A little over year ago, I finished my first marathon in Chicago. I am not even lying when I say that that race was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done. As much as I loved my laidback approach to Chicago, that marathon left me hungry for more. I wanted to do another one, to train for it properly (i.e. run more than 14 miles before race day), and see what I could do if I truly raced it. I chose the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon as my fall marathon and settled on a goal – to break the world record for female above-knee amputees by running a sub-4:40. I knew that this time around probably wouldn’t be “fun” in the same way that my first one was, but I was excited for the challenge of racing a marathon versus running one.
After a disappointing end to my triathlon season, the marathon took on an entirely new meaning for me. The training became a way for me to channel all of the anger I was feeling about Worlds, and the race became a way for me to find a little redemption. But it also served another important purpose. This tri season was a tough one for me, and by the end, I was experiencing my first taste of burnout with cycling and swimming. Despite the loathing I felt towards my bike and the pool, I was enjoying running more than ever. So to be able to focus all of my energy on the one thing that made me happy, to pour my heart and soul into it, and to reconnect with all of the reasons why I loved training – it was exactly what I needed. My training went beautifully, nailing workout after workout, keeping my body strong through each long run, and having more fun than I’ve had in a long time.
I picked the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon for several reasons: small but well-organized, flat and fast course, and convenient time of year with perfect running weather. Well, in theory it was supposed to be perfect weather. But the day before the race, a cold front swept through the Midwest, bringing snow, wind, and freezing temperatures. I woke up on race morning to temperatures in the low thirties – ten degrees cooler than my ideal temperature, but nothing I couldn’t handle with proper clothing. My bigger concern was the 15-20mph winds that would be against me for the first 13 miles. I knew I was going to need to adjust my racing strategy – take the first half a little more conservatively and let the tailwind naturally push me to a faster second half. I also knew I might have to adjust my goals. The 4:20 finish time I had been training for would require near-perfect execution. I was still going to push to make it happen, but decided I would be happy with anything under 4:30.
I was lucky to have my friend and coach, Kimberly, with me to serve as my pacer/sherpa. She was with me every step of the way, blocking me from behind so that oncoming runners wouldn’t run into my blade, as well as carrying all my stuff and taking care of my nutrition needs. With Kimberly handling the logistics, all I had to do was put one foot in front of the other.
I hardly remember anything from the first half. For all intents and purposes, the race truly began once I hit the 13-mile mark. I was excited to finally have the wind at my back, and was right on pace for the first couple miles of the back half. But I think that the headwind impacted me more than I thought it would, and by the 16-mile mark, I felt myself fading. I started to worry. It was way to early in the race to be feeling this bad.
Around this time, my friend Amanda jumped in and ran a couple miles with us. This girl had driven all the way from Chicago that morning dressed up in a zebra onesie (it was the day after Halloween) just to give me a pick-me-up when I needed it most. I also got to see my friends Diana (who also made the trek from Chicago), Sheryl, and Kimberly’s family at a few different points on course. It’s amazing what a difference seeing a familiar face during a marathon can make. Even though I probably looked like I wanted to kill them, seeing each of them there meant the world to me.
The last 10K was without a doubt one of the hardest things I have ever done. I was giving it everything I had, but I had hit a wall, and I hit it hard. During this stretch, it was Kimberly’s flawless execution of tough love that kept me moving forward. She ran just ahead of me, and would turn around and tell me to catch up whenever I fell more than 6 feet behind her. I’m sure the two of us were a sight to see. Me with my eyes locked on the back of her head in my signature death glare; her looking right through the death glare and telling me that I needed to “get my shit together.” It was a painful strategy, but it worked. And while I still could not find the energy to maintain my 4:20 pace, she kept me from falling too far off. I don’t know what the day would have looked like if I hadn’t had Kimberly there, but I know I would not have finished with the time that I did without her.
By the final mile, I was so ready for it all to be over that I summoned every ounce of energy I had left to get to the finish as fast as I could. Crossing the finish line was a bit of a blur. I was so physically and mentally exhausted, that I can’t say I was fully present. It wasn’t until Kimberly pulled me into a hug and I heard the race announcer say something about my world record attempt that I realized what I had just done.
I had told the race director prior to the race that I was attempting to break a world record. Little did I know, they spent the whole race keeping tabs on me and tweeting my progress. They announced that my 4:25 finish had surpassed the previous world record by 15 minutes, and even took the time to talk to me about my race. The fact that the race organizers and the crowd at the finish line were just as excited about my race as I was made the moment all the more special.
My goal of breaking the world record was about a year in the making. Since then, I’ve been fascinated by the concept of human thresholds in running. From the 4-minute mile to the 2-hour marathon, I am just captivated by the idea of breaking through a barrier that scientists and coaches insist is a physiological impossibility.
Of course, this got me thinking about thresholds among para athletes, specifically above-knee amputees like myself. Not long ago, I believed that the threshold for female amputees had already been reached. I looked at the marathon record set by my dear friend and mentor, Sandy Dukat, and thought that I would never be able to perform at that level. But as I’ve spent more time in my sport, I’ve realized (with all due respect) that the world of amputee runners is still so small, that we are nowhere near the threshold for what is possible. I think that is the most exciting thing about being an amputee runner – we are living in an era where the limits for what is achievable by an athlete with a disability are still being defined, and we get to be a part of creating that history. I know that I will never be the person to reach that threshold, but I hope that what I did at the Monumental Marathon pushed us a little bit closer.
I do not expect my record to last very long. In fact, I hope that it doesn’t. I hope that more women will come along and shatter my time (though granted, I also hope to shatter it in a few years). I hope that by raising the bar, more women will realize that they too are capable of setting a new standard. I hope that the next generation of athletes will look at my marathon the same way that I looked at Sandy’s marathon – as both an aspiration and a challenge to say, “that’s great, but I’m going to run it faster.” And when they do run it faster, I will proudly pass the torch with the same class that Sandy exemplified when she passed it to me.