Don't Stop Believing

"Steve Perry's got nothing on us," I thought to myself.

It was about 11:30 on Saturday night. We were walking through the doors to a bar in Dupont Circle, when we heard Journey's frontman:
Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin' anywhere...

With glee-filled bombast, my teammates and I belted out:
Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit
He took the midnight train goin' anywhere...

It was a remarkable, if not poignant, end to our weekend together.

We are done with our journey. We all finished our race. Not one stopped believing in ourselves nor one another.

So how was the race?

We couldn't have asked for better weather. Sunny all day. it was about 60 degrees when we reached the transition zone at 6 am. It stayed around there by the time the race started at 8 am. I think it reached 75 degrees by race end.

My age group was split in two and went off as the 3rd and 4th wave (did I mention that I fall in one of the more competitive age groups? lucky me!). I was in the second wave in my age group. As we lined up for the water start, the announcer remarked that the first "elite" wave reached the turnaround buoy in 8 minutes! Yikes.

The countdown starts for my wave, 10...9...8... The horn sounds, and we're off. This is the largest wave start I've every witnessed, and was amazed by the flurry of legs and arms around me.

But I found my spot, and felt great as I moved toward the turnaround buoy. My heart rate was right where I wanted it, and my pace felt good. Darn good, it turns out. I reached the turnaround buoy in under 11 minutes.

Coming back was another story: the sun was coming up past the trees and buildings and casting itself across the water. And we were swimming right in to it! I couldn't see anything before me.

As I came back downstream, I ran into another swimmer who was headed upstream. Then I ran into the first guide kayak...then the second guide kayak. The second kayaker was able to point out the course end, at least. I grabbed the ladder to get out of the water at 25 minutes.

The bike ride was a little more straight forward, thankfully. Although the first two miles set me up for a false sense of success: there was a strong tail wind that I didn't really feel. Until it became a strong head wind when we headed back after reaching the end of the peninsula. That head wind stayed with me for the next 6 miles. And since this was a two lap course, we got to see that wind again!

Really, though, I didn't mind. Sure it slowed me down. But it slowed everyone down. And, frankly, I was pretty happy with my bike time.

That said, I did goof up while on the bike segment. I didn't take in enough fuel. And that would come back to haunt me on the run.

The run started as well as I expected. My legs were feeling a little rubbery from the bike ride. But it usually does coming off from the bike transition. I've been told that it takes about a mile on the run before you begin to feel better. It took about mile.

I was still averaging a 9-minute pace on the run for that first mile. That's kind of where I wanted to to be. I would have liked to have been going faster, but still...

I pretty much settled in to the 9-minute pace through the third mile, when it happened. It caught me.

Not who. Although Pete and Carly from my team had caught and passed me at this point.

It. The Wall. I was told about this wall. I read about this wall. I trained for this wall. But, when it came, I wasn't ready for it.

It wasn't a real wall. That came in the first mile (yes, we ran up temporary stairs to get over a wall!). It was an axiomatic wall.

Frankly, I wish it was a real wall. I got over that two miles earlier. The axiomatic one proved a lot harder.

I pushed on through through to the fourth mile. "Darn it," I muttered, or something close to that. Remember when I said I goofed up on the bike ride? When I said I didn't take in enought fuel? Yep. It caught up to me. I'm toast.

I thought, "I'm gonna look like the guy in the 'agony of defeat' video, who looks like spaghetti as he tries to finish the IronMan."

But as I reached the five-mile marker, I started thinking of you, all my friends and family, and the support you've given me these past six months. I couldn't let you down.

I also couldn't let down Eric. He's been through so much. The least I could do was get through this last mile.

Those thoughts carried me through as I turned on to Pennsylvania Avenue for the last half mile. I'm told that the last half mile is remarkably beautiful, as we first run toward Capitol Hill, and then turn around and race toward the White House.

I didn't see any of that. I didn't really even see my coaches and Team In Training family cheering for me as I made my way up to the finish line. I heard them, and I tried to say thank you. But all I could do was mouth the words I tried to say.

I put on a smile as I crossed the finish line, only for the photographer. Inside I was crying.

Crying because I did it. Crying because you helped me there. Crying because, well, it was over.

While our journey has ended, I don't know that my teammates and I will ever stop believing. Believing in ourselves. Believing in each other. Believing in you. Believing that, one day, we can win the fight against Leukemia and Lymphoma. Together with your help, my teammates and I raised over $88,000 to aid in the fight against blood cancers.