When Pigs Fly

I recall with a certain clarity all the times Monkers has said to me, ”I can’t run”. I can also recall with similar clarity, the times I responded “If I can do it, ANYONE can”.

I’m not sure I remember when she decided to give it a try, but now you might as well call her Forrest Gump. The weekend before last, she completed her fist Marathon. This wasn’t just any marathon; it was the Flying Pig Marathon, which is known for its un-relenting, gravity-defying, ankle-breaking inclines.

Despite the downpour, the whole family was there to cheer her on. I mean if she can RUN in the rain, the least we can do is endure STANDIND in it.

As with all things, my family took on the challenge of supporting our runner with all the gusto we posses. We were adorned with custom “Run Meg Run” t-shirts, purple helium balloons and one pink pig-shaped balloon. There were signs, route maps and caravans.



It was a true family adventure, meeting up at our designated spot at 6:00 AM. OK maybe 6:30 is a more accurate report. We parked, shared some coffee under the ONE umbrella, handed out balloons and departed to mile marker 5. We fought the rain for the first 10 minutes. The rain won, and we resigned to be wet, but enthusiastic.



We almost missed her at mile marker 5, but she saw us. She ran through the racers to give Jack a hug, and we all shared an explosion of screaming and cheering. That got the adrenaline going. The group was off to mile marker 11.

I’ll leave out the part about getting lost and looking for a bathroom... We arrived at the next point in time to meet up with an even bigger group of Monker supporters. After about 15 mins we see her again - two more minutes of screaming, cheering and excitement. It was beginning to feel like a scavenger hunt, the payoff being the quick burst of excitement each time we saw her.



We were off to mile marker 21, but not before consulting the map AND finding a proper bathroom (more proper than the side of I-71 that is A-hem).

We made it to the next location quickly, which ment a longer wait for the payoff. Lucklily we positioned ourselves under an overpass so we could stay relatively dry. By this point my feet were buckets of water, my jeans had sucking the moisture up to my knees.

We waited. We saw her. We cheered, giddy with excitement.


We moved on to the finish line.


I wish I could say I have an amazing picture of her crossing the finish line, but there were too many people milling about.
SHE DID IT. SHE WAS AMAZING, Come to find out, she had a hurt ankle to boot.
We all went back to her house (that had been readily decorated with aforementioned purple balloons) and celebrated.
So proud of you Monkers!
It all inspires me to get back into running – if I can find the time.