3. Margo
THREE
MARGO
I didn’t expect to get emotional at my first half marathon.
I especially didn’t expect to get emotional before I even started running.
Ready to get it over with? Yeah.
Frustrated with the cold weather and having to decide if I wanted to wear shorts or leggings? Definitely.
But emotional ?
This is a new phenomenon for me, and I’m not sure how to react.
My heart thumps in my chest as I do some dynamic stretches near the starting line on Columbus Drive. I try to repeat positive affirmations to myself, but I’m too distracted watching everyone make their way to the different mile time signs for the reassurances to stick.
“Ready?” Katarina asks me. She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet. Her blonde ponytail swishes behind her, and her enthusiasm brings me back down to earth. It reminds me to take a deep breath and relax. “We should find our spot so we don’t have to dodge hundreds of people right off the bat.”
“Okay. Yeah,” I say, knowing I can trust her race day expertise. I rub my palms over my biker shorts and regret my choice to not bring gloves. My arms are warm, but the rest of me is so goddamn icy. “Let’s do this.”
I follow her through the crowd. We make our way to the sign that boasts an eleven minute and thirty-second pace, which is where I’ve been during my training runs. I rotate my hips to stay loose and quell the panic rising in me, listening to a group of kids belt out the national anthem and cheering with the rest of the crowd when they finish.
The race director takes the microphone and makes a comment about how many participants are out here, how amazing we all are, and how much fun we’re going to have on the course.
I never would’ve believed him, but I know he’s not lying. I watched the Chicago Marathon in October and saw firsthand what a party it was. Thousands of spectators lined the streets. They cheered for strangers and offered support. They handed out bottles of water at mile sixteen and poured out shots of alcohol at mile twenty-three.
The Jingle Jangle Half Marathon doesn’t have the magnitude of that event, but I bet there will be lots of energy for the next thirteen point one miles.
My emotion ebbs cautiously to careful excitement. The nerves settle. That adrenaline Katarina mentioned pounds in my blood. As we move forward with the sea of people, inching closer and closer to the starting line, I think I can actually do this.
“If you feel good halfway in, we’ll pick it up and drop our splits the last few miles,” Katarina says.
I nod. My finger is poised over my watch, ready to get this show on the road. “Two and a half hours of running. In the grand scheme of life, that’s nothing.”
“It is nothing. Think of all the hours you’ve already put in. Think of all the miles you’ve run to get here, Margo. This is your victory lap, and I want you to celebrate it.”
For half a second, my eyes prick with tears. My nose stings, and I’m dangerously close to crying. Before a tear can fall, though, we’re off, crossing the timing mat to a wave of families and friends screaming out people’s names.
It’s crowded with runners trying to find their perfect pace, but the course finally opens up as we head over the river and turn left on Grand Ave.
“Okay,” I say when we finish our first mile. “This is a hell of a lot more fun than running by myself across busy intersections.”
“Right?” Katarina grins at me. The white ribbon she tied in her hair flaps in the wind when we make another left on State Street. “Look at all the dogs! And the signs! That one says we’re running better than the government, and that’s the fucking truth.”
“That one says to smile if you’ve shit your pants.”
“You better not be grinning, Margo Andrews. I love the hell out of you, but wiping your ass in a porta potty is where I draw the line.”
A laugh slips out of me, eager and bright. We sail through miles two and three, each passing in the blink of an eye. When we cross the four-mile mark, Katarina checks her watch.
“How are we doing?” I ask, trusting her to guide me.
“Ahead of your goal of two hours and thirty minutes. How are you feeling?”
“Fine so far.” I grab a cup of water from an aid station and pinch the edges so it doesn’t spill everywhere. I swallow the sip and toss the trash in a bucket, refreshed and hydrated. “My heart rate doesn’t feel too high.”
“We’re going to hold here for a few more miles. I know it might feel easy right now, but I want your legs to have enough power for the back half. We’ve got time in the bank, so we don’t need to stress.”
“Sounds good.”
