Rouge-Orleans…If you’re not from the South, it takes you a minute to realize the significance of the name. But when you tell someone from, say … South Dakota or Idaho … that you’re running from Baton Rouge to New Orleans, even without any frame of reference, their first reaction is, “Dang, how far is that?” The same reaction comes from most Louisianians – folks who have only driven from Baton Rouge to New Orleans (and who are not especially fond of the drive).

Then…when you tell them that it is 126.2 miles and that you have 42 hours to do it – after they get past the “Are you nuts?” look – their next question is, “Do you sleep during any of that?”

I live in Boise, Idaho, now, but I spent the first 34 years of my life in Shreveport, Louisiana. So, when I found out about this race, I knew I had to do it. Plus, I told my husband Mark, “Since I’ve already run a couple of 100s, this is the next logical step.” We had a few discussions about the word “logical,” but to those of us who love to do these things, we understand perfectly the logic of it. You can’t succeed beyond your wildest expectation unless you have some wild expectations to begin with. I think this race qualified.

So, I signed up, assembled my crew (friends from Idaho, Ohio, Indiana, and South Dakota), and taught them all how to say “Laissez les bontemps rouler!” One of my friends – Joan, from Indiana – also signed up for the solo event, so our crew was in for double duty.

In addition to never having run this far before, neither had I ever started a race at 8 pm. While there was some degree of anxiety about running 126.2 miles, the main stream of anxiety stemmed from the idea of running through 2 nights. This was definitely going to be an adventure. But…I told myself that everything is hard before it is easy. However, on this occasion, it ended up being the other way around.

John Steinbeck defines traveling is “the urge to be someplace else.” But in this case, true traveling was starting out at 8 o’clock at night, knowing the miles ahead would be brand new and consist of people, places, and experiences unpredictable and unknowable.

And so it began at 8 pm on Friday … What a bizarre beginning to a weekend that got crazier by the hour.

Joan and I had decided to stick together for the first night, and we kept our pace at regular intervals of run 10 minutes, walk 2. That worked for the most part except for the sections where the levee was apparently being worked on, and we had to run on the sloped sides. Joan managed to stay on both feet, and I only slipped down once, hitting my face on my watch and getting a fat lip.

“Fall down 7 times, get up 8.” – Chinese proverb

The first night seemed to go by rather fast, and as it is with other events where you run through the night, the sunrise rejuvenated us. A couple hours after sunrise, Joan and I split up to do our own thing. That was the last I saw of Joan until she crossed the finish line, but I was getting regular updates on her progress.

The day was cold and windy, but beautiful. And, again, it doesn’t seem like 10 more hours have gone by when you’re out “in it.” Everything up to this point had been going pretty smoothly – and rather uneventful. Lori made sure that she worked her Ki-Hara magic on me every 4 hours, and I was feeling good. Just out there running, eating, drinking, talking to other runners, and stopping every 4 hours for my treatment.

At one point during the day, I decided I would call my son Daniel – I think I was around mile 65. I told him that I was past the halfway mark, but I had many miles to go. His immediate response to me – simply the reiteration of something I have said to him for SO many years – was, “How do you eat an elephant?” It came out so naturally that it seemed he had been waiting for the perfect time to give it back to me. His “one-bite-at-a-time” reminder came back to me over and over in that second half – especially in that never-ending trek around the park to the finish line.

Then the 2^nd night fell, and the game changed. It was dark and cold, and I was getting tired.

Still…I kept telling myself: Once you make an unequivocal decision to cast off mental limitations and put your heart into accomplishing a goal, your success is guaranteed. As long as you don’t quit.

I rolled into the 80+ mile aid station around 6 pm where Sparkle, my pacer, was ready to go. Lori worked her magic – again. By this time, it was getting really cold, so I added a few extra layers, ate some warm food, and headed out for ONLY 46 more miles.

