This past Sunday was the final summer season event, the Nike Marathon in San Francisco. What a day! I went to cheer on my teammates with whom I've been training these past five months, and to help run them in at the last mile. I had to leave at 6:15am on Sunday in order to get up to the city and find a place on the course for optimal cheerleading. I went with my mentor, Ron, and we settled on a large hill around miles 8 and 9 on the course (near the Presidio coming out to the Cliff House) for the beginning of the day. We were dressed for running, had some hydration strapped to our backs, and were prepared to lose our voices.
The first wave of participants were the walkers. They had started at Union Square at 5:30...1 and 1/2 hours before the runners were scheduled to take off! They came ambling up the hill and it didn't get too lively, but the first thing I noticed was that there were so many purple jerseys! This is the signature clothing piece of the TNT runner, and I had forgotten that the Nike Marathon is a joint effort between Team in Training and Nike, so there were naturally going to be thousands of TNT runners/walkers from across the country. Plus, the majority of them were going to be women. So, for the next six hours, my cheers were filled with "Let's go, ladies!" and "Looking strong, girls!" - and it was odd when in slipped the occasional "Way to go, dude!" However, I think the men appreciated the individualized attention amongst the swarm of females.
The attitude during the first 10 miles of the race was considerably excitable and light. The runners were cheery, vocal, and waving - full of energy and not too sweaty either. We could chat a little bit, and here and there I ran alongside my friends, dispersing little bits of advice for the journey ahead: "Save it for mile 20 - everyone else is going to drop like flies at that point - conserve it now - drink a few cups at every aid station! - stick to your walk/run! - grit your teeth and push at the end! - see you at mile 25! - we're rooting for you!" They were feeling good, were unbelievably fresh in the legs, and prepared for anything. Little could I predict that mile 25 would be a while different cheerleading experience.
After warming up on the hill with five or six of my teammates who were competing, I headed down to mile 10 (on the Great Highway) and out to the finish. The finish had to be situated near the half marathon mark (13.1 miles), but the full marathoners went an extra loop back around near SFSU. The half marathoners looped up from the Great Highway into Golden Gate Park, and then back out to the finish, while the marathoners looped through the park, back out, past the finish, up towards Lake Merced via the Great Highway for the second half of their race, and then back out to the finish. I can only imagine the mental strength it took for the full marathoners to pass the finish area on their way out for the second half of their race.
The finish itself was located near the intersection of Fulton Street and the beach, and it took up nearly a mile with all the promotional tents, food tables, finisher memorabilia, and the mainstage where the bands were playing. Mile 10, however, was right near the Cliff House, and for those of you who are familiar with that viewpoint, it is quite breathtaking on a clear, sunny day such as yesterday was. The ocean pans out at the bottom of the hill, lapping at the sandy beach dotted with patrons, and the crest of the city lies just beyond that in the glinting sunlight, beautifully framed by the distant foothills of the surrounding mountains. While I breezed down this hill with a smile on my face, Ron was running our teammates down and travelling back up to catch the next group. Up there, cheering on the team, he said it was quite amusing to hear the constant steam of expletives from out-of-state participants while rounding the corner and coming face-to-face with the startlingly gorgeous scene before them. Ron heard the phrase "Holy S***!" more times than he can count...and he helped all of them record the Kodak moment more times than he cares to mention.
I moved in towards mile 25, which was as simple as jogging down from Mile 10 to the start of the park leg, and crossing the street to where the Mile 25 marker stood. How awful, I thought, to have to run out on your Mile 14, and have the finishers coming in from the other direction barely 100 feet across from you...you literally see how far you have yet to go!
By the time I got down to that area, it was around noon, and the first runners were coming in...the very strong runners. But as the next two hours passed, form and function degenerated in most participants, and by 1:30, some of the finishers were looking really haggard. These were the runners who burned everything up in the first half of the race, believing that the first 10 miles would be an indication of how their last 10 would go. They forget that the last 2.2 are the actual definition of the marathon.
