Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Ends and Beginnings...
My alarm went off at 4:45a.m. this morning, but I was awake long before that. I slept last night, but woke up at least once an hour, frightened that I had slept through the alarm, afraid that I may sleep through one of the most important days of my life. I waited for the alarm before getting out of bed, then showered, applied the slightest bit of under-eye concealer and mascara (I didn't want the mortician to be horrified if my body should arrive at the morgue later in the day), dressed in my laid-out clothes, ate half of a plain bagel and half of a banana, drank half of a lemon-lime Gatorade, and waited for Caroline to pick me up.
At 5:15 Caroline picked me up from my house, along with her very sweet and supportive husband and sister, and we drove to the West Falls Church Metro where we boarded a metro train jam-packed with runners. When we finally made it to the Runner's Village we waited in the porta-potty line, twice, to try to make sure that we had fully emptied our bladders.
At about 7:45 or so we made our way to our corral at the start line. You line up based on your expected finish time. Well, most of us do. This is the Marine Corps Marathon and many disabled veterans race too, in wheelchairs and with hand-cycles. What they do is so much harder than what we do. They start first. Then the competitive runners are behind them. Then the rest of us start. From the time the start gun (cannon) went off, it was another 16 minutes before we actually crossed the start line.
As we waited in the start corral, I noticed eyeryone else's D-tag (chip attached to your shoe to track your time) had their bib number printed on it, and mine didn't. I figured I needed to spin the little tag thingy around, so I did. No bib number. Caroline and I realized at the same time what I had done. I attached the direction half and not the half with the chip in it. I immediately knew the consequences of this mistake. There would never be an official record of me having run the race. If I finished I would have the pictures (MarathonFoto takes pictures of you along the way), and I would have the medal, but no record of my splits and of my finish time. I wanted to vomit, right there, before I had taken one step of the 26.2 miles. How in the hell was I going to qualify for Boston now? Seriously though, it was in that moment that I realized that it didn't matter. I couldn't care less. This was never about anyone else. This was something I was doing for me. If no one else ever knows I did it, or cares that I did it, what difference could that possibly make to me? Logistically, however, it made it impossible for my mother and trainer/friend to have any idea of where I was going to be so that they could follow me along the route.
Everyone that I know that has run this race before told me about all the adrenaline that was going to have on race day, I don't know what that feels like, but I was excited - like I was going on an f-ing vacation or something (it did not take me long to understand that this was not going to feel like a vacation.) The gun (cannon) goes off, and here we go, well, 16 minutes later anyway. Felt good. Start off by the Pentagon, then on some parkway (maybe Spout Run Parkway), and through the Palisades and down M-street in Georgetown. That was the first 9 or 10 miles I think. I had finally warmed up and took Andy's Under Armor shirt off. The weather was beyond perfect. If I had called God up and requested a specific set of weather conditions, it could not have been better. It was cold in the very early morning, but by the time the sun was all the way up, it was truly beautiful.
I had heard that this race was a very entertaining event, and that proved to be delightfully accurate. There are spectators with signs, some with 80's outfits and Cindy Lauper on a boombox, groups of singers and bands, and other random things to keep your mind off of the pain. I think what I found to be the best entertainment was reading the shirts of other runners. Some were funny (a husband and wife - husband's shirt: "slow down jarhead" wife's shirt: "keep up shipmate", husband's shirt: "i married a marine" wife's shirt: "i married a seaman", husband's shirt: "1st Marine Corps Marathon" wife's shirt "5th Marine Corps Marathon"), some were inspirational ("Today is My Birthday, I am 50, 1st Marathon, Life is Good"), some were motivational ("Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body"), and some were sad (a lot of people were running in honor of a fallen soldier or loved one that had died).
By mile 12 my knee really hurt. At some point Caroline started to walk, and I thought, what the hell, I will too - we might have been 15/16 miles in by then. And that was when I knew it was really bad. I couldn't walk, it was a serious hobble, running was less painful - so I jogged next to Caroline who was speed-walking. This was pretty much how we finished out the race (Caroline did run more after that, but we slowed significantly because of my knee.) We saw Caroline's nephew (a chiropractor) and his wife, and he adjusted her back on the pavement and tried to help with my knee (it was the IT Band - whatever that is, was hurt). Almost immediately after that we saw my mom and Andy, which was nice, and we kept going.
