Marathon musings part 2

It's 48 hours after the marathon. My legs are so tight that squatting, climbing up or down stairs, and brisk walking all make me feel as if my legs could snap off at the hip. Blisters, callouses, and bruises adorn my feet. They look more like Frodo's than my own. Running is out of the question for a few days. I attempted a jog down my street yesterday that turned out to be more of a slow shuffle. Despite all of this, I feel like smiling because I can now call myself a marathoner.

My training seemed relatively easy. My 20 miler was challenging, but I didn't struggle too much. After running all 26.2 miles, I have a new respect for marathoners. It was nothing like I expected. I mentioned in my last post that miles 22-26.2 were a great challenge, and I can't begin to tell you how much of an understatement that is. It was around mile 22 or 23 when I saw Nate for the first time since about mile 9, and when he asked how I was doing, I choked up and muttered, "awful." My body has never been through that much before. I could tell I was dehydrated, but my stomach was empty of nutrients at that point, and the more I drank at each aid station, the more I could feel my stomach bounce and make that disgusting sloshing noise that made me want to throw up. My feet throbbed, my quads burned, and my calves cramped. When the finish line was finally in sight, tears immediately filled my eyes and I let myself cry the last 25 meters. But I wasn't crying because of the pain, I cried because of the sudden sense of accomplishment: a sprinter turned marathoner.

Running can be such an emotional experience for me. Seeing 10, 000 people crowding the streets with one goal in mind: to finish, chokes me up. It's not often you see that kind of unity. At the starting line, a woman pushing a little boy in a wheelchair came alongside me wearing a shirt that read: I run because my son Thrasher can't...yet. At mile 12 my dad and I passed a young boy running with his mom. "How old are you?" my dad asked as we came alongside him. "12," he responded. 12 years old! A big race like the Lincoln Marathon is filled with inspiration that keeps you going even when you don't want to.

I had a few cheerleaders along the route. Nate and his siblings and their kids appeared on the course exactly when I needed a boost. My nieces ran alongside me about mile 21 or 22 and yelled, "Go Aunt Danielle! Run faster!" And Jim and Kristin (my running partner) were at miles 3, 15, 22, and the finish holding signs that read: Worst parade ever and Don't puke--this last one is courtesy of our head XC coach; for several seasons now, a don't puke poster shows up at just about every one of our XC meets with a few of our runners' parents. Not only did they make signs, they had shirts made for the event! AND they had goodies for both Nate and I at the finish line. They sent Nate home with a bag filled of Trader Joe's snacks, and they gave me the coolest necklace that has two charms--a silver one that reads 26.2, and a larger gold charm sits behind the silver one that has Lincoln Marathon and the date of the race engraved on it. So not only did Kristin train with me almost every Saturday and some insanely early weekday mornings, bring me Gatorade at halfway points, and listen to me babble on and on about running and teaching, she was there on race day with her husband to offer an incredible amount of support. When I saw them again at mile 22, I couldn't help but smile even when I wanted to puke.

Post marathon picture with Jim and Kristin (photo stolen from Kristin's blog!)

I told my dad I'd never run another marathon again when I crossed the finish line. But after 48 hours, I think I've changed my mind. Even if I didn't run my goal time, running a marathon is still an accomplishment like no other. Crossing that finish line is a moment I'll never forget...and that makes me want to do it all over again even if it means being stiff and sore for a week afterwards.

Post Marathon Musings Part 1

If you're looking for a humbling experience, go run a marathon. Yesterday was the big day: 26.2 at the Lincoln Marathon. I've devoted 14 weeks to training, eating wisely, and sacrificing my Saturday morning sleep-in sessions. The training seemed easier than the actual marathon while the run was by far the most challenging activity I've ever completed. I set out with a goal of 4:30 and kept at the pace easily until roughly mile 22. You know "the wall" that many runners reference when talking about marathons? Yeah, it exists. And it's huge and terrible. I'm not quite sure if I was properly hydrated for the race, and the sinus infection I contracted that week didn't help matters. When I hit the wall I was extremely aware of the searing pain in my hamstrings and quads as well as the feeling of nausea creeping into my throat. My biggest fear was that I'd puke, spilling all the nutrients I'd been conserving for the past 72 hours, and I wouldn't be able to finish what I'd started. So, when the nausea reached the back of my throat (yes, I'm aware of how disgusting this is), I stopped to walk...another thing I had previously vowed to avoid. I allowed myself about 15-20 seconds of walking before I picked up the pace and ran until I felt again that I might puke. I followed this method for the last 4 miles. I finished my first full marathon in 4 hours and 49 minutes. It was tough--physically and mentally. And it was humbling. I'm a competitive, goal-driven person, and while I wouldn't admit this to anyone immediately after the race, I confessed to my husband on the drive home that I was disappointed with my performance. In my FCA lesson today we talked about the praise-driven performance---praising God even when we don't meet our goals or expectations because we realize that God works all things out for good for those who love Him (Rom. 8:28). Like Job, I want to praise God even when things don't go my way. When Job found out that his kids were tragically and suddenly killed, he fell down and worshiped, praising the God who gives and takes away (Job 1:18-21). I wish I had a natural inclination to praise God in all circumstances; hopefully I can develop this attitude of constant praise. While I didn't meet my goal time, I do feel blessed that God allowed me to run 26.2 miles. I learned much about my faith, grew more disciplined, and gained a friend: my running partner, Kristin. 