It was very tough to try to cheer the runners on during this stage of their race. Many were silent, painful grimaces etched on their faces, others were in tears, and some were absurdly weaving back and forth. There were those who had to walk, there were some who pushed through while cursing up a storm, and still some who deliriously thanked you for running alongside them during those last few hundred feet. I hope that my cheers of "3 stoplights left!!" helped them then; I remember wanting only to see the actual finish line when I ran in Portland - for some reason, having a view of the finish will get you through the mental storm when you're on that last leg of the race. Most of the spectators were silent; I assume because when faced with those expressions of true grit and painful determination, you're just not quite sure what to say. However, I remembered that the simplest act of just clapping, merely showing your support, was truly appreciated during that last push for the finish.
As I helped run in some of the team members, I was struck by their strength and mental willpower. My brain was mostly mush when I was running into the Portland finish, that little voice in my head a booming loudspeaker "Finish. Finish. Push. Breathe." I could see them struggling against that same voice, their bodies ready to collapse from the repetitive pain of putting one foot in front of the other. And somehow, beyond all belief, they pushed. At the very end, the most inspiring of actions was that final give-all from a runner who was torn up, chewed up, and spit out by the grueling, unforgiving course. The statement was unspoken, but resonated deep within all and anyone who was there to watch it happen. It's a raw, pure glimpse of that which we try to define as the human spirit.
The runners streamed in until nearly 2pm, and the last walkers were escorted from behind by a police cavalcade. After the ceremonies and hugs and tears and bananas, we all headed out to get some more food, to shower, and prepare for the victory party. It was only when I finally sat back down in the car (after 6 hours and nearly 12 miles on foot), did I realize that I had forgotten to apply sunblock that morning. Thus, the nickname "Sunburn Sarah" was born.
For the rest of the evening, through the spectacular 10,000-person buffet dinner celebration at the Moscone Center, during the thumping DJ-inspired dance fest, and all the way to the after party at Jillian's at the Metreon, I was bowled over by looks of shock at my new skin tone: "Sarah, you are so RED!"
It was so unbelievable, people kept wanting to poke me and test out exactly how burned I was. (As if the grimace of pain on my face would give them a litmus test for the severity.) I had enough sense to apply ice packs and take some ibuprofen before we ate dinner, and while hydrating for the rest of the evening, I managed to temper the burn until I could get ahold of some aloe vera. The beautiful irony is that I work for a Cancer Center and know better than to stay in the sun with nothing less than SPF 30 for a maximum of an hour....
Hanging out with the team after the race, giggling at their limited range of movement, and commiserating with them on the intensity and immensity of completing the day's physical test, I smiled to myself as I thought about all the hard work we had completed for the past five months, all the early morning runs we conquered, and the triumph we shared in joining the "less than 1% of the population who have completed a marathon." As I looked around at the crowd, I couldn't believe that we could now call ourselves marathoners.
I was speaking with my running buddy, Cheytna, about the process of doing a marathon, of trying to define it for those who have yet to complete one:
She said that, at the beginning, you don't really have a reason for signing up for a marathon. Something just makes you do it, and you don't realize what an incredible journey you're about to have. The very idea is impossible to understand, or even focus on, and even while training, you're not conscious of how the race itself will change you. And then, one day, you wake up and you realize 'I've completed a marathon.' People will ask you to explain it, how it feels to have done it, but it's like trying to explain becoming a human being. The only thing you understand is what it feels like to have done it, to be changed in that manner.
Imagine being an astronaut, and preparing for space travel. You train and train hard, simulating what is going to happen, preparing for the unexpected and dangerous, dressing up as if, and planning out how to accomplish the journey. But the minute you step into that shuttle, strap in, and lift off, you embark on something so extraordinarily unimaginable to most people, you realize, right then, that no one has invented a way or words to express the experience. The only truth you know, the only proof that you have, is the feeling of the experience. Try as you might, your words fail you and you find yourself staring at someone who is staring back at you, the kinetic memory of an impossible feat struggling to express itself in a language you learn only by surviving a physical and mental monsoon. The feeling is there, but the appropriate words do not exist.