It was somewhere around 27 or 28 hours that things started to get a little crazy. My brain started telling me that people are just not supposed to stay up 2 nights in a row. The caffeine would work for about 20-30 minutes after I drank it, and then I would feel like I was sleepwalking. Sparkle was telling stories, talking, and keeping me awake. But after awhile, she also started feeling the effects of sleep deprivation.

She had never run through the night before, nor had she ever gone over 43 miles! She had run 6 miles earlier in the day with Joan, so she was definitely going to get her PR on this trip.

The combination of sleep deprivation, general fatigue, the “devil wind” and the tricks of the lights all made for a sort of crazy, fun-house experience. The wind especially was relentless. Earlier that week, I had read in one of Brian Tracy’s books: “In any new or difficult venture, the roads are all uphill, and the wind is always in your face.” Ha! Five days earlier it was a metaphor – that night, it was both literal and figurative.

Sparkle ran just a ways ahead of me and would turn around every few minutes to make sure I hadn’t wandered down the side of the levee into the river. The lights were playing tricks on me, and though not true hallucinations (I realized I didn’t know what I was looking at, but I knew it wasn’t what it looked like – make sense?), I was seeing all sorts of strange things.

I saw exotic animals (that is, animals you don’t see along the Mississippi River) like elephants, lions, and bears – which turned out to be hedges in front of a building. (I still think they were topiaries, but Sparkle says no.) I saw little animals skittering across the running path, but the only animal we actually saw was one possum…and he took the stairs down to the water – which was a little weird. (We both saw that so I know it was real.) I also thought I saw my husband Mark, but as it turned out, it was a tree with a light pole behind it. It did look like a person…

It was around 2 am when we thought we saw Mark…and, all of the sudden, Sparkle runs across to the other side of the path and says, “Did you see that man run and jump in the river?” I thought, “Oh, Boy, my pacer is losing it.” Clearly, no one jumped into the river, but that laugh kept us awake and going for quite awhile.

About a half hour later, we’re running along, being rather quiet, and Sparkle says, “How do they keep that balloon suspended in exactly the same place without it moving?” Yikes! Another “moment” for my pacer: It was a water tower!

Night finally turned into morning, and once again, we were renewed. Just as darkness gave way to light, sleepiness turned to wakefulness, and everything just started to look and feel better. Thank goodness that everything in life goes in cycles of up and down, better and worse, progress and regress. Nothing continues indefinitely in the same way.

Sleepwalking gave way to general fatigue, and my singular focus was to get to the finish line. I was going to finish this thing – with plenty of time to spare. Even as we entered the park, nature provided one final “persistence test” just to see how much I really wanted it … I had to practically PASS the finish line and go – I don’t know how far – on that seemingly “never-ending” path to the finish line.

Our crew had been with us from the beginning – some 38 hours earlier. Mark was waiting at the finish line; Sparkle was still with me and had been all night; Mike, Karen, and Lori were still out there with Joan. All the course volunteers, the race director, and various other folks had been available to aid us in any way they could. Although no one can run your miles for you, no one does an event like this alone.

I never doubted that I would finish; however, I also never imagined how hard it would be. Ultimately, nature is kind to us – she never lets us see too far ahead. If we knew what was coming, we might never embark on such an undertaking.

Crossing the finish line, I felt joy, satisfaction, relief, and gratitude. All the bits of wisdom and sayings and words that I strive to live by on a daily basis had come to me in various forms in the past 38.5 hours. All the things I tell other people came to me in the precise moments when I needed them.

Leap and the net will appear. Failure is not an option. Act as if it were impossible to fail, and it will be. It’s not the events, but your reaction, that determines the quality of your life. What is the opportunity in this? Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change. Never wish for things to be easier – wish to be stronger and better. How you do anything is how you do everything. It doesn’t have to be FUN to be fun. And, of course, how do you eat an elephant?

It was truly a triumph for me to cross the finish line. The more important thing, however, was not the triumph, but the struggle. The triumph lasts but only a few seconds; the struggle lasted for 38.5 hours.

