Marathon.

I hate when realization gets up and smacks you in the face suddenly.  Especially when that realization is based around your grief, and there is nothing that anyone can say to help you.  I woke up with two realizations today. 

This weekend is the Chicago Marathon, a race that I ran in 2007 after about a solid year of training.  I knew it was going to be a doozy of a race as we rolled up to the city at 6am, temperature gauge already at 81 degrees.  By 9am it was 91 and scorching, and the race field was low on water.  By mile 10, the volunteers were waving us by the water aid stations - there was nothing left.  I had to rely on my family (who I thankfully found a bit after mile 10) to help me through this.  If I haven't thanked you before Ann Preston, thanks for letting me take your last bottle of water. 

At mile 13, I saw an elderly man take a knee, and I stopped to see if he was okay.  Along with another runner, we got him flat on his back with his feet up on the curb, thankful there was an aid station nearby with paramedics in it.  I gave that man my sacred water bottle, and made sure he drank what was left before I continued my race, the paramedics arriving.  I found my husband Frank at mile 18, and he walked the entire mile with me, as I was having so much knee pain.  "Surgically repaired knees, especially one that has been repaired 3 times are not meant for marathons," was all that was running through my head, compliments of my orthopedic doctor. 

Frank got me started running again at the 19th mile after we talked about how the end was near.  I trotted through our gorgeous city - it really is the best way to see Chicago - and I shut down the part of my brain that was noticing pain, and took in the sights.  At mile 22, police on horseback (as well as police helicopters) had stopped the race.  Hydrants were open, firetrucks were hosing us down, it was like Armageddon.  We were told to walk, and they were going to bus the rest of us left on the field to the finish line.  I refused to walk, or take a freakin' bus.  There was another lady jogging along with me (her name Kathy), who also refused.  Would they throw us in marathon jail if we didn't comply? 

At that moment, we decided that together we would finish the race running, cross the finish line together, and go on with life.  I had never met this woman from Pittsburgh until that moment, but the encouragement was what we needed.  I didn't find out until after the race, that they had rerouted the course, and we were shorted about 4 miles.  Am I angry about that?  At one point in life, I was.  It just kind of sums up the way life works for me - always shorted 4 miles.  You can train or plan or pray or hope, and nothing will turn out as planned.  Life sucks in that way, but it's also magical in that way.  Clearly it was a painful day (physically) but it taught me to mentally prepare to lose my son (even if I didn't know it at the time). 

Our life has now become a marathon.  Sometimes we jog slowly, enjoying the surroundings.  Somedays, we sprint to where we need to be.  Most days, we have to block out the part of the brain that says 'Stop!' or 'That hurts!' and push through it.  Other days, we are right on pace for that perfect race, and nothing hurts, and no one is standing in our way.  There are no large puddles to jump over, no big dogs to dodge, no traffic watch out for, no shoelaces untied.  I love those days - when it's just you and the road.  When it's perfect in your minds eye.  It goes just as you planned it.

It's no secret that Frank and I are trying to conceive again.  Onto my second realization, or the second part of my daily marathon!  So far, I have heard these phrases from several people:

"Stop stressing about it!'
"Keep your mind busy with other things and it will just happen!"
"Don't think about it, you're making yourself crazy!"

This is how my mind works:  It wakes up, it thinks about Quinn, then about Frank (sorry, honey).  It wonders if today will be the day to:
a) get pregnant
b) wait
c) take a test to see if I am pregnant

Most of the time the answer is B in case you were wondering.

But let me ask you this:  if I were back training for a race again, THAT is what I would be thinking about.  My multiple choice would look more like this:
a) run in the morning
b) run in the afternoon
c) run in the evening

SUB choices:
a) easy
b) hard
c) speed work or hills or intervals

So, when I'm training for a race, how come no one tells me to stop stressing then?  Or to keep my mind busy with other things?  Or to stop making myself crazy?  In my experience, you have to do the hard work, do the research, run the miles, eat the right foods, take care of your body to have a successful race.

How is pregnancy any different?