Then you find yourself out on the racecourse, cheering your teammates. You understand for the first time what 'unlimited potential' looks like, and your voice rises in your throat when you see someone complete a spectacular physical feat, understanding what they are experiencing, your own spirit igniting at the recognition of its mirror image in a stranger, and your humanity verified in the accomplishments of those who push themselves beyond the boundaries of what we know is possible. You become human, you become connected to all other humans, when you let out that shout in support of their spirit.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
Blood, Sweat, and Tears
The following posting will be very long. I'm warning you now, so that those of you who were just hoping for the highlights don't get frustrated with the details. Scroll down towards the end and you can brief yourself, if you have no time.
As I sit here and try my best to recall and relay the exhilaration and immensity of the marathon on Sunday, I'm a little at a loss for what to say. I'll try my best to take you with me on the incredible experience of the past 36 hours, but it's a little daunting.
I guess I'll start at the beginning of the end. As most of you have been following the blog since my training began, you know where I'm coming from and what this past weekend held in store for me. And the first answer to your question is "Yes. It was everything I expected and more than I could have imagined."
I had been nervous about the race a little bit, but not to the point of anxiety. We took off from San Jose on Saturday morning, a handful of Bay Area runners from the TNT team. We were a little groggy, a little snuffly, but in generally good spirits. We boarded the plane and taxied forever; the flight was scheduled to leave around 8:30, but we didn't take off until at least half past nine. When we finally landed in Portland, we stretched out; most of us had woken up by then, and we proceeded to the hotel with our luggage on a big old carrier bus. Arriving around 1pm, we checked-in and went out in search of food. This was my first look at Portland, and it was a charming city, I must admit. This time of year hints at fall foliage, and the weather is perfect "running weather" - you can wear a sweater if you're not running, but you won't cool off if you run in a light tee and shorts; there's a little breeze every now and then that bushes past, and the air is dry with the slightest hint of moisture.
We came across the registration expo at the nearby Hilton Hotel and stopped in to pick up our race packets, including our "bib" (the number you wear on your shirt) and our chips (a tiny device worn on the shoe that contains a sensor; you cross checkpoints along the race and your time is recorded via your chip). There were also a lot of companies with promotional flyers and handouts; I liked the honey sticks the best. We picked up our finisher's shirt (the air was rife with irony) and then headed over to get some lunch (a quesadilla with some rice). I went back at 3pm to hear Jeff Galloway speak, and managed to have him sign my race bib. It was wonderful to meet him in person; I read through his book "Marathon!" and had trained with the 'run-walk' program he outlines. Hearing him remind the audience about pacing, hydration, and other little details for race day calmed me immensely.
That evening, we went down to the ballroom for a TNT carb load. There were teams from Washington, Alaska, Oregon, New Mexico, and California. The room was filled with teammates who had traveled far and near, has raised over $95,000 collectively, and ranged from veteran runners to newbies. A lady named Terri shared her story about her daughter, Emily, who was diagnosed with myeloma at a very young age; they lost her after only six years of her life, and after sharing some tearful memories, they thanked everyone in the room for their efforts. Terri said to us, "You'll never know how much your fundraising touches other people's lives." It was a very poignant moment, and I was overwhelmed by the emotional response from the crowd.
After dinner, our mentors also passed along a few pages of well-wishes from all our honorees; they were generous in their thanks and well wishes, and it made me remember why I was truly running this marathon.
