It was this last Christmas, or really just before, when it all started.

Now, I knew when I married her that I had found a woman of exceptional character, and pretty much anyone who knows my wife understands what I mean.  Laura has a quality about her which exudes, well, quality.  And that turned out to be # 567 on the ‘Why I Married Her’ list.  But what I’ve come to learn, and what I love to glorify, is the power of Will she has when she sets her mind to something.

And usually the ‘setting of the mind’ is preceded by a moment of inspiration.  I’ll let Laura explain that one, as my explanation would surely omit a critical component and might ruin what could be a touching testimonial.  But I believe it did have something to do with Pamie, Queen of all Blogs.

So, whatever the source, Laura decided she was going to run.  For Christmas, she asked for all things running: nice shoes, outfits, and a cool little gps tracking thing that helped her keep track of her progress.

I remember her first runs, there in Houston and then later in Oklahoma City.

And then the ‘setting of the mind’ took a new direction,

“I think I want to run the NYC Marathon.”

The genesis of this is yet another thing I will surely butcher, so I won’t go into much detail.  But here are the facts: she had found this book, The Non-Runners Marathon Trainer.  It is a great book that is based on a Running Class (Marathon 101) at the University of Northern Iowa that is incredibly successful.  It is a 16 week regimen that focuses on the preparing not only of the body but of the mind.  And what is weird about it is that it makes the whole thing seem much easier than it is.

So beginning over the summer, Laura started her training.  Four times a week, with each week culminating in a long run that was always the longest she had ever ran.  At first, the lengths would elicit a ‘Good job, honey!’ or ‘Wow.  I haven’t run that far in years.’.

But that soon changed.

“Hey Laura, how far are you running today?”

“12 miles.”

“………..”

Saturdays began to be punctuated by Laura being gone for hours at a time.   Fall came around, and with it my usual obsession with football.  Let me tell you, when someone leaves for a run before the game, and doesn’t get back until after the game- that is a long damn run.

The absurdity of the distances just continued to grow.  I think when the phrase ’16 mile run’ was dropped, I plotzed (hey, I’ve lived in New York 6 years, I can do that now).

I, of course, being the athletic expert that I am, offered advice at every turn.

“You should stretch more.”  “You should run more.” “You should hydrate better.” “You shouldn’t run at night.” And only on that last one was I paid attention to.  She stuck to her guns.  She knew what she was doing.

Three weeks ago, her long run was 18 miles.  Her ‘short runs’ were 6 or 8 miles.  Ah April, were you that long ago?  Laura has could eat the Capitol 10,000 for breakfast after a night of whiskey drinkin’ now.

Now, I’ll admit: I was a bit nervous.  It is hard being the observer when a loved one is doing something so grand.  You know that there is nothing you can really do, other than encouraging and supporting them.  But you can’t run for them.  And you can’t tell them you are scared for them, too.

But I must say, as the race day approached, I grew quite confident in my running spouse.  I could see in her a gentle, quiet confidence.  It may nearly kill her, but I  knew she was going to finish that damn race.

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Race day.

She has to be there ungodly early, so she is gone when I wake up.  The route comes by our neighborhood, so I go down to the place I said I’d meet her, around mile 12.  Now, I must say, watching this thing is inspiring.  You see all types, and in every one of them a look of determination.  People are cheering, bands are playing, flags are waving: it takes your breath away.  You see the kid run by with one leg and you tear up.  You see the 80 year old woman cruising along and you wonder what the hell you are doing with your life.  You see a lady come by, clearly hurting, and before you know it you start clapping and yelling, “C’mon!  You’re looking great!!  You can do this!!!” 

What happened to my inner cynic?

Some people have shirts or hats with their names written on them.  This creates an incredible spirit, as strangers can cheer you on by name.

And let me tell you:  there were a whole hell of a lot of Texans in that race and flying their colors.  Makes you kinda proud.  But it is also hypnotic.  So many people, so many faces…

So, I’m standing there, cheering and clapping and looking for Laura when my phone rings.  It’s Laura.  She had her phone with her so people could text her during the race.

“Where the hell are you?”

I had missed her, and I had to run through the race and water station to get to her.  She looked great, but mile 12 had long been in her repertoire.  I took her sweat shirt, as it was unseasonably warm, and she was off.

And off I went too, to meet her at the finish.

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The finish, as one might expect, was chaos.

I found myself a place in a relatively low populated spot, and waited.  I was about ½ a mile from the finish.  The people who ran by ranged from devastated to energized.  But they all were moving.  They all had a look I’ll never forget: the impending end of among the greatest accomplishment of their lives.  Pain battled desire, and desire was beginning to win.

Chris and Spring called to say they had just seen her a few miles up the course.  And I must say here: thank you so much to everyone who came out to support her on the course.  Random people were calling me all day with, “where do you think she is?”  It helped her so much, and Chris and Spring caught her at about mile 22, where she needed the help bad.

I spotted her well before she spotted me.  She looked far better than most whom had passed by there, but it was clear she was hurting.  But she also was radiant.

And if you think I yelled loud for those people I didn’t know, just guess what happened when I saw the love of my life. 

Some people have said that I have a loud voice.  The people next to me would probably agree.

But there she was, a half mile away from the finish line of the New York City Marathon.  I bursted with pride.  How could I ever had been worried?

I started to run along the route, shouting for her to go.

The last I saw her before the finish, she just took off, running faster than I’d seen all day. 

After the chaos that can only be known as the ‘Family Reunion Center’ of the NYC marathon, I found my little runner.   She had just run 26.2 miles, and she looked fantastic. 

Absolutely glowing.

She wore the bona-fide uniform of the post-marathon runner: the foil-like cape they gave her for warmth and the medal hanging around her neck.  And it’s a real medal, with weight, not some after-school participant ribbon.

And by God, she earned it.

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This morning found a sore but excited Laura going off to work.  As usual, we drove to the train together and rode in together.  Along the way, she picked up a New York Times, as they have section which prints all the runners’ times.  Well, almost all.

The cut-off was all times that were under 6 hours, which I think is a little rough.  If you finish the damn thing in 10 hours, your name should be in there.  Not to mention it was the gross time, not the actual time when you crossed the start line (which they measure with a chip in your shoe and then send you your official time later).

So, as Laura looked through the paper for her name, there she was: 5 hours, 58 minutes.  Although her real time was probably more like 5 hours, 30 minutes.  Thank goodness she pushed it there at the end.

And of course, as she went into work today, she had her New York City Marathon Medal hanging around her neck.

That’s my girl.