By Jennifer Savage
I’ve got a little secret.
And no, I’m not pregnant.
I’m running the Missoula marathon.
I’ve been running with a local training group since early March but have been hesitant, until now, to come out and say I’m training for the marathon. I’ve run long runs, I’ve gotten new shoes. But until a 16 mile run up Miller Creek two weeks ago I was still riding the fence. When I crossed the creek for the final time that day and sat under the shade of an Aspen tree I decided to run the full marathon.
I can do this.
I’ve done it before.
I was 23 in 1998 when I ran the Chicago marathon and, in 2000, I ran one in Portland, Oregon.
Then, I used long runs to sort out where I’d go to graduate school, how to tell my boyfriend at the time that I was moving out, that he needed to leave me alone. I wrestled with how to tell my parents I wasn’t moving back to the South, with my thesis, with where to go after getting a master’s degree. I thought about my new roommate, how normal and healthy he seemed. I thought about moving to Montana, about what it might be like to live there and with him.
When we moved to Montana in the fall of 2001 I ran, still, on the icy road leading up Rock Creek. I ran the streets of town — slip, sliding my way around. The next spring we bought a house at the base of Mission Mountains and we spent the next two years running up and down those peaks. Running, in that sense, is probably too strong a word. Sometimes we crawled. But we were moving and in 2005, on my thirtieth birthday, we climbed Gray Wolf Peak and, literally, ran down to make it to a birthday party a friend was hosting in Missoula.
A few months later and probably in the best shape of my life, I decided to hang up my running shoes for a while and have some babies. I know a lot of women who run while pregnant but I wasn’t one of them. I’d had a tubal pregnancy and a miscarriage. I needed to choose and I did. Eliza was born in August of 2006, Lucille, in June of 2008. My body was hard at work but other than an occasional run, I didn’t get many miles in during those years.
And last year, just as I was beginning to come out of the baby fog I’d been in, I got meningitis. It’s funny how a little brain infection rocked me to the core. I lost the ability to feel confident in just about anything. The world seemed to be shifting and I couldn’t make it stop. After the physical illness seemed to have passed, I called my therapist, dug out my running shoes and started working on the rest of the recovery. Those runs last fall were hard. I’d usually go about four miles and I was tired and sore afterward.
Slowly, I dug out my old running clothes that I’d packed away when I had newborn Eliza in a sling. I put them away making room for baby books and diapers, always knowing I had easy access to them if the need arose. And, last fall, the need to run, to sort out, to make sense of it all arose deep and urgent. At first I unpacked a few things. I boxed up the rest afraid, somehow, of my former self. This box of clothes said to me that I was once strong and confident. I wondered if I’d ever feel that way again.
This winter I saw around town the registration forms for a training group for the Missoula marathon. I picked up the form three separate times from our local running store before filling it out and writing the check to join. I showed up for the first training run in my gone-through-two-pregnancies-baggy yoga pants, clutching my cup of coffee with a nervous belly that reminded me of high school track meets. That first day we ran five miles in the cold of early March. Those yoga pants were cotton and I was frozen by the time we returned to the running store. It seemed I had forgotten a few things.
We ran through the early spring and I remained intentionally anonymous in the training group. I didn’t really know anyone which just seemed odd for Missoula, but I didn’t really try to meet anyone either. The fewer people I knew, the fewer questions I’d have to answer if I had to drop out. If it ever came up with friends I’d use my canned phrase, “I’m running with the training group.”
Part of me was scared I wouldn’t be able to physically run the marathon, that meningitis had robbed me somehow from being able to push my limits. Another part of me was afraid to try because it just felt so much safer to not take any chances with my the growing, yet fledgling state of my confidence.
Slowly though, I ran. Eight, 10, 12 miles. Then 13 and that weekend unpacked the rest of the box of running clothes and made room for it all in my closet.
The next week I ran 16 and, last Sunday, 20 miles when I had to fight back the tears coming across the Higgins Bridge. Last year, I stood on that bridge as the marathoners came across. I had a bandage covering the IV on my arm. Still woosy from the steady stream of high-powered antibiotics and steroids coursing through my veins, I lifted Eliza so she might see the group finishing in less than four hours. Tears streamed down my cheeks then and I thought, I want to be here next year. I want my daughters to see their mama, healthy and strong, run across that finish line.
When I think about that moment today, I want the same thing. I’m not running this marathon because I have something to prove. I don’t. I’ve run them before, I’ve birthed two babies with nothing but sheer will and the support of those around me. I know my body can do amazing things. I’m running this marathon because I want my daughters to know that even though life can deal you bad blow, you can get to your knees and stand up. You can slowly figure it all out, you can move forward one foot in front of the other, one mile at a time.
Jennifer Savage is a writer and mama of Eliza and Lucille. Lately, she’s learning to be a city girl. She writes from her home in Missoula, Montana. She is also one of Mamalode’s favorite writers and you can fall in love with her too at Savagemama.com Read more of Jennifer’s mamalode articles here
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Thanks so much for sharing this! Great inspiration…as I too will be running the marathon (first time…first race ever really) and I’m scared to death!
I love this one, Jennifer!
Go Jen!
You go girl!
I loved this article
You’re awesome, Jennifer.
YOU ROCK! Just wanted to make sure you know that…and thanks for the inspiration to bite the bullet and sign up! Here’s to Tuesday-Afternoon’s-In-The-Park!
Congratulations! This is so wonderful!
I rediscovered running after some really difficult times in my life too. It is wonderful for my kids to see no matter how hard life gets, there are healthy, positive alternatives to get you through!
Well done! and…enjoy the marathon, every step of the way!!!
you can always make me get weepy– run girl run!
Thanks for this article. Getting back to a strong mind and strong body is a hard thing to accomplish, but running has always helped me process and break through whatever mold was trying to hold me in “a shape.” See you at the marathon! My first and still struggling with finding the strength to pull through.
Shed a tear reading that one! Lovely writing, once again!
This is so inspiring, Jennifer. Thank you for sharing it with the training class.
Thank you so much for sharing your story Jennifer. You are an inspiration. Good luck with the training and the marathon
I’ll be running the half and your words will help get me through. Thank you!
What an inspiring story Jennifer! Congratulations to you and thanks for sharing it with us!
Love you, SavageMama. Thanks for keeping the savage alive. You’ve got me tingling with anticipation and inspiration and shedding a few of those tears with you. I’ll run it with you next year, if you’re still game!
The first time I read this, I cried the whole way through it. Then I went and bought myself some proper fitting running clothes. Thanks for the inspiration!
Love it. You know I am right behind you…this year, I’ll be on that bridge with my girls, tear-stained cheeks watching you finish, inspired by your model. Next year. x
jen, thanks for the reminder…”one foot in front of the other, one mile at a time”…no matter how your life unfolds. Wonderful and inspiring story!
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