Most coaches will tout the benefits of mental preparation for an event such as a marathon, and I can vouch in favor of this training detail. I was lucky to have participated in running events previously and even more lucky that I was running for a cause other than myself; I felt prepared for what Sunday morning would bring in terms of pre-race preparations. When I got to the starting line on Sunday morning, I felt very Zen-like: I knew to use the port-o-johns long before the lines formed, to keep still and not waste energy before crossing the start line, and to stretch out a little and stay calm. I had a peanut butter-banana-honey-Wonder Bread sandwich about 45 minutes before we started running, and enough water to get me going for the first few miles. I thought about all the honorees and the folks I was running for, and that took a lot of stress out of the equation. Knowing how the first hour before the race would happen helped me concentrate on what would happen during the race. I had imagined how the race would go, and because of that I was able to hold back for the first 10 miles of the race, managed to climb the hill at 16, and had enough energy left over to complete the 6.2 miles down to the finish....
I slept rather well the night before, considering the advice my father gave me. In fact, I passed out about 9:30pm and didn't wake up until 5:15 the next morning. I did have a weird dream about wanting to get single bills in exchange for my $10 bill; no one would give me the change I wanted. It wasn't really an anxiety dream per se, but unsettling nonetheless.
We went down to the starting line around 6am, and I had decked myself out in the 10-gallon plastic garbage bag my father recommended I bring. Unfortunately, 10 gallons only covers the top half of your body. The other runners were sporting large 45-gallon bags that hung down to at least their knees, and had ample room for movement. I looked like tightly packed sushi in comparison; I only poked a hole for my head, preferring to keep my arms close to my body for warmth inside the sack. Waddling around for the half hour before the race with my red bandanna and saran-wrap-esque cover up provided some much needed pre-race entertainment for my peers. (It was a relief to let my arms out towards the race start, and I didn't shed the bag until after mile 1, at which time I was sufficiently warm.)
Though we were close to the race start line, the gun went off at 7 and I didn't actually cross the start line until around 7:20. We were situated near the 6-hour pace group, and I struggled to hold myself back at the beginning, knowing that if I wanted to finish in under 5:30:00, I needed to do some serious catch-up. Oddly enough, despite all the conservative running I managed in the first 10 miles, I caught up to the 5:30-pace group after mile 4. It was a joyous moment, let me tell you.
Now, I'll just give you the mile-by-mile highlights, because let's face it, writing about running to that extent is rather inane at this point. I was wearing my purple TNT singlet, my comfy somewhat seamless running capris, my new Mizunos, and a fuel belt stuffed with shot blocks, GU, an Alka-Seltzer tablet (sodium replenishment) and a bit of water...
HIGHLIGHTS:
Mile 1: The drum line - some hot guys with drums and a rad beat...what a thrill! They showed up again at Mile 7, I could have run easy with them the whole way...
Mile 2: Shedding the plastic 10-gallon bag!
Mile 3: First (of many) water station and some Shot Blocks
Mile 4: Gradual downhill! I'm pretty sure this helped me catch up to the 5:30 group. By this point, the sweat starts to accumulate.
Mile 5: Running strong, heading further out of the city.
Mile 6: Realizing there are 20 more miles to go, and reminding myself not to push it, although I'm ready to just let fly on some of these intervals. Had some more Shot Blocks
Mile 7: for Joan.
Mile 8: for Kristi.
Mile 9: for Mary.
Mile 10: for Laurette.
Mile 11: for Jim.
Mile 12: for Laurette H. Shot Block time again.
Mile 13: for Donna.
Mile 14: for the Honorees.
Mile 15: Realizing that a half marathon might just be my event. Had some GU with caffeine in anticipation of the bridge hill - this got my legs kicking!
Mile 16: Mentally battling the hill to the St. John's Bridge, keeping up an awesome pace, controlled breath, and passing people while climbing it
Mile 17: Conquering the hill. I got a little teary on the bridge (the view was GORGEOUS) but realized I couldn't run and cry at the same time, so I held back. Besides, who cries in the middle of the marathon!?
Mile 18: Realizing we ran 18 miles out of the city into the suburbs. People are cheering from their porches and one dude is playing the theme song from "Chariots of Fire" on his boom box as we round the corner. Shot Blocks to ward off the tingly sensation in my body that signals I'm running low on fuel.