"The Bridge," the 14th Street Bridge (which is literally about 2 miles long), must be "beat" by 1:15pm, or about 5 hours into the race. It starts at mile 20. Right before the bridge, we saw my mom and Andy again. After we passed them, Andy caught up with us (probably not too hard), and started to run with me. I thought he was just going to go a little way and then go back to my mom. No. He ran the entire rest of the race with me (up to the .2, when they make you get off if you are not an official runner). And that is the real story. He is 13 years old, was wearing skateboarding shoes, and ran 6 miles to support me. It took me months to get up to 6 miles. Halfway across the bridge he said, "I'm really proud of you mom," which was probably better than crossing the finish line. He never complained, never asked to stop, and was so sweet when he could tell I was really hurting.
My trainer/friend joined us on the other side of the bridge, and helped me through the those last four miles. After telling him how happy I was to see him I had to give him the big "P.S. - uh, you aren't getting text messages because I attached the direction tag instead of the chip tag to my shoe." He laughed, and said, "well, when I didn't get any texts I knew either the whole system was down or that you attached the tag incorrectly." Needless to say he was not surprised it was the later. By mile 23 I wanted to stop. Not to quit, per say, but just to stop, for the pain to stop. I don't know how I was putting one foot in front of the other. When I would want to stop he would take my hand long enough to get me going again. He pointed out that with every single step I was going farther than I had ever run before. It hurt.
We finished. Six Hours, Five Minutes, 27 Seconds. Which we only know because Caroline did attach her chip, and not the directions. We ran up the final hill and the last short straight segment and it was finally over. A very nice marine grabbed me (my knee was exploding at this point), put a medal around my neck, and walked (almost carrying) me to get ice. I took the ice, never had a chance to thank him, and went to get the finisher photo taken with Caroline. I found Ken (trainer/friend) and Andy, said bye to Ken (had his daughter's birthday party to attend, which meant he had to run 4.5 miles back to his car first), and then found my mom (who had been separated from Andy with his impromptu run).
So, this is it, the final blog entry. I will turn 30 years old on Tuesday, apparently running a marathon does not stop time. In the past five months I have run a marathon, raised over $2,300 to fight leukemia, somehow come to terms with the fact that 30 is going to happen.......
I think the only proper way to end this entry is with some thank-you's - to all the people without whom none of this would have been possible.
My Kids - You are the inspiration for everything good I have ever accomplished. Without any one of you I would be a ship lost at sea. I love you each more than you will ever know.
Andy - In 20 years, the only thing I will remember about this race is you running with me. You are my heart. I will not run this race again until we can run the whole thing together.
Mom - Thanks for putting up with me for 30 years. Which is like a marathon, but longer, harder, and with no medals or marines at the end.
Caroline - I love running with you. I never would have made it so far without your support. You are super-mentor, you rock. Thank you the most for what you said at the end of the race today, that was the best compliment I have ever received.
Everyone Else - Thank you for your support, your donations, all of your kind words, and for being a part of this journey with me.
The End.
At 5:15 Caroline picked me up from my house, along with her very sweet and supportive husband and sister, and we drove to the West Falls Church Metro where we boarded a metro train jam-packed with runners. When we finally made it to the Runner's Village we waited in the porta-potty line, twice, to try to make sure that we had fully emptied our bladders.
At about 7:45 or so we made our way to our corral at the start line. You line up based on your expected finish time. Well, most of us do. This is the Marine Corps Marathon and many disabled veterans race too, in wheelchairs and with hand-cycles. What they do is so much harder than what we do. They start first. Then the competitive runners are behind them. Then the rest of us start. From the time the start gun (cannon) went off, it was another 16 minutes before we actually crossed the start line.