Every test we pass prepares us for something harder. Difficulties never end – they only change and get tougher as we grow. To succeed in the face of a difficult task, we must become someone we’ve never been before.

Less than 50% of the people who started the solo Rouge-Orleans did not complete the 126.2 miles. Yet no one failed. Success has many faces – all who started the race succeeded in doing whatever it was they were meant to do on that given weekend. They succeeded in running 50 miles or 95 miles or even 110 miles. We all achieved success when we toed the starting line.

That would be the Wild Idaho 50K and 50-Mile Endurance Runs. Nothing wimpy about these races! WIFKER/WIFMER was the brain child of wild man Trail Thrasher Ben Blessing. And Ben was counting his “blessings” as race day weather turned out perfect. You can check out the official results along with photos of the runners at http://runwildidaho.com.

I didn’t run it this year, but I arrived on the scene around 3 pm to start my shift at the Skunk Creek Road Aid Station. This was the turnaround for the 50K runners before they headed back DOWN the mountain to the finish line (7.5 miles away). The 50-milers got to come to our station twice, once around mile 33.5 and again around mile 43. Although they looked great the first time we saw them, they were even happier the 2nd time because they only had 7.5 miles more to go.

The climbs can only be described as “heinous,” but the scenery made it worth the climbs. (I can say this because I’ve run the 2nd half of the course – I’m sure the first half was quite beautiful also.) The scenery may not have been much consolation as the runners were dog tired on the climbs, but they all agreed at the finish line that it was indeed a spectacular course, in every sense of the word.

Next to actually running the race, I love working an aid station. I have done enough trail ultras to know how the runners feel, and sometimes, they just need someone who understands.

Ben did a super job as race director. An ultrarunner himself, he created the event from an ultrarunner’s viewpoint – ok, a crazy ultrarunner, but an ultrarunner nonetheless. He recruited family and friends to help support the runners…and by the time the race was over, everyone – runners, their families, and the volunteers – was part of the “family.”

With 30 runners, you know there were many stories. I didn’t get to see all the runners pass through our aid station, but I saw a lot. My friends Donna (with pacer Sparkle) and Heather finished their first 50Ks, and my friend Sam finished his first official 50-miler. Veteran ultrarunner Lynette used WIFMER as a training run in preparation for her 2nd 100-miler, the Bear (rated by Marathon & Beyond as the 5th hardest 100 in the US). Another crazy man, Dennis, rode his bike 90 miles to the race, was the Sweeper for the 50-miler, then rode his bike back home the next morning. Paul and Emily were additional support sweepers helping other runners – both also ran the whole course.

Although I didn’t know all the runners personally, I “know” who they are. They are the folks who keep going when they would really like to stop. They are the folks who believe that pain is inevitable but suffering is optional. They are the folks who stop to help a fellow runner who is struggling. They are the folks who fall down 7 times and get up 8. They are the folks who “dial in” a distance and have the perseverance and heart to reach their goal. They are ultrarunners.

Congratulations to ALL the runners in the WIFKER & WIFMER.

For the “normal” person, the answer to that question is, “Heck, no!” But to ultra trail runners looking to finish (not even win) a 100 or 50 mile trail run, the answer might be quite different.

I’m here to tell you … There’s no such thing as an “easy 100.”

Last weekend, with the support of a terrific crew, I completed the Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile Run in Huntsville, Texas, in 28 hours 38 minutes – my first 100-mile finish. The time limit was 30 hours – I had 1 hour 22 minutes to spare.

Rocky Raccoon consists of five 20-mile loops inside the Huntsville State Park. To some, that may sound a little boring, but to me, every loop was different. Starting out at 6 am in the dark, we couldn’t see the first hour of the root-covered course. What was so cool was to see a continuous line of head lamps snaking down the path – that is, when I could look up and see it. My eyes were focused primarily on the ground in front of me. Evidence that I can’t run on a rooty trail and look around at the same time is that I fell down twice in the first 4 miles. Right off the bat, I thought, “This is going to be a long day.” The good news is that I only fell down 4 more times in the next 96 miles!

