Ten years after my first marathon, I decided to run a second one. I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C., in 2000 and, last fall, I starting training for the marathon in New Orleans. It’s one of my goals to see all 50 states and I had never visited Louisiana. Running 26 miles of city streets seemed like the perfect introduction to the city of jazz, Mardi Gras and bon temps. I enjoyed my training runs in October and early November as I gradually increased my distances.

My winter training leading up to the February marathon was plagued with injuries and inclement weather. I ran through the ice and snow in sub-freezing winds during an unusually cold D.C. winter. Once, I even had to retreat indoors to use a treadmill because snow made it impossible to run outside. I sprained one side of my ankle (which precluded training for two weeks), sprained the other side of my ankle and got tendinitis where I had an old injury to my left knee. Just days before the marathon, I got a deep cut in my foot that made walking a challenge, let alone running.

I arrived in New Orleans on Friday night for the Sunday race. A medic at a first aid station examined my foot with a look of concern on his face. He said that the cut was serious and required immediate medical attention. At the hospital, I found out that the cut was infected with cellulites, which would require antibiotics. The doctor doubted I’d be able to run the race.

By Saturday night, it still hurt to walk, but my foot felt slightly better. I ran a scant half-mile on the treadmill to test it. All evening, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to run. I hardly slept.

At 6 a.m., I prepared for the marathon by putting on my U.Va. long-sleeved T-shirt and U.Va. hat. I hoped that wearing U.Va. colors would provide me some comfort and familiarity in what could be a painful marathon in an unfamiliar city.

I was determined to run. I had trained for months, taken time off work and flown to Louisiana; I didn’t want anything to stop me from finishing the race. Back in my years at U.Va., a teammate on the wrestling team had managed to wrestle in a match just days after passing a kidney stone. If he could conquer his pain, so could I. As a wrestler, I had learned how to push myself and, as a high school wrestling coach, I felt the need to set an example for my students, to persevere through challenges, no matter how daunting.

The race was painful but invigorating. Each step was uncomfortable but the city was beautiful and I got pumped up by the crowds and the bands playing music. Fans that saw my U.Va. gear yelled “Go U.Va.” or “Go Hoos.”

By mile 22, I hit the proverbial “wall.” My knees hurt and my hamstrings cramped after I made an attempt to sprint. I continued to deteriorate through mile 24. The last mile was excruciatingly slow; it was the longest mile I’ve ever run. 

After what felt like forever, I saw the finish line. I completed the race in 3:45. My time was 15 minutes faster than my goal and almost a half-hour faster than my marathon time 10 years ago.

Running a marathon might seem like a very personal challenge, one that is faced alone during long months of training. Then, on the day, each runner has to contend with the strengths and frailties of his or her own body. Yet, the mental challenge of enduring the pain and the demoralizing distance is easier when there are people to cheer you on. For me in New Orleans, those people were Wahoos.

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