Mile 19: Alka-Seltzer break time. I mix a tablet in with the remainder of my water and I swear my body is refreshed in under 2 minutes. Or perhaps that's the power of placebo drug use. Sucking out the remaining salt water from my thermos, I cut my upper lip on the cap and taste a little bit of blood.
Mile 20: PAIN. Quads start to get sore, feet are hurting after 20 miles of pavement; the arms are moving, but the legs are having a hard time keeping up.
Mile 21: The Longest Mile Ever. Have some GU with double caffeine in anticipation of the last four miles.
Mile 22: The Longest Mile Ever.
Mile 23: The "course access" cyclist was rumored to be hit by a train and there were ambulances everywhere before the Steel Bridge. They redirected us up to the sidewalk. I think they saved the cyclist. At least, there was no one under the train.
Mile 24: Last taste of Shot Blocks, the tummy's feeling a little funny. I only have 2.2 more miles to go, and despite wanting to push through them, I still have to maintain the walk-run pacing. The transition from running to walking to running is rather uncomfortable. At this point, my clothes are drenched in sweat and my brain is part mush, and my body is on auto-pilot.
Mile 25: Back in the city, and it starts to sprinkle. My brain is complete mush. I want to stop running. My body is so exhausted, all I can think is "ice bath, ice bath, ice bath". People are cheering as we run past, and one cute guy on the corner calls out my name - I was completely discombobulated, I think I glared at him.
Mile 26: Rounding the corner of 3rd and Salmon, I put everything I've got into the last 0.2 mileage to the finish. I feel like puking, but I cross the finish running hard, and in good form. I even passed a few runners. A much needed space blanket is handed to me, along with my medal, a rose, and a tree sapling. I get weepy again after realizing I've just finished a marathon...but I don't have the energy to have a good cry! Someone tries to hand me a flyer for the Cinco de Mayo marathon for next year, but I can't even register why he's doing this. Of all the times to get you to sign up for another marathon...
And then I hobbled back to my hotel room, took that sought-after ice bath, took an hour-long nap, woke up to eat the most delicious hamburger I've ever had in my life (though I've been told anything you eat right after the marathon is the most delicious food you'll ever have), hobbled back to the hotel, slept for another hour, hobbled to the elevator and went down for dinner, had the most delicious garlic mashed potatoes, and then had a quick bout of dance fever. I danced (yes, it was quite a feat, I have video proof) for about two minutes near our dinner table to the "YMCA" and then realized that the only dance move I couldn't physically manage was the running man. How terribly ironic.
I had to leave the victory dinner early in order to catch my flight back home, and had a seizure when I found out they booked the wrong departure date and I was put on standby until the literal last minute before take-off. I mean, I had just completed a marathon: I couldn't handle any more obstacles that day. Luckily, Michael Partridge didn't show up for his booking, so I got seated in 10E and conked out on the 2-hour flight home. Mom picked me up from the airport, and Bandit was in the car, wagging his tail against my head for the whole ride home. I was truly, honestly exhausted, and I had just enough time to sleep that night before having to hobble into work at 6:30am for a live video conference kickoff to New Orleans from the Cancer Center. The soreness, though!! Rest and recuperation took on a whole new meaning for me on Monday. I managed to stand around in heels (granted, I couldn't feel my feet) for an hour or two during the video feed, but that took some effort. After the event however, I was sent home (thank God!) with orders to rest and rehydrate. All in all, a whirlwind of activity and barely any downtime to percolate what had just commenced only 12 hours previous.
And so there you have it. The whole kit and caboodle. Thanks for reading, those of you who made it to this point! And a huge, immense thank-you to everyone who contributed to this experience. I surpassed my fundraising goal, and thanks to you, have successfully completed my first (of perhaps many) marathons. A tremendous accomplishment, and I've been lucky enough to share it with all of you too!!
