Divorced Before 30

There were many upsides to living with Megan. She was a Ph.D. student who loved watching silly shows like “So You Think You Can Dance.” She loved my dog. She wasn’t around all the time (no matter how much you love a roommate, this is always a good quality). And, she was a great running partner. A couple times a week, we’d run together at the crack of dawn, winding our way through the city streets to the path along the Mississippi.

I was training for Grandma’s Marathon, a beautiful run along Lake Superior that I’d done twice before. Minnesota’s North Shore holds a special place in my heart. When my brothers and I were kids, our family didn’t do Disney. We did tents, hikes, lakes, and rivers. I loved zipping up my flannel-lined sleeping bag after a long day of eagle sighting and marshmallow roasting, and the boys would howl with laughter as I told crazy bedtime stories about a woodchuck named Armando. If we got lucky, we could hear a loon calling from the lake. If we were less fortunate, we could hear a mosquito motoring around our tent.

So I loved the North Shore, and I’d decided to run the 2007 Grandma’s to prove to myself that I still had it at thirty. On a routine morning run with Megan during my taper phase, we debated various strategies for running a good marathon. I’d never been a particularly crafty runner. Megan was a major strategist when it came to the elusive personal record, but she admitted that she’d rarely been able to stick to her well-thought-out plans.

I’d had a couple of great marathon experiences, too—personal battles where I’d been a woman on a mission, dedicating each of the last five miles to one of my family members. Even during these “good” races, I’d felt tremendous pain, so I’d come to expect to feel terrible at some point during every marathon. I’d learned to approach the pain differently, to believe that if I just stayed focused, I might run right out of it, just like I ran into it. Such is life. The setbacks are going to hit you—the question is, will you be ready for them?

In mid-June, I ran Grandma’s Marathon with three of my girlfriends. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, but after five or so miles, I felt like I’d already run fifteen. Generally speaking, this is not a good sign. I kept telling myself to hang on, that I might feel better after a few more miles. Counterintuitive, I know, but it often works. My friends kept saying “we can do this,” but my legs were saying, “no, we can’t.” I stayed in our little pack for as long as I could stand it, but eventually, I let the others go.

I was determined to finish, even if I had to walk the whole damn way. Josh and Dad were on the course in a couple of places, and I was both embarrassed and thrilled to see them. It’s important to have people in your life who will still cheer for you when your best effort is a hobble. All in all, the marathon was a disappointment, but I didn’t let it crush me. I hurried back to the Twin Cities to attend a late afternoon wedding with Josh and my parents. As I hit the dance floor that night, I gained some perspective.

I had run a terrible marathon that morning, but I was dancing. At a wedding. And I was happy. I’d been through far worse in the past year than a piss-poor 26.2 miles. I’d seen rock bottom and had fought my way back up. Did I still have it at thirty? Hell yes, I did.

*****

Blog Housekeeping

This one’s dedicated to Megan, whose birthday was yesterday. She still has it at 32, and I just know this is going to be a great year for her.

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