As we waited in the start corral, I noticed eyeryone else's D-tag (chip attached to your shoe to track your time) had their bib number printed on it, and mine didn't. I figured I needed to spin the little tag thingy around, so I did. No bib number. Caroline and I realized at the same time what I had done. I attached the direction half and not the half with the chip in it. I immediately knew the consequences of this mistake. There would never be an official record of me having run the race. If I finished I would have the pictures (MarathonFoto takes pictures of you along the way), and I would have the medal, but no record of my splits and of my finish time. I wanted to vomit, right there, before I had taken one step of the 26.2 miles. How in the hell was I going to qualify for Boston now? Seriously though, it was in that moment that I realized that it didn't matter. I couldn't care less. This was never about anyone else. This was something I was doing for me. If no one else ever knows I did it, or cares that I did it, what difference could that possibly make to me? Logistically, however, it made it impossible for my mother and trainer/friend to have any idea of where I was going to be so that they could follow me along the route.
Everyone that I know that has run this race before told me about all the adrenaline that was going to have on race day, I don't know what that feels like, but I was excited - like I was going on an f-ing vacation or something (it did not take me long to understand that this was not going to feel like a vacation.) The gun (cannon) goes off, and here we go, well, 16 minutes later anyway. Felt good. Start off by the Pentagon, then on some parkway (maybe Spout Run Parkway), and through the Palisades and down M-street in Georgetown. That was the first 9 or 10 miles I think. I had finally warmed up and took Andy's Under Armor shirt off. The weather was beyond perfect. If I had called God up and requested a specific set of weather conditions, it could not have been better. It was cold in the very early morning, but by the time the sun was all the way up, it was truly beautiful.
I had heard that this race was a very entertaining event, and that proved to be delightfully accurate. There are spectators with signs, some with 80's outfits and Cindy Lauper on a boombox, groups of singers and bands, and other random things to keep your mind off of the pain. I think what I found to be the best entertainment was reading the shirts of other runners. Some were funny (a husband and wife - husband's shirt: "slow down jarhead" wife's shirt: "keep up shipmate", husband's shirt: "i married a marine" wife's shirt: "i married a seaman", husband's shirt: "1st Marine Corps Marathon" wife's shirt "5th Marine Corps Marathon"), some were inspirational ("Today is My Birthday, I am 50, 1st Marathon, Life is Good"), some were motivational ("Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body"), and some were sad (a lot of people were running in honor of a fallen soldier or loved one that had died).
By mile 12 my knee really hurt. At some point Caroline started to walk, and I thought, what the hell, I will too - we might have been 15/16 miles in by then. And that was when I knew it was really bad. I couldn't walk, it was a serious hobble, running was less painful - so I jogged next to Caroline who was speed-walking. This was pretty much how we finished out the race (Caroline did run more after that, but we slowed significantly because of my knee.) We saw Caroline's nephew (a chiropractor) and his wife, and he adjusted her back on the pavement and tried to help with my knee (it was the IT Band - whatever that is, was hurt). Almost immediately after that we saw my mom and Andy, which was nice, and we kept going.
"The Bridge," the 14th Street Bridge (which is literally about 2 miles long), must be "beat" by 1:15pm, or about 5 hours into the race. It starts at mile 20. Right before the bridge, we saw my mom and Andy again. After we passed them, Andy caught up with us (probably not too hard), and started to run with me. I thought he was just going to go a little way and then go back to my mom. No. He ran the entire rest of the race with me (up to the .2, when they make you get off if you are not an official runner). And that is the real story. He is 13 years old, was wearing skateboarding shoes, and ran 6 miles to support me. It took me months to get up to 6 miles. Halfway across the bridge he said, "I'm really proud of you mom," which was probably better than crossing the finish line. He never complained, never asked to stop, and was so sweet when he could tell I was really hurting.
My trainer/friend joined us on the other side of the bridge, and helped me through the those last four miles. After telling him how happy I was to see him I had to give him the big "P.S. - uh, you aren't getting text messages because I attached the direction tag instead of the chip tag to my shoe." He laughed, and said, "well, when I didn't get any texts I knew either the whole system was down or that you attached the tag incorrectly." Needless to say he was not surprised it was the later. By mile 23 I wanted to stop. Not to quit, per say, but just to stop, for the pain to stop. I don't know how I was putting one foot in front of the other. When I would want to stop he would take my hand long enough to get me going again. He pointed out that with every single step I was going farther than I had ever run before. It hurt.
