon. I entered the Lake County Marathon in 1994, ten years ago this spring. It is hard for me to believe that at one time my body was in good enough shape to get to the starting line of a marathon. The memory of this experience continues to resonate within my soul.

I am now 45 years old and my body continues to challenge me with a mind of its own. Even though I have been peri-menopausal for several years now, I am still surprised when hot flashes cause my blood to boil. Despite enduring some restless nights sleeping in puddles of sweat, I thought I could run through menopause and arrive safely on the other side.

Just when I thought I was comfortable with my “middle-aged” persona, a battle with my thyroid began. As with many other women my age, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. The subsequent (and misguided) treatment caused my thyroid to reverse itself and my body sped up to a hyperthyroid state. My weight plummeted at a sickening pace; I dropped 18 pounds before bottoming out at 113. My once strong and firm muscles had atrophied. My joints became creaky, stiff and painful.By that time I had not run in ten months. More trips to the doctor resulted in blood tests, which tested positive for an unnamed auto-immune disorder. It was unclear if the problem was connective tissue disease, or even lupus. I could not believe that my body was attacking itself! How could I try to gain control of my body again?

I have been a runner for 25 years. It is who I am and what I do physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Whenever I encounter a transition, a problem, a dead-end, I turn to running to find the answer within. I knew that somehow I had to become a runner—again. Of course, there was no way that my knees and joints could withstand the impact of paved, hard roads. I stood and faced the treadmill in the basement, remembering that you have to crawl before you can walk, and walk before you can run. The most difficult step is quite often the first one. I took that step and walked on the treadmill for a month, one sluggish step at a time.

By mile 24 I feel hope creeping back in. A little over two miles and I will reach the finish line! But after 24 miles of running, when each step takes a supreme effort, two miles seem like 20! I need to remember to take one mile at a time. . .

After walking diligently and lifting weights, it was time to try to run on the treadmill. I stepped onto the treadmill with the same anxiety I felt at the starting line of the marathon. I warmed up by walking, then inched the “faster” arrow up, up, until my pace was barely above a walk. But speed did not matter —I was running! A tear down my cheek let me know how much I had missed running. I ran for only a minute, but I became a runner again that day.

By mile 25 a smile spreads over my face, replacing the grimace I have worn since mile 20. One mile and two tenths to go and my confidence is returning with the realization that I am going to finish. I will my leaden legs to keep moving. I am running just above a crawl, but moving forward nonetheless. This marathon is a lonely race, forcing me to face my fears and keep moving forward anyway.

I now dress the part by donning my running tights and microfiber shirt for my runs in the basement. Not only have I found my identity again, I feel my confidence returning. My body is responding and I am feeling stronger every week. My longest run measures one mile and I am ecstatic! I am reminded of the importance of being present in the moment and taking one minute or one mile at a time.

I pass the 26-mile marker. It looks surreal. . .how can anyone really run 26 miles? With two tenths of a mile left, a wave of euphoria washes over me. I run these last few yards in celebration of completing a journey that challenges my mind as much as my body

It has certainly been a challenge for me to adjust my expectations as my body and chemistry change. Sometimes those “personal bests” experienced a decade earlier are hard to ignore. But I have found that the body and the spirit are quite resilient if given a chance. And whether I run 26.2 miles or 1.2 miles, the journeys are more similar than different. It is more about the synchronicity one feels when the body moves, the mind is at peace, and the spirit soars.The treadmill is calling and I must go run.

Sandy Thorpe is a writer and poet living in Burnsville, NC. By day she works as a speech-language pathologist covering several counties in WNC. Sandy is a regular contributor at Eve’s Night Out, a monthly women’s reading forum in Spruce Pine, NC. She continues to run on her treadmill and is on a waiting list to see a rheumatologist.

[ 828-678-3475 (home) or 828-284-2072 (cell) ]