Still energized with it being so early in the race, the sunrise continued to add to my energy and excitement. I settled into a nice easy pace and started meeting the other runners around me. It was Keith from Kankakee, IL, who threw out a hand to pull me up on my second fall. Later in the day, I had the opportunity to pass along a helping hand to several other runners who tripped on the roots.

My 2nd loop went great – still feeling strong when I got to the 40-mile aid station. I thought I was feeling a couple of hot spots on my feet where I might be getting a blister or two, but I didn’t want to take my shoes off and look. I heard a Navy seal say, “Pain is only pain if you acknowledge it.” I’m no Navy seal, but that came into my head at that moment, so I refused to acknowledge it, and guess what? It went away. Back out for loop number 3.

I knew that it would get dark on this loop, so I flipped my hat around and strapped on the head lamp. I think it was around mile 50 when it started to get dark…and it was really dark. I was pretty much out there by myself as the field had spread out a lot over 20 miles. But I loved it. I have discovered that night running is a quite peaceful experience. I had actually been looking forward to this part of the run. As it got darker, I heard the sounds of some deer (I think) running through the woods. And, when I got around to the lake, I heard the coolest animal sounds, especially the frogs (I think) who sounded like they were laughing at us crazy runners.

I had only one little episode during loop 3 that caused me a little distress – I got off course. I was following the glow sticks along the course and at the turns, but there was one place where I was supposed to go straight following an arrow sign. At that intersection, there were both glow sticks and the arrow, but I totally missed the arrow because I was so focused on looking for the glow sticks. I ended up about a mile out of the way and had to back track to get to the next check point. Thank goodness it wasn’t a bigger miss than that.

I rolled into the 60-mile aid station around 9:20 pm a little stressed for getting off course, but still feeling strong. I traded in my shorts for long pants knowing that the night temperature would probably be in the upper 30s or low 40s and threw on a long-sleeved shirt. I also picked up Chuck (son-in-law), my first pacer. Originally, I had thought that I wouldn’t need a pacer until around mile 75, but with it being so dark out there – and getting off course – I figured a pacer would be a smart move. Although really prepared only to run about 12.5 miles with me, Chuck was thrilled at the chance to put in some more miles, and happily came to my assistance. He ran the whole 4th loop with me – 20 miles more than he had originally planned on. Now that’s a great crew member.

Usually, Chuck is the one driving me crazy (in everyday life), but on loop 4 the roles were reversed. After the aid station at mile 72.5, I started getting a little wiggy about getting off course again. I kept saying, “I know we’re on the wrong course…this is what I did last time.” I would suddenly stop running and turn around as if looking behind me might help me figure out where we were … in the pitch dark in the forest. As we ran along – following the signage on the path, to every runner that went by (for a total of 8 runners), I asked, “Is this the right way to the Park Road aid station?” to which they all replied “Yes”  we were indeed on the right path. I, however, didn’t believe them. It was not until we spotted the previously missed arrow on the trail and I recognized where I made my wrong turn that I could feel sure that we were on the right path. Sure enough, we soon reached the Park Road aid station. What a relief.

At mile 80, I gave Chuck a break and picked up my husband Mark, my 2nd pacer. Mark was fresh (at 4 am fresh?), and he kept me on a nice pace. Traded Mark for Chuck again at the next aid station. I ran into a bit of a rough patch here as I had been running in the dark for about 11 hours now. I felt myself slowing down a bit, but I knew I couldn’t afford to slow down much since there was a 30-hour cutoff.

Around 7 am, a miracle happened…the sun came up. Around 90 miles, I felt a sudden burst of energy…and I started running again. We passed a couple of guys we had talked to earlier. One man was going for his 5th Rocky 100 finish…to be awarded his 500-mile “jacket.” As we passed him, he yelled encouragement at us, “Go for it … it’s all about the belt buckle!” We were inspired to run on.

