My First Marathon (Part 2)

By Julie Zack Yaste

The first 7 miles were fairly easy.I kept my pace slow and walked the water stops. My husband, Cameron, promised to check on me at miles 7 and 19. When I saw Cameron at mile seven, I gave him a kiss and a high-five and then shuffled on. I was doing it. I could do it.

But then, around mile 14, I started breaking down.I had walked a little before 14, but by this point, I was walking several minutes at the start of each mile, then trudging along to the end of it. By mile 17, all I could think about was Cameron and the car at mile 19.

“Just get to 19,” I thought. “Then you can quit. Maybe fake an asthma attack. Nobody would blame you then.”

I wasn’t thinking clearly anymore. I couldn’t think at all, really.All of my energy was focused on getting to Cameron so I could go home. A speed-walker passed me.

A little past mile 19, I saw a bright pink “GO JULIE!” sign. Cameron. Car.Done.I got to my husband, wrapped my sweaty arms around him.

“It hurts!” I cried. “What hurts?” he asked with concern.

“Everything!” I responded. I had hit the wall. My whole body throbbed. I thought my options were quitting or death.

Cam put an arm around me to help hold me up and started walking me forward. I tried to sit in the road a few times, but he peeled me off the ground.He walked with me for more than a mile. He made me repeat: “I can do it.” I didn’t feel like I could, but I said it over and over.

Around mile 20, a small patch of fence arose on the side of the road. I sat on it and sobbed. Cameron knelt before me and said the car was farther than the finish. The finish was the only way forward.It was a lie, but I believed it. Cam helped me to stand. We embraced, then I slowly plodded off.

For the next 6.2 miles, I jogged five minutes then walked five. It was slow going, but I hit my groove.

I was one of the last people to cross the line, but I finished — and Cameron was there with tears in his eyes. My cousin Jenna had finished an hour before me. We all hugged.

“You did it!” Jenna exclaimed.

But I didn’t do it. We did it. Cameron was as much to blame for my step over the finish line as I was.

I wish I could say the marathon was just a mental barrier I had to scale.It wasn’t. It was just as much, if not more, physical as it was mental. It took all of my strength — and some of Cameron’s— to get me to the end.But I crossed that finish, and for more than a week, I kept the finisher medal in my purse as a reminder of just how much my body and mind can do.

I’m not afraid of many things anymore. Whenever I question my abilities to face something new, I remind myself: “I’m a marathoner!”

If I can do that, as long as Cameron is with me, I can do anything.

Editor’s note: Visit metrohnl.com to read the first part of the essay, which appeared in the Nov. 26 issue.

Julie Zack Yaste has moved around the country with her husband, a naval officer. Currently, she works at an engineering firm in Honolulu.

“A SHARED SPACE” is an ongoing reader-submitted column. To share your story, email coconnor@midweek.com