It's late, and I'm tired---so I'm breaking the marathon musings into two parts. Later this week I'll post photos from the day as well as a few highlights. Stay tuned!

More than just a drop-out

I trudged into the front office at school today coughing and hacking into my shirt sleeve feeling pretty sorry for myself for catching a sinus infection the week of my first marathon. I peered into my mailbox expecting to find the usual flyer advertising books for reluctant readers addressed to Danielle Felzer instead of Danielle Helzer. Crammed inside the small cubby was our 9th grade writing textbook and a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, our current novel of study in English 9. I searched for a name on the inside front cover of the novel, and when I didn't find one I inquired with the secretary.
"They're Justin's*" she answered stoically. "He dropped today."
"What?!" I asked, my voice rising.
"Yup. Came in the morning to sign the papers."
"Well, will he have to bring around a sign out sheet? Will I get to see him?"
"No. Kids who drop out don't have to do that. He said he's coming back next year," she bellowed with a hint of sarcasm. To her, he was just another drop-out.
And that was that. Conversation over. Justin had simply dropped out of school.

Really, it shouldn't have surprised me. Justin was in my 1st hour class, and he only managed to make it to class a few times a week at best. I'll admit, it frustrated me. I had Justin last year in a remedial class and had made a great connection with him. At the end of the year I asked all my students to write me a letter about what they learned, and in his letter buried among misspelled words was, "I've learned that fighting and causing physical problems isn't the answer most of the time. I learned that reading is something I like and it calms me down a bit. And if you really try you can do anything." You'd have to know the kid to know how remarkable these comments are. This is a kid who punched many walls, got in many fights, flipped off many teachers. So when Justin's attendance started to get spotty a few months into this year, it hurt just a bit. Selfishly, I wondered if it was more than a coincidence that Justin missed my class and showed up for 2nd hour.

Eventually I shrugged it off.

A few weeks ago, Justin sauntered in to my room for Extended School Day--20 minutes at the end of the day designated to help failing students catch up.

"Justin! Good to see you! I was beginning to wonder if you were still around! I'm beginning to think you're just skippin' out on English," I said playfully.
"Ha, ha Ms. Helzer. Nah, it's not you. I just can't get my butt out of bed in the morning. I can't take serious classes in the morning next year," he responded with a grin.
"Well, that's a good realization to have. Keep that in mind when you set up your schedule next year. Now, what can I help you with?"
And we set to work sifting through the endless pile of make-up work I had collected for Justin. When the bell rang at 3:25, he gathered up his things and I said, "Man, Justin, it'd be great to see you tomorrow morning at 8:00..."
"7:55 would be better. I'm gonna be here at 7:55!" and we both laughed as he walked out of my room.

The next morning he walked through my door at 7:59, and I made sure to make a big deal out of Justin's early arrival to class. I patted him on the back as he walked in and he rolled his eyes as I told him I was sooo glad to see his lovely face. I continued this trend each time Justin made it to my class.

He didn't make it to class today. But he did make it to school to sign papers so he could drop out.  It broke my heart to put his books back on the shelf. He doesn't realize how much potential he has. He improved 20 points in Reading on our district test scores this year. The gains he's made despite his poor attendance have been tremendous. This isn't the first student I've had drop out, but this one hit me hard today. After I realized I'd probably never talk to him again since we'll be moving in less than a month, I wondered if I had done enough for Justin. I hope I showed him that I cared about him. I hope he felt welcome in our classroom. I think back to the last line he wrote in his reflection letter about being able to do anything if he really tries. I wonder where he picked up on this as I'm careful not to say this to my students because I know it's mostly a load of crap if taken too literally. A part of me hopes Justin finds some truth in that line. I hope he learns that he could do the unthinkable if he really tries---like making it to school on time, passing his classes, graduating from high school. And I hope this drives him back to school sometime soon.

I don't know what will become of Justin. But I do know that he's more than just a high school drop-out...he's an unforgettable student. I hope my memories of him will push me to invest deeply in students no matter how many times they frustrate me or miss my class.

*I changed the name of this student to keep in line with confidentiality.