At Kilometer 39, the Neil Diamond song Cracklin’ Rosie filled my ears. I glanced down at my left forearm where the words Strong Momma were written just above my watch that was displaying my pace and mileage in the Victoria GoodLife Fitness marathon.
I had written the words that morning with a Sharpie felt pen on my arm where I could easily see them even if I was exhausted.
Completing a marathon is as much a mental challenge as a physical one. For mere mortals such as myself, that means not only digging deep into the inner grit to persevere but also to invoke the inspirational.
I had dedicated this race to strong mothers – to being a strong mother to our 13-year-old daughter and also in honour of my mother Ollie and the other strong women whom I’m blessed to know.
I invited those women to suggest a song for my playlist – after all, I knew I’d be on the course for five hours and that’s a whole jukebox full of tunes.
I ran for my mother because she’s not able to run any more. Not like she did chasing after us six children she raised with my dad, who readily admits she did all the hard work.
Camping circa 1967 in the BC Interior
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In fact, my mom doesn’t even walk much anymore although she still loves to travel with the man she married 65 years ago when life must have seemed endless with possibilities. And they did make so much possible for their children.
When I phoned her to ask for a song for the race, we decided on Neil Diamond, which she used to play on the cassette deck in our family room.
When that song streamed into my ears, I thought of my mother’s strength, her determination, the hard work she never complained about and the values she instilled in her children. I also visualized her laughing, having fun with my dad and doting on her grandchildren. And my running seemed lighter.
Every race has its own personality. Sometimes everything comes together – the training, pacing strategy, one’s general health, the weather, amount of sleep and course itself.
The moment of truth
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Other times, it’s not meant to be. It could be that a recent or recurring injury has interrupted training or that stress in one’s family or work life has silently siphoned away energy.
Or it’s simply a miserable day when you can’t explain what went wrong, even after months of sacrifice of training and time away from loved ones to pound the pavement.
Most people I know, not being the elites vying for an age-category podium finish, will tell you that the marathon is not only about race day itself.
It is the journey of self-discovery and challenging your limits. Or as my daughter has painted on her bedroom wall – Dare to Dream.
And so it was that I came to the start line, not sure how well prepared I was or what the day would hold.
Mid-way, my daughter ran out onto Beach Drive to run with me for a few blocks, and the ache in my legs disappeared for a while.
At Kilometre 33, friends surprised with roadside signs just as I was ready to slow to a walk.
Friends who believe in you are better fuel than energy gels
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And at Kilometre 39, my mom was with me in spirit, encouraging me, like she did at my grade school basketball games.
I crossed the finish line 20 minutes faster than I did in New York.
And I said quietly to myself as the medal was placed around my neck: Dare to dream. Dare to try. Dare to be a strong momma.