We finished. Six Hours, Five Minutes, 27 Seconds. Which we only know because Caroline did attach her chip, and not the directions. We ran up the final hill and the last short straight segment and it was finally over. A very nice marine grabbed me (my knee was exploding at this point), put a medal around my neck, and walked (almost carrying) me to get ice. I took the ice, never had a chance to thank him, and went to get the finisher photo taken with Caroline. I found Ken (trainer/friend) and Andy, said bye to Ken (had his daughter's birthday party to attend, which meant he had to run 4.5 miles back to his car first), and then found my mom (who had been separated from Andy with his impromptu run).
So, this is it, the final blog entry. I will turn 30 years old on Tuesday, apparently running a marathon does not stop time. In the past five months I have run a marathon, raised over $2,300 to fight leukemia, somehow come to terms with the fact that 30 is going to happen.......
I think the only proper way to end this entry is with some thank-you's - to all the people without whom none of this would have been possible.
My Kids - You are the inspiration for everything good I have ever accomplished. Without any one of you I would be a ship lost at sea. I love you each more than you will ever know.
Andy - In 20 years, the only thing I will remember about this race is you running with me. You are my heart. I will not run this race again until we can run the whole thing together.
Mom - Thanks for putting up with me for 30 years. Which is like a marathon, but longer, harder, and with no medals or marines at the end.
Caroline - I love running with you. I never would have made it so far without your support. You are super-mentor, you rock. Thank you the most for what you said at the end of the race today, that was the best compliment I have ever received.
Everyone Else - Thank you for your support, your donations, all of your kind words, and for being a part of this journey with me.
The End.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Final Countdown
This will be my final blog entry until after the race tomorrow. 13 hours until the gun goes off. In the past 3 days I have shifted from a state of anxiety to an acute awareness of the pain that my body will endure tomorrow, to an acceptance of that pain and unwavering will to succeed.
I spent the week analyzing every thing I ate, everything I drank, every step of my last short runs, my overall preparation for the race, and my trainer/friend. I did everything right, if I fail it will not be because of how I prepared...in fact, it will be because I died because that is the only way in hell I will fail. I have not eaten one bite of red meat since the Five Guys incident before the miserable 18 mile run, and have had almost no fat this week. I drank a lot of lemon-lime Gatorade and less than one coke a day. My trainer and I ran 4 miles on Tuesday, 5 miles on Thursday, and I did my last 4 mile run before the race on my own this morning.
Last night my trainer/friend picked me up from school (work), and took me to the Washington Convention Center downtown to pick up my race bibs and D Tag for my shoe. Number 31898. Despite all of the excitement surrounding the whole convention center experience, with thousands of runners all there to pick up their packets, I was only focused on one person, my trainer. He held my hand and took me out for dinner and wine after. He dropped me off at my car (still at school), and kissed me good night. He confuses me. I went to bed early, assuming I would not be able to sleep much tonight.
Everything is laid out and prepared for me to get dressed in the morning. Black running skirt, long-sleeve black Under Armor shirt, TNT singlet, and matching purple sports bra. I bought new tighter running socks today and a little waist belt with expandable pouch (for tampons, because of course my period started this morning exactly 24 hours before the race, tums, and antibacterial hand wipes.) I have body glide, my bibs, safety pins, and a throw-away-at-mile-3- fleece in another pile. It might rain, so I gave my mom a pair of socks in case I need to change them along the way. I gave my trainer/friend(?) a pair of sweats, a long sleeve tee shirt, and another pair of socks for me to change into after the race.
As I am about to go to sleep, I reflect back over the last 5 months. I couldn't run a mile when this all began. Every run from 3 miles to 20 was a major accomplishment, after every new milestone I thought, "How will I ever run farther than that?" I have a completely new respect for my body, what it is capable of, how it changes in direct correlation to how it is treated and used. There is something empowering about not having given up, despite all the times that I wanted to quit, to stop. I loved that I haven't had to do it all alone, which is the complete opposite of every other aspect of my life. This process has taught me so much about myself, about a strength I had forgotten. And, thanks to my trainer/friend, I have also developed a patience that is well beyond my natural limits.
11 Hours, 42 Minutes, 34 Seconds.
I spent the week analyzing every thing I ate, everything I drank, every step of my last short runs, my overall preparation for the race, and my trainer/friend. I did everything right, if I fail it will not be because of how I prepared...in fact, it will be because I died because that is the only way in hell I will fail. I have not eaten one bite of red meat since the Five Guys incident before the miserable 18 mile run, and have had almost no fat this week. I drank a lot of lemon-lime Gatorade and less than one coke a day. My trainer and I ran 4 miles on Tuesday, 5 miles on Thursday, and I did my last 4 mile run before the race on my own this morning.