As for what's next: I have to work out the soreness from Sunday (once I can manage stairs again, I'll be a happy gal) and we have some wrap-up events for the team over the next few weeks. Some of the team members are competing in the Nike marathon in San Francisco in two weeks, so we'll be out there to cheer them on and run them in to the finish line. I'm excited for them, and even more happy to know that I'll be able to provide them with the well-needed encouragement along the last few miles. After that, I may sign up for a half-marathon...we'll see.
Until then, happy running, Marathon Fans.
As I sit here and try my best to recall and relay the exhilaration and immensity of the marathon on Sunday, I'm a little at a loss for what to say. I'll try my best to take you with me on the incredible experience of the past 36 hours, but it's a little daunting.
I guess I'll start at the beginning of the end. As most of you have been following the blog since my training began, you know where I'm coming from and what this past weekend held in store for me. And the first answer to your question is "Yes. It was everything I expected and more than I could have imagined."
I had been nervous about the race a little bit, but not to the point of anxiety. We took off from San Jose on Saturday morning, a handful of Bay Area runners from the TNT team. We were a little groggy, a little snuffly, but in generally good spirits. We boarded the plane and taxied forever; the flight was scheduled to leave around 8:30, but we didn't take off until at least half past nine. When we finally landed in Portland, we stretched out; most of us had woken up by then, and we proceeded to the hotel with our luggage on a big old carrier bus. Arriving around 1pm, we checked-in and went out in search of food. This was my first look at Portland, and it was a charming city, I must admit. This time of year hints at fall foliage, and the weather is perfect "running weather" - you can wear a sweater if you're not running, but you won't cool off if you run in a light tee and shorts; there's a little breeze every now and then that bushes past, and the air is dry with the slightest hint of moisture.
We came across the registration expo at the nearby Hilton Hotel and stopped in to pick up our race packets, including our "bib" (the number you wear on your shirt) and our chips (a tiny device worn on the shoe that contains a sensor; you cross checkpoints along the race and your time is recorded via your chip). There were also a lot of companies with promotional flyers and handouts; I liked the honey sticks the best. We picked up our finisher's shirt (the air was rife with irony) and then headed over to get some lunch (a quesadilla with some rice). I went back at 3pm to hear Jeff Galloway speak, and managed to have him sign my race bib. It was wonderful to meet him in person; I read through his book "Marathon!" and had trained with the 'run-walk' program he outlines. Hearing him remind the audience about pacing, hydration, and other little details for race day calmed me immensely.
That evening, we went down to the ballroom for a TNT carb load. There were teams from Washington, Alaska, Oregon, New Mexico, and California. The room was filled with teammates who had traveled far and near, has raised over $95,000 collectively, and ranged from veteran runners to newbies. A lady named Terri shared her story about her daughter, Emily, who was diagnosed with myeloma at a very young age; they lost her after only six years of her life, and after sharing some tearful memories, they thanked everyone in the room for their efforts. Terri said to us, "You'll never know how much your fundraising touches other people's lives." It was a very poignant moment, and I was overwhelmed by the emotional response from the crowd.
After dinner, our mentors also passed along a few pages of well-wishes from all our honorees; they were generous in their thanks and well wishes, and it made me remember why I was truly running this marathon.
Most coaches will tout the benefits of mental preparation for an event such as a marathon, and I can vouch in favor of this training detail. I was lucky to have participated in running events previously and even more lucky that I was running for a cause other than myself; I felt prepared for what Sunday morning would bring in terms of pre-race preparations. When I got to the starting line on Sunday morning, I felt very Zen-like: I knew to use the port-o-johns long before the lines formed, to keep still and not waste energy before crossing the start line, and to stretch out a little and stay calm. I had a peanut butter-banana-honey-Wonder Bread sandwich about 45 minutes before we started running, and enough water to get me going for the first few miles. I thought about all the honorees and the folks I was running for, and that took a lot of stress out of the equation. Knowing how the first hour before the race would happen helped me concentrate on what would happen during the race. I had imagined how the race would go, and because of that I was able to hold back for the first 10 miles of the race, managed to climb the hill at 16, and had enough energy left over to complete the 6.2 miles down to the finish....
