As I made my way to the Grandma’s Marathon starting line in Two Harbors on Saturday, June 17th, I was feeling confident. I had followed an aggressive 18-week training program with high mileage, and I had attended a weekly strength training class at Mayo Clinic Sports Medicine. Stretching was now a regular part of my warmup. More protein, fruits, and vegetables had found their way into my diet and cutting back on sugar was a priority. All but a handful of my training runs had gone well. I felt strong and competitive. Above all else, I wasn’t injured. I was poised to have a good race and I prayed everything would align to allow me to do so.
I found my spot in the starting chute, comfortably behind the 3:45 pacer. My ultimate goal was to break 3:45 to have the chance to get into next year’s Boston Marathon. If I kept him in sight for the first half, I could feel things out and then adjust my pace as necessary from there. After the pre-race announcements, the National Anthem, and plenty of waiting, it was finally 7:45am. Finally, the horn sounded and off we went! It was a packed start, so much that people were tripping over each other. I found myself wishing I had started a little closer to the pace group for fear they’d take off and I’d be trapped. Soon, I realized they weren’t going anywhere fast as they were also body-to-body. Eventually, I worked myself up to the group. Everyone was pretty low-key. There was a little chit-chat but mostly just focused running. Thankfully, there were no crazy antics going on. In fact, sometimes it was so quiet all you heard was the sound of shoes striking the pavement. It was peaceful and mesmerizing.
My biggest challenge early on was holding myself back. I needed to maintain an 8 minute 35 second per mile pace. Running with the pace group meant I didn’t need to look constantly at my watch to know where I was at. I could just enjoy the scenery and appreciate the race. The problem was, I felt good. Really good. It seemed as though I was just jogging to keep up with the group. I warned myself to not get too carried away too soon. Remember, I reasoned, 26.2 miles is a long way. Hold back now to ensure you can run comfortably later on. The self-talk worked. For a little while. Eventually, I looked down at my watch which showed we were running 9 minute pace. On top of that, everyone was still so packed together and running into each other. It was in that moment that I decided to make a move as we approached mile 5. I didn’t actually doubt the pacer was going to be on target; I just needed an excuse to be bold. With a few quick strides, I moved ahead of the pack and positioned myself as best I could in the shade. What was supposed to be a mostly cloudy day had turned mostly sunny, so I needed to try and stay in the shade as long as it lasted. The new plan was to run just ahead of the group and not make any drastic moves at that point in the race. And so I carried on through the next few miles, feeling good and trying to maintain my focus. It was too early to start celebrating a PR. It was far too soon to start thinking about the glory of the finish line. I knew by looking at my watch that I was a little bit under my goal pace, but I didn’t dare turn around to see how far back the pacer was. At one point, a spectator started cheering for the 3:45 group, and that’s when I realized I truly had stayed just in front of them. They really were only seconds behind me. I was morally defeated just a bit, thinking I had managed a little more of a cushion and was going to beat my goal. Somehow, I don’t really know how, I shook it off. I didn’t get down on myself. More importantly, I didn’t let them get ahead of me. Not then, and not for the remainder of the race.
There are so many things about the race that I don’t remember. It was truly one of the few races where I was so inside my own head that I didn’t notice many of the things that often bother me. If other runners spit too close to me or cut me off trying to run the tangents, I didn’t notice. If spectators blasted horns in my face or banged cow bells in my ears, I was oblivious. In fact, I was probably one of the more annoying people on the course. To slow myself down at times, I’d position myself behind someone running a slower pace and stay there until I was back on track. At times, I might have gotten a little too close and was glad that I didn’t trip anyone up. Before I knew it, I was at mile 13 and nearly halfway done. Just another half marathon is what I told myself.