Last night my trainer/friend picked me up from school (work), and took me to the Washington Convention Center downtown to pick up my race bibs and D Tag for my shoe. Number 31898. Despite all of the excitement surrounding the whole convention center experience, with thousands of runners all there to pick up their packets, I was only focused on one person, my trainer. He held my hand and took me out for dinner and wine after. He dropped me off at my car (still at school), and kissed me good night. He confuses me. I went to bed early, assuming I would not be able to sleep much tonight.
Everything is laid out and prepared for me to get dressed in the morning. Black running skirt, long-sleeve black Under Armor shirt, TNT singlet, and matching purple sports bra. I bought new tighter running socks today and a little waist belt with expandable pouch (for tampons, because of course my period started this morning exactly 24 hours before the race, tums, and antibacterial hand wipes.) I have body glide, my bibs, safety pins, and a throw-away-at-mile-3- fleece in another pile. It might rain, so I gave my mom a pair of socks in case I need to change them along the way. I gave my trainer/friend(?) a pair of sweats, a long sleeve tee shirt, and another pair of socks for me to change into after the race.
As I am about to go to sleep, I reflect back over the last 5 months. I couldn't run a mile when this all began. Every run from 3 miles to 20 was a major accomplishment, after every new milestone I thought, "How will I ever run farther than that?" I have a completely new respect for my body, what it is capable of, how it changes in direct correlation to how it is treated and used. There is something empowering about not having given up, despite all the times that I wanted to quit, to stop. I loved that I haven't had to do it all alone, which is the complete opposite of every other aspect of my life. This process has taught me so much about myself, about a strength I had forgotten. And, thanks to my trainer/friend, I have also developed a patience that is well beyond my natural limits.
11 Hours, 42 Minutes, 34 Seconds.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Countdown
I can sum up the past 20 days by stating that my training has been more consistent than my blogging. Good thing.
Before I even recap the last, wow, almost month now - I must begin by addressing the fact that the race is four days away. 4 days, 11 hours, 8 minutes and five seconds to be exact, but who's counting? I am somewhere between anxious and confident, probably more anxious. People keep asking me if I am ready, and I tell them the truth, I have no idea. They think I am being coy or modest (clearly not people that know me), but the reality is that I really have no idea.
20 Miles
I did finally conquer the 20 mile run. Caroline and I went out the week after the miserable 18 miles. We started at 5:30 in the morning at mile marker 27.5 (by the Carolina Bros.) and were going out 10 west and back. I did everything right the week leading up to the run, and was almost looking forward to it, until the alarm went off at 5:10 in the morning. It was cold, not raining but enough moisture in the air to make the cold seem colder, yet what was most startling was how dark it was. By the time we were a half mile in there was absolutely no light coming from anywhere, even the moon and stars were covered by the clouds. The only motions, the only sounds, came from us. Caroline's husband set up a water stop for us at mile 7 (so also mile 13), which was so nice - he brought us Gatorade, pretzels, sport beans - definitely a welcome stop. We were making really good time, and I knew from the point that we hit mile 8 that I was good for the 20. Miles 8 through 10 was one gradual yet grueling hill past Leesburg toward Purcellville, Caroline warned me. At first I thought, no big deal, but seriously after like a mile of never ending hill it gets a little obnoxious. Funny enough, when we turned around and ran back down that hill it felt flat. At about mile 16 we started working in walking intervals, but I felt that I didn't need to, which is good. We finished in 4 hours and 7 minutes (I think).
Iwo Jima
The last Team in Training group run was at the Iwo Jima memorial in Arlington, which is basically where the marathon starts and stops. We ran 8 miles, the last four of which are the same as the last four of the marathon. Caroline was not there, so I ran it alone, and probably started too quickly. Still though, it was a comfortable run. The course ran next to Arlington National Cemetery and then along the Potomac River with the DC landscape across the water. I hope that I am able to relax and enjoy the run on race day like I was able to do during this training run. Oh, and my big lesson on this day, I would rather pee in front of everyone or on myself or on myself in front of everyone, before I ever use a porta-potty in Gravelly Point Park again. I think I am going to puke in my mouth from thinking about it. Dry heave pause. Seriously.