I slept rather well the night before, considering the advice my father gave me. In fact, I passed out about 9:30pm and didn't wake up until 5:15 the next morning. I did have a weird dream about wanting to get single bills in exchange for my $10 bill; no one would give me the change I wanted. It wasn't really an anxiety dream per se, but unsettling nonetheless.
We went down to the starting line around 6am, and I had decked myself out in the 10-gallon plastic garbage bag my father recommended I bring. Unfortunately, 10 gallons only covers the top half of your body. The other runners were sporting large 45-gallon bags that hung down to at least their knees, and had ample room for movement. I looked like tightly packed sushi in comparison; I only poked a hole for my head, preferring to keep my arms close to my body for warmth inside the sack. Waddling around for the half hour before the race with my red bandanna and saran-wrap-esque cover up provided some much needed pre-race entertainment for my peers. (It was a relief to let my arms out towards the race start, and I didn't shed the bag until after mile 1, at which time I was sufficiently warm.)
Though we were close to the race start line, the gun went off at 7 and I didn't actually cross the start line until around 7:20. We were situated near the 6-hour pace group, and I struggled to hold myself back at the beginning, knowing that if I wanted to finish in under 5:30:00, I needed to do some serious catch-up. Oddly enough, despite all the conservative running I managed in the first 10 miles, I caught up to the 5:30-pace group after mile 4. It was a joyous moment, let me tell you.
Now, I'll just give you the mile-by-mile highlights, because let's face it, writing about running to that extent is rather inane at this point. I was wearing my purple TNT singlet, my comfy somewhat seamless running capris, my new Mizunos, and a fuel belt stuffed with shot blocks, GU, an Alka-Seltzer tablet (sodium replenishment) and a bit of water...
HIGHLIGHTS:
Mile 1: The drum line - some hot guys with drums and a rad beat...what a thrill! They showed up again at Mile 7, I could have run easy with them the whole way...
Mile 2: Shedding the plastic 10-gallon bag!
Mile 3: First (of many) water station and some Shot Blocks
Mile 4: Gradual downhill! I'm pretty sure this helped me catch up to the 5:30 group. By this point, the sweat starts to accumulate.
Mile 5: Running strong, heading further out of the city.
Mile 6: Realizing there are 20 more miles to go, and reminding myself not to push it, although I'm ready to just let fly on some of these intervals. Had some more Shot Blocks
Mile 7: for Joan.
Mile 8: for Kristi.
Mile 9: for Mary.
Mile 10: for Laurette.
Mile 11: for Jim.
Mile 12: for Laurette H. Shot Block time again.
Mile 13: for Donna.
Mile 14: for the Honorees.
Mile 15: Realizing that a half marathon might just be my event. Had some GU with caffeine in anticipation of the bridge hill - this got my legs kicking!
Mile 16: Mentally battling the hill to the St. John's Bridge, keeping up an awesome pace, controlled breath, and passing people while climbing it
Mile 17: Conquering the hill. I got a little teary on the bridge (the view was GORGEOUS) but realized I couldn't run and cry at the same time, so I held back. Besides, who cries in the middle of the marathon!?
Mile 18: Realizing we ran 18 miles out of the city into the suburbs. People are cheering from their porches and one dude is playing the theme song from "Chariots of Fire" on his boom box as we round the corner. Shot Blocks to ward off the tingly sensation in my body that signals I'm running low on fuel.
Mile 19: Alka-Seltzer break time. I mix a tablet in with the remainder of my water and I swear my body is refreshed in under 2 minutes. Or perhaps that's the power of placebo drug use. Sucking out the remaining salt water from my thermos, I cut my upper lip on the cap and taste a little bit of blood.
Mile 20: PAIN. Quads start to get sore, feet are hurting after 20 miles of pavement; the arms are moving, but the legs are having a hard time keeping up.
