WASHINGTON -- My first experience with the Marine Corps Marathon was Oct. 31, 2010. I was a private first class and had only been at my duty station for a few short months. My press chief had given me a personality feature to write on one of the runners, Sgt. Eddie Ryan.
However, Ryan was not your average runner. He was a hand cyclist who took two bullets to the head in 2005. It was a miracle he survived at all, but he kept much more than his life. His memories and sense of self are all intact.
After watching a special on Wounded Warriors that featured Ryan, former Staff Sgt. Bryan Purcell, an airline pilot, felt an immediate connection to the Marine who said he’d one day be up and running again. He decided to make that dream a reality. With the help of a dedicated team of assistants, Ryan crossed the finish line that Halloween.
I remember parts of it as though it were yesterday. I remember running to catch the team with Ryan’s old unit guidon as it sped through runners. I remember the cheers that followed anywhere Ryan went and the awe with which his fellow marathoners held him and his brothers. I knew on that day that I wanted to run the marathon and see those same sights.
I didn’t get to write a story about a runner the next year, but I still enjoyed covering the marathon from the perspective of those in the Command Operations Center.
I experienced the thrill of cheering on several people in my unit who ran that year, including my staff sergeant. When his goal time came and went and he was still nowhere to be found, I ran back to look for him. I stuck beside him during the last few miles, again promising myself that one day I would be the one wearing the bib, hearing ‘congratulations’ dozens of times.
I changed duty stations in late October 2012. I saw marathon updates from some of my old coworkers, but that was it. A little dismayed, missing the action of those few days — the lack of sleep from going to weekend events, the drive back to the office to start writing my story and going through my photos — I told myself that 2013 was my year. I marked when registration began on my calendar and waited.
I trained. Not as much as I should have, but I made myself run more than usual. For the record, I am a slow runner (my last 3-mile run for the physical fitness test was 25:33, and that’s faster than normal) and I don’t particularly enjoy it.
However, running with somewhere around 30,000 people, with hundreds of thousands of spectators, is like nothing else in the world. People held up signs with words of encouragement not only for their friends and family, but also for strangers. Children and adults reached forward for high-fives. When runners lost motivation, those beside them would urge them on with words of encouragement. “We’re almost there. Just make it to the bridge. We can do this.”
Every time the pain in my feet was too much to bear, I’d look around. There was someone running without shoes just in front of me. When my hips were sore, I’d glance up and see an old man well past 70 who’d been running with one hand on his lower back since the start, wearing a T-shirt with the name of the fallen service member in whose memory he kept going.
My knees felt swollen, but there was a father of four who was just ahead of me whose four sons made it safely back from Afghanistan. Everywhere I looked, there were people in more pain, running for a better reason than I had. So I kept moving.
There is no feeling like those last few miles. The pain lessens in your mind, the crowd around you thickens and becomes louder. People call out your bib number as they see you pushing to the very end. That red arch appears and the world narrows down to you, it and the red numbers keeping time.
For the record, I came in at 6:10:22 after the gunshot, 5:48:22 as my total time from start line to finish. I’m a slow runner. I will always be slow, but next time I’ll try to be a little faster. In a marathon, you’re running against yourself first and everyone else second.
I know I’ll run another marathon someday. I’m already planning my training schedule to reduce my time.
I’m sore as I’m writing this and I will probably be sore for a few more days, but as I replay the run in my mind, I know it was worth it.