Final Run
Last Sunday was my final training run. It was supposed to be 6 miles, on our own, there was no group run. I borrowed my son's IPod (which is about 23 versions newer than mine, oh, and he knows how to put songs on it unlike me), and started out on my last Sunday run before the race. When I got to the turn around point I decided I would go out for an extra half mile, for 7 total. And when I got to that mile marker I decided to go out for one more half, for 8 total. It felt good. It was cold, but my legs warmed up about 1.5 miles into the run. The bonus was that I was incapable of changing songs on his IPod, and thus was forced to listen to an entire "Hollywood Undead" album, which was not nearly as bad as I expected it to be when I spent 5 minutes trying to run and simultaneously figure out how to skip songs.
And then I was done. This week will consist of a couple of very short runs, no cross training, and a lot of carbs (yeah) and Gatorade. 4 days 10 hours 7 minutes and 15 seconds.
Before I even recap the last, wow, almost month now - I must begin by addressing the fact that the race is four days away. 4 days, 11 hours, 8 minutes and five seconds to be exact, but who's counting? I am somewhere between anxious and confident, probably more anxious. People keep asking me if I am ready, and I tell them the truth, I have no idea. They think I am being coy or modest (clearly not people that know me), but the reality is that I really have no idea.
20 Miles
I did finally conquer the 20 mile run. Caroline and I went out the week after the miserable 18 miles. We started at 5:30 in the morning at mile marker 27.5 (by the Carolina Bros.) and were going out 10 west and back. I did everything right the week leading up to the run, and was almost looking forward to it, until the alarm went off at 5:10 in the morning. It was cold, not raining but enough moisture in the air to make the cold seem colder, yet what was most startling was how dark it was. By the time we were a half mile in there was absolutely no light coming from anywhere, even the moon and stars were covered by the clouds. The only motions, the only sounds, came from us. Caroline's husband set up a water stop for us at mile 7 (so also mile 13), which was so nice - he brought us Gatorade, pretzels, sport beans - definitely a welcome stop. We were making really good time, and I knew from the point that we hit mile 8 that I was good for the 20. Miles 8 through 10 was one gradual yet grueling hill past Leesburg toward Purcellville, Caroline warned me. At first I thought, no big deal, but seriously after like a mile of never ending hill it gets a little obnoxious. Funny enough, when we turned around and ran back down that hill it felt flat. At about mile 16 we started working in walking intervals, but I felt that I didn't need to, which is good. We finished in 4 hours and 7 minutes (I think).
Iwo Jima
The last Team in Training group run was at the Iwo Jima memorial in Arlington, which is basically where the marathon starts and stops. We ran 8 miles, the last four of which are the same as the last four of the marathon. Caroline was not there, so I ran it alone, and probably started too quickly. Still though, it was a comfortable run. The course ran next to Arlington National Cemetery and then along the Potomac River with the DC landscape across the water. I hope that I am able to relax and enjoy the run on race day like I was able to do during this training run. Oh, and my big lesson on this day, I would rather pee in front of everyone or on myself or on myself in front of everyone, before I ever use a porta-potty in Gravelly Point Park again. I think I am going to puke in my mouth from thinking about it. Dry heave pause. Seriously.
Final Run
Last Sunday was my final training run. It was supposed to be 6 miles, on our own, there was no group run. I borrowed my son's IPod (which is about 23 versions newer than mine, oh, and he knows how to put songs on it unlike me), and started out on my last Sunday run before the race. When I got to the turn around point I decided I would go out for an extra half mile, for 7 total. And when I got to that mile marker I decided to go out for one more half, for 8 total. It felt good. It was cold, but my legs warmed up about 1.5 miles into the run. The bonus was that I was incapable of changing songs on his IPod, and thus was forced to listen to an entire "Hollywood Undead" album, which was not nearly as bad as I expected it to be when I spent 5 minutes trying to run and simultaneously figure out how to skip songs.
And then I was done. This week will consist of a couple of very short runs, no cross training, and a lot of carbs (yeah) and Gatorade. 4 days 10 hours 7 minutes and 15 seconds.
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