By this point, I was feeling the effects of the heat. My hips were tightening up, likely due to dehydration. Instead of running through the water stops and getting just a couple sips of liquid in me, I needed to walk and try to get some electrolytes down. It worked well enough to keep me moving forward. I didn’t want to make it that far and then tighten up to the point where I’d need to slow way down. When sponges were offered at the water stops, I’d take one and squeeze it down my back and wipe my arms. If spectators had sprinklers set up, I’d run through them if it didn’t mean running way off course.
Before I knew it, I was at Lester River, the 19 mile mark, and I spotted Dan and Jim off to my left. I was happy to see someone I knew and I gave them the thumbs up. Things were on track; I was doing fine. Not long after that, the rest of the Hedin family was cheering along the right side of the road. Another burst of adrenaline. All continued to go well and my dreams of breaking 3:45 and setting a PR didn’t seem so far off now. Just before Lemon Drop Hill, I spotted Paul and Amy and seeing them gave me the energy I needed to make it up the hill. As I passed people walking up it, I told myself this hill is way easier than that hill I’d trained on along the West River Parkway. You’ve got this, I said. And I truly believed myself.
I was now running along spectator-packed streets and trying to soak it all in. Still, all I really remember is maintaining my focus. There was still enough time for things to fall apart, and I worked as hard as I could to ensure that didn’t happen. I faintly remember the people, the signs, and the balloons that marked the miles. What I do recall most vividly is at mile 24, Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” was blasting from a speaker. The unofficial anthem of the Boston Red Sox gave me a surge of energy. It was a sign. I knew now that finishing under 3:45 was going to happen and I let myself focus on it. The only question was how far under could I get? Afterall, just making the standard isn’t necessarily enough to get into the Boston Marathon. They still cap the field and take only the fastest runners. Last time, I got in by 4 seconds. I couldn’t be content to just get there at this point. It was time to dig even deeper.
As my legs got tired, I was extra careful not to trip on the cobblestones of Superior Street. Falling down physically or mentally was not an option. While I watched my feet, I also tried to look ahead and visualize the finish. I was getting close. As mile 25 approached, I made the decision to forgo the water stop. I figured I could make it one more mile and I’d save myself a few seconds of time by not walking. Not surprisingly, the last mile seemed to stretch on forever. We made a turn towards the lake, circled the William A. Irvin, and finally made the turn onto Canal Street. Now fully aware that I’d be minutes under 3:45 and also setting a PR, I was overwhelmed with emotions and started to hyperventilate. I quickly got my feelings in check, telling myself how ridiculous it would be to pass out before the finish because I was so excited to finish. I guess I needed one last pep talk to make it the full 26.2. My family was there to cheer me on. I gave them a quick wave to acknowledge I saw them and then used everything I had left to propel myself across the finish line. Now, I was partly crying and partly trying to catch my breath because I allowed the emotions of the moment to take over. I had done it! 3:41:36. A 1 minute and 42 second PR. I was 1233 out of 6443 overall runners, 300 out of 2934 women, and 32 out of 374 women in my age group.
I collected my medal, finisher shirt, gear bag, some water, and a few snacks. Then, I made my way to the family meeting area to find my family. A fresh set of tears sprang forth as I gave them a sweaty embrace. I excitedly gave them a recap of my race, one of the many times they’d listen to it over the course of the day. Eighteen weeks of hard work and determination had paid off in the most rewarding way. We enjoyed a couple of beers in Canal Park before making our way to the car. I didn’t want that moment to end, and I wish I could have bottled it up to preserve it forever. Thinking back on it now, I can’t help but to smile. And tear up, naturally.
Now, all I can do now is hope that beating my standard by 3 minutes and 24 seconds is good enough to secure a spot in the 2018 Boston Marathon. No matter the outcome, I know I left it all out on the course. Every decision I made during the race was strategic as I positioned myself to finish strong. In the end, I was able to PR 15 years after running my first marathon and beating my previous PR from 5 years ago. Grandma’s Marathon, and particularly my 2017 experience, will always hold a special place in my heart. I am so very blessed.