At mile 93 or 94, I started slowing down again, and by this time, my eyes were burning. I wasn’t really sleepy, but my eyes were dry and tired from staying open for so long. At least they didn’t hurt…because there were many other parts that were beginning to hurt. Namely my feet. Imagine that. Every time I came down hard on a root, I felt a shock wave shooting through my brain. Youch!

We made our way to the last aid station where I made my final pacer exchange…I picked up Mark to come in with me on the final leg of the journey. Again, fresh as a spring flower, Mark’s cheerful disposition gave me the needed energy to go the final 5 miles. I had told him on his earlier leg that he might want to be thinking of some motivational things to throw at me on this last leg because I might literally be on my “last leg.” He kept up the pace and didn’t allow me to slow down too much reminding me that we were actually going to do “this thing” and the faster we went, the faster we would be finished. That was dang good motivation. As much fun as I was having, it was time for this party to be over.

As we rounded the last turn, we could see the finish line. You think the finish line of a marathon looks good? Try imagining the finish line of a 100-mile race. Even without the fanfare of a marathon…It definitely ranks up there. No wild cheers from the crowd. No sprinting across the finish line. You just cross the finish line and you’re done. The race director handed me my belt buckle, and I hugged my crew. I just ran 100 miles.

 You never do anything alone. It’s possible that I could have run 100 miles without my crew…but I wouldn’t even want to try. There is one “regular” crew member who couldn’t be with us physically on this trip but who was there in spirit. How many times did we say WWLD…What would Lori do? We were a team, and my success is their success. I cannot begin to thank them enough.

Throughout the 100 miles, I thought of Nancy Lonnegan, my 10th grade English teacher…”If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…” I do believe I kept my head.

But it was truly in the last 10 miles that I heard, “If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone…” and I said to them “Hold on!” It worked. I held on.

Tomorrow morning I head out to Huntsville, TX, for my 2nd attempt at running 100 miles. My running has been good. I’ve been cross-training and strength training. I’ve remained uninjured. So everything should be in place for a successful event.

Enter Sunday night (yes, 6 days before my race)…a stomach virus. Yikes! This same thing happened the week before I was to run the Bear 100 back in September. I haven’t had a virus in 20 years, and now I have had 2 in the last 6 months.

It’s not uncommon to catch a bug as you begin to taper after months of hard training. And, I figure I’ve actually been pretty lucky because this is only the 3rd time it’s ever happened to me in all my years of racing.

As I was in the throes of “the bug,” I honestly thought to myself, “I am so grateful that this is happening now instead of the night before the race.” I’m better now, and I’ll continue to feel better as the race gets closer because I have chosen to focus on good health instead of illness. But I know that, once again, I was being tested.

We are all constantly being tested…physically, mentally, emotionally. Ed Foreman says, “All the water in the world can’t sink a ship unless it gets on the inside.” It’s all about what we allow to enter our minds.

My 10th grade English teacher, Nancy Lonnegan, used to make us memorize poems (among other things), and some lines from Rudyard Kipling’s “If” have stayed with me for the past 35 years…I can’t remember the whole thing, but what I do remember has often helped me keep my head when all about me are losing theirs:

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…/If you can meet with triumph and disaster/And treat those two imposters just the same…/If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew/To serve your turn long after they are gone,/And so hold on when there is nothing in you/Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on’/If you can fill the unforgiving minute/With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run/Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it…”

This weekend I will be tested. My goal is to keep my head when all about me are losing theirs…

For all of us, it was our first time to visit New Mexico. And, though we had received numerous detailed emails from Susan Reynolds, the race director, we still didn’t know exactly what to expect. As it turned out, the event exceeded expectations.

Joan and I were staying at the Black Range Lodge in Kingston, Home of the Spit and Whittle Club.

Saturday we explored the trails a bit and got a taste of what the next day’s event would be like, and that night we went to the potluck pasta dinner at Susan’s house. 2010 marked the 5th running of the Ghost Town 38.5 … and the 2500th anniversary of the Battle of Marathon in Greece. In honor of the original long distance run, we were treated to Greek dancers before the pasta dinner.