Mile 21: The Longest Mile Ever. Have some GU with double caffeine in anticipation of the last four miles.
Mile 22: The Longest Mile Ever.
Mile 23: The "course access" cyclist was rumored to be hit by a train and there were ambulances everywhere before the Steel Bridge. They redirected us up to the sidewalk. I think they saved the cyclist. At least, there was no one under the train.
Mile 24: Last taste of Shot Blocks, the tummy's feeling a little funny. I only have 2.2 more miles to go, and despite wanting to push through them, I still have to maintain the walk-run pacing. The transition from running to walking to running is rather uncomfortable. At this point, my clothes are drenched in sweat and my brain is part mush, and my body is on auto-pilot.
Mile 25: Back in the city, and it starts to sprinkle. My brain is complete mush. I want to stop running. My body is so exhausted, all I can think is "ice bath, ice bath, ice bath". People are cheering as we run past, and one cute guy on the corner calls out my name - I was completely discombobulated, I think I glared at him.
Mile 26: Rounding the corner of 3rd and Salmon, I put everything I've got into the last 0.2 mileage to the finish. I feel like puking, but I cross the finish running hard, and in good form. I even passed a few runners. A much needed space blanket is handed to me, along with my medal, a rose, and a tree sapling. I get weepy again after realizing I've just finished a marathon...but I don't have the energy to have a good cry! Someone tries to hand me a flyer for the Cinco de Mayo marathon for next year, but I can't even register why he's doing this. Of all the times to get you to sign up for another marathon...
And then I hobbled back to my hotel room, took that sought-after ice bath, took an hour-long nap, woke up to eat the most delicious hamburger I've ever had in my life (though I've been told anything you eat right after the marathon is the most delicious food you'll ever have), hobbled back to the hotel, slept for another hour, hobbled to the elevator and went down for dinner, had the most delicious garlic mashed potatoes, and then had a quick bout of dance fever. I danced (yes, it was quite a feat, I have video proof) for about two minutes near our dinner table to the "YMCA" and then realized that the only dance move I couldn't physically manage was the running man. How terribly ironic.
I had to leave the victory dinner early in order to catch my flight back home, and had a seizure when I found out they booked the wrong departure date and I was put on standby until the literal last minute before take-off. I mean, I had just completed a marathon: I couldn't handle any more obstacles that day. Luckily, Michael Partridge didn't show up for his booking, so I got seated in 10E and conked out on the 2-hour flight home. Mom picked me up from the airport, and Bandit was in the car, wagging his tail against my head for the whole ride home. I was truly, honestly exhausted, and I had just enough time to sleep that night before having to hobble into work at 6:30am for a live video conference kickoff to New Orleans from the Cancer Center. The soreness, though!! Rest and recuperation took on a whole new meaning for me on Monday. I managed to stand around in heels (granted, I couldn't feel my feet) for an hour or two during the video feed, but that took some effort. After the event however, I was sent home (thank God!) with orders to rest and rehydrate. All in all, a whirlwind of activity and barely any downtime to percolate what had just commenced only 12 hours previous.
And so there you have it. The whole kit and caboodle. Thanks for reading, those of you who made it to this point! And a huge, immense thank-you to everyone who contributed to this experience. I surpassed my fundraising goal, and thanks to you, have successfully completed my first (of perhaps many) marathons. A tremendous accomplishment, and I've been lucky enough to share it with all of you too!!
As for what's next: I have to work out the soreness from Sunday (once I can manage stairs again, I'll be a happy gal) and we have some wrap-up events for the team over the next few weeks. Some of the team members are competing in the Nike marathon in San Francisco in two weeks, so we'll be out there to cheer them on and run them in to the finish line. I'm excited for them, and even more happy to know that I'll be able to provide them with the well-needed encouragement along the last few miles. After that, I may sign up for a half-marathon...we'll see.
Until then, happy running, Marathon Fans.
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