I take a few minutes to soak in my surroundings. I smile at the kids flanking the course with their hands outstretched for a high five. I grin and tap their palms, laughing when they lift their arms above their heads and cheer like I’m some Olympian.
“Oh my god.” Katarina swats at my arm. “You’re having fun.”
“This isn’t the most miserable I’ve ever been.” I stick out my tongue. “You might be onto something with this whole runner’s high thing.”
We chip away at the distance ahead of us. The miles fly by, and when we pass the timing mat that signifies halfway, I know I’m going to finish this damn race.
“Less than six and a half miles to go.” Katarina waves at someone dressed in a reindeer onesie. There’s not a drop of sweat anywhere on her body while I’m heaving like my lungs are being stabbed with knives. The cold air doesn’t help, and I have to remind myself to focus on my breathing so I don’t get a cramp. “We’re on track for a two twenty-five finish.”
“Holy shit,” I wheeze, fixing my sunglasses as we turn into the glare of the sun. I lift my chin and bask in its warmth, wishing it was twenty degrees hotter. “That’s fast.”
“It’s so fast,” she agrees. Even though she could already be crossing the finish line instead of trudging alongside me, there’s enthusiasm behind it. “You’re doing something less than one percent of the population has accomplished, babe. I’m so proud of you.”
That makes me want to cry all over again.
It makes me want to finish for her instead of Jeremy, and as we head into mile seven, then eight, then nine, every thought I’ve ever had about my ex-boyfriend fades from my mind.
I’m doing this for the women who have been told they’re not capable of something.
For anyone who feels like they’re not good at anything.
I’m doing it for younger me, the girl who never would’ve let a man dictate her life, and as we surge through mile ten, I could scream from the pride rippling through me.
“I want to go faster,” I grit out.
“Are you sure?” Katarina asks, matching me stride for stride with her shorter legs.
“Yeah. There’s less than three miles left. I can run under eleven minutes for three miles. Get me there, Kat.”
“Okay.” She adds a new pep to her step, and I mimic her. I up my cadence, imagining a metronome to help me keep my pace. “Then let’s go.”
It hurts.
It hurts so fucking bad.
An abyss of pain I’ve never tapped into before courses through me with every step I take, and I regret the decision when my watch buzzes and tells me we just threw down a ten-minute mile.
I haven’t hit this kind of speed in my training, but I trust myself. I trust my body. I trust Katarina next to me, who reaches over and wordlessly touches my elbow.
The stretch to mile thirteen is a blur. I hear people cheering. I see people holding up signs and yelling my name from the duct tape I plastered across my chest. I’m here and living it, but it feels like an out-of-body experience. Like I’m hovering above, the ache in my legs unbearable and the sounds a dull roar until I see the finish line.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, a tenth of a mile away from completing something I never thought I’d do.
“Home stretch, girlfriend. We’re one minute away. Close your eyes and go, Margo. You can do it,” Katarina tells me.
I’ve come this far.
I’ve worked so fucking hard, and I refuse to come up short on my goal.
So, I do go.
I move faster than I’ve ever moved before.
My breathing turns ragged. My lungs burn. My vision starts to go hazy and I grind my teeth, passing a guy dressed like an elf and crossing the finish line in a time of two hours and twenty-two minutes.
Relief floods through me.
I’m so tired.
Everything hurts.
I don’t know where I am, only that I want to sit down.
I pause my watch and walk toward the metal railings set up to keep non-runners off the course. I try to get my bearings, but my legs shake. I sidestep like I’m drunk. The world tilts on its axis, and I tilt with it.
My foot slips out from under me, and I pitch forward. The ground is dangerously closer than it was before. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the fall, but it never comes.
Arms wrap around my waist.
Warm palms touch my shoulders.
My body sags against something sturdy, something comforting, and I think I might be floating on air.
“I’ve got you,” a deep voice says.
In the recesses of my brain, I think I say something back. I think I chime in with, “I’m glad somebody does.” But I can’t be too sure, because then the world goes black.