Race morning the temperature was 32 degrees at the start. The first 6.3 miles climbed gradually uphill on the highway before we turned off at Junction Station and hit the trails.  At that point it was rolling hills (mostly up) until about 10.5 miles where we had our first significant downhill. From there on, it was steep ups and downs, rocks and ruts, snow and mud … and breathtaking vistas.

Having only run on trails for about a year and half now, I am still working on my confidence in flying on the downhills. I keep telling myself that I get better on every run. Most people dread the uphill sections – at this point, I do believe the downhills are still a little more challenging for me than the uphills.

The race time limit was 12 hours, and until you see the course, there is no way to predict what your time will be. Based on my previous trail races – none of which were this particular distance – I estimated that I could finish in under 10 hours (not that it really mattered). My real goals were to get in 8-10 hours on my feet, to take photos of the scenery, and to have a good time.

My basic trail running philosophy is to have a good time rather than to run a good time.

At the end of the day, I had accomplished all my goals: I ran a 9:01, I took lots of pictures, and I had a GREAT time.

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(It’s been a long time since I visited my own blog – I took a 6-month hiatus – my last entry was in July of last year before I actually attempted my first 100-mile event. As an update: I didn’t go the full 100, but I made 88 miles of it. Although many would think I would be disappointed with that, I was actually exhilarated that I was able to make 88 miles in the mountains. My next attempt at a 100-miler is on Feb 6 – more on that later. )

The answer: As much as you decide you want to have. And I had a TON of fun in my first 24-hour event.

A couple of weeks ago, I took a road trip from Boise to Laramie, Wyoming, to participate in this 24-Hour “race.” I use the word race loosely because for most ultrarunners, the event is not like the traditional race that most runners are accustomed to. It’s an event, a run, a run/walk even…but not really a race…except for a handful of the faster runners.

People often ask me, “You RUN for 24 hours?” or “You RUN for 65 miles?” Technically, the answer is “no – you have to take walk breaks.” And, the fact is, all ultrarunners walk part of the course. So, probably, a better title is “endurance event.” It’s all about endurance – of both body and mind.

At the Laramie 24-Hour endurance event, there were actually several “events”: a 12-hour, a 24-hour, and a 100-miler. I chose to participate in the 24-hour in preparation for my 100-mile event (the Bear 100) in September…to practice and experiment with clothes, shoes, socks, headlamps, flashlights, food, drink, sleep deprivation…and such things.

My two main goals were 1)to go through the whole night and 2)to go more miles than I had ever gone before. I had previously gone 62 miles, so I felt 65 was a reasonable goal. Speed was not a goal.  It is amazing what happens when you “dial in” a distance in your head – can you figure how many miles I went in Laramie? Yep, 65 miles.

The whole experience was terrific. Just the education of what worked and what didn’t was worth the 10-hour drive (each way).

Reid Delman, the race director, was great as were the volunteers. They took care of all the runners’ needs day and night. The course was well-marked, the food was super, and the cheerfulness of the volunteers helped to inspire the runners to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Reid puts on a number of events – his company is Gemini Adventures. Not only would I recommend his events to other runners, but also I plan to do another one sometime.

Two days ago, I ran all day – 13 hours, 42 minutes – to complete my first 100K (62 miles) trail race. Forty-five people were signed up for the race; 32 finished – 26 men, 6 women. The weather was perfect, the course was beautiful (plus extremely challenging), the volunteers were spectacular…and 62 miles is a long way to run.

The race consisted of 4 loops of 15.5 miles (25K) each. Although each loop was run over the same trail, no two loops were the same. There were very few flat sections on the course – you were either running up or down the whole time. And, when there was a short flat, the next hill was in sight. It was anything but boring.

The two elevation maps taken from my GPS are typical examples of the terrain – each is a one-mile segment of the course.

Although none of the individual climbs were brutal, total ascent for all 62 miles was about 12,000 feet. The total descent was about the same. We had to work the whole time – not too much relaxing and getting into a running rhythm.

But flat, easy paths do not build muscle. Flat, easy paths do not build character. Flat, easy paths do not challenge us. Flat, easy paths do not teach us life lessons.

Between us and anything significant, giants will be in our path. And each loop, the same hills seemed to get bigger. But there’s no going “around” the hills to avoid them – they have to be taken head on.

There was never a point in the race where I wanted to stop. That’s not to say there were not rough patches – there were many, and especially in the 4th loop, I could have sworn the number of hills doubled in both number and size.

I didn’t sign up for this race thinking it would be easy. And, it wasn’t easy. And, I didn’t go all the way to Canada to not finish what I set out to do. I was dedicated and passionate about reaching this milestone in my quest to run 100 miles this September.

Passion is what helps you when you have a great dream. Passion breeds conviction and commitment.  Passion is what motivates others to join you in your pursuit of your dream.

Thanks to all of you who have been with me in my pursuit with your good thoughts, good energy, and support. Thanks for helping me finish what I start.

In Andy Andrews’ book The Traveler’s Gift, David Ponder, the main character, is having a conversation with Christopher Columbus who is on his quest to “find” the New World. Columbus has been traveling for 64 days with no land in sight, yet his passion and belief that he will soon find the New World is as strong as the day he started. The men on his crew are getting restless and worried, and as Columbus tells his crewman, “Our only course is forward!” his crewman asks, “Is this realistic, Capitan? Will we find land?”

As Columbus puts his arm around the man’s shoulders he replies, “No – but then nothing great was every accomplished by a realistic person! We will find land! Yes! Yes! But that will be the least of your discoveries. You will find a heart for success that you did not know existed.”

When David asked Columbus what he meant by a “heart for success,” Columbus replies:

“Most people fail at whatever they attempt because of an undecided heart. Should I? Should I not? Go forward? Go back? Success requires the emotional balance of a committed heart. When confronted with a challenge, the committed heart will search for a solution. The undecided heart searches for an escape.”

I have trained…I have run two 50Ks and a 50-mile race in the past 6 months. That, however, is no guarantee that I can run 62 miles. However, I am confident that I will succeed. Like Columbus, my course has been charted. My destiny is assured. I have a decided heart.

Congratulations to Joan, my friend from Indiana, who knocked 6 minutes off her previous marathon time to score a PR at the Eugene Marathon – 5:23! Race day started out rainy and chilly, but about 30 minutes after the start, the skies cleared up and we had perfect running weather.

Joan is quite the success story. In 2002, she completed her first marathon…as a race walker. She trained with the Chicago Arthritis Foundation’s Joints in Motion program and walked the Chicago Marathon faster than many people can run it. Bitten by the marathon bug, Joan is now on a quest to run either a marathon or a half marathon in all 50 states! Eugene was marathon number 9!

Joan has started implementing the run/walk method of training, and it has paid off. Not only did she set a new personal record, but she also felt great the next day. She didn’t even have to walk down the stairs…backwards!

As a spectator on Sunday, I had the opportunity to see it all…the front runners who look like they aren’t even touching the ground and the ones at the end of the race whose goal is to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. All were an inspiration to me.

One thing that is so amazing about the marathon is that we’re all covering the same 26.2 miles in the same race.  It is a challenge at every level – some just cover the same amount of ground a little quicker. And, most runners have mutual respect and admiration for all their fellow runners and walkers.

Watching the finishers come in, I had to struggle to keep it together as I saw kids jump over the railing to run in with their mom or dad…grandkids running in with their grannies and grandpas, and parents and grandparents running in with their kids and grandkids.

Finishing a marathon is a huge accomplishment whether it’s the first or the 51st. And, they never get any easier.

So, Congratulations to Joan for finishing her 9th marathon…and congratulations to all those who crossed the finish line in Eugene!