more than 10k miles
7 marathons
And I finally did it well.
I was supposed to run the NYC Marathon this fall. I was a lottery reject and was finally granted registration this year. Sometime in late summer, I threw out any training plan I was trying to follow and just started running by feel. Enjoying the run. I became more comfortable at a faster pace. I giggled through almost all of my long runs because it felt so easy. I took in the nature around me, and I said hello to everyone I ran by. I was comfortable, I looked forward to my runs, and I was ready for NYC. No plan in mind, just enjoy the experience.
Then Sandy hit. Storm of a lifetime. And in the last minute, NYC was cancelled.
It should have been. While I was ready to run it if it was held, it didn't feel right. I was disappointed but a little relieved when the cancellation was announced.
I took a few days, thought it all over, and despite feeling exhausted and super stressed from the effects Sandy had on my family, I decided to run the Philadelphia Marathon 2 weeks later. I was running well. This should have been my race to finally break that 4 hour mark and run a solid 26.2. I paid the $200 fee and made it official.
The morning after NYC was cancelled, the day before it was to happen, and 2 weeks out from Philly, I set out for an 18ish miler. I figured if things felt fine I'd go 20; if my exhausted body said otherwise, 16 would be enough. I went the 18, and though it wasn't as smooth as my other long runs had been, I still felt ready for a good race day.
I was doing this one alone. My sister decided not to run it, and while I'm resigned to the fact that she'll always be faster than me at the marathon distance, running this one without her in the race meant I didn't have to think about how far ahead of me she would be. A little less to think about. I didn't want to have any fan fare about this day -- I kept the mindset that I was just heading to Philly for a long run, just like I had done so many times before. Although it upset my mom, I was ok with her and my dad not being able to make it over to the race because of my dad's knee replacement surgery. I realized it was easing my mind to think of the race as a 4 hour run, rather than 26.2 miles. For some reason, that sounded less daunting. I had my chicken, potatoes, and beer for dinner, laid out all my gear, and headed to bed. I reminded myself I had run comfortably for 20+ miles several times at a pace that would allow me a big PR, AND an enjoyable run. I was ready for a good day.
Tried as I might, I still freaked out on race morning. Parking was an issue, which wasn't the norm for us, and I told my sister I felt like I was going to puke. My stomach was in knots as we waited in the car and then on the porta-potty line in the hour+ before the race start. I just needed the waiting to be over. I just needed to start running. Soon enough, Aimee was snapping my pre-race picture as I headed to the special corral for the first wave of NYC refugees. (Notice my own attempt to keep me focused on enjoying the day -- my Brooks "Run Happy" shirt!)
I got in my groove, I ran comfortably, I took in the crowds, the people lining the streets, the many signs welcoming the NYC runners, and the perfect weather. The early miles ticked by and I saw my friend A by her block, and then another friend running the half. I kept my pace comfortable and a bit slower, and decided early to stay ahead of my fueling and drinking. Soon enough I was running up the hill to Drexel, remembering seeing my friend E there last year. Then I was coming up to the Zoo, into Fairmount Park, and then down toward the river. I was comfortable. I smiled. Everything I was doing was working. I saw another friend, C, on his bike.
I made my way up to the Art Museum circle, the 12.5 mile mark, and kept my eyes peeled for my sister. I found her right where I thought she'd be. As I ran past, she asked how I was.
"I'm good," I said.
"Want me to jump in with you for a bit?" she asked.
"Nah, I'm ok," I replied as I turned the corner and headed onto Kelly Drive -- a place I'd run so many times before. Just 13 to go, I thought -- less than 2 more hours -- I can totally do this!
And then, as I got to Boathouse Row, just past mile marker 13, my right hamstring seized up on me. I pulled up. I couldn't even walk. I almost buckled over it hurt so bad. WHAT THE HELL!!!
I hopped to the side of the road and tried to massage the muscles in my leg. I couldn't move it. Here I am, running so well, ready to finally have a sub-4 marathon, and I couldn't even walk. I glanced over to a girl on the sidewalk and seriously thought I'd ask to use her phone. I'd have to call Aimee and let her know I'd be dropping out. I didn't run Philly, I didn't pay $200 on top of all the money I'd paid for NYC, just to limp in another marathon time that was way slower than I should be doing. I was pissed, and I was ready to quit.
And then I was pissed that I might have to quit. I was pissed that after all this, I wouldn't get the finish, let alone that sub-4. I was pissed. And somehow, after more than 2 and a half minutes on the sideline, I got my leg to move, and then walk, and then jog. And soon I was running again.
It hurt, it wasn't smooth, but somehow I kept going. I started looking for my fast friends that would soon be passing me on their way to the finish as I was heading out to Manyunk. I saw Matt, who ran his 2:39. I saw Colleen, who ran her 2:46. I was energized by seeing them. I was hurting, but I kept running. And I realized that if I just kept this pace -- slower than I'd like, but fast enough -- I'd still squeak in under that 4 hour mark.
I passed the beer table on the way into Manyunk and smiled, knowing I was feeling ok. I made the turn around at mile 20ish, and knew I was going to make it. Just keep this pace. As I climbed out of Manyunk and made my way back to Kelly Drive, I knew. Just keep moving. I was going to do it.
By the time I hit mile 25, my legs were feeling heavier, but I was still moving. No stopping, no muscle cramps, I was still moving. I was starting to get emotional as I made my way up through that final quarter mile of crowds. While you want the energy of all those spectators, it seems like that final quarter mile takes another 3 miles to get to the finish line. I knew I'd make the sub-4, and I was ready to be done, but I soaked it all in. I heard friends shout my name, and I waved. I caught Aimee's eye, and gave her a wave that meant, yup, I'm going to do it -- as my twin, she should be able to figure out that's what that wave meant, right?
FINALLY.
I got my medal and heat blanket, got some hot broth (best part of Philly's finish line!), and found my sister.
It was over.
I think I thought I'd be super excited about the sub-4. I think I felt like I'd have this huge wave of accomplishment swarm over me. Driving home, though, I just felt like I did something I knew was going to happen. I ran like I have been. The reality of it is, I could've done it faster. I realized those 2.5 minutes at mile 13 were probably as important as the sub-4 itself. I didn't let myself quit. I had a good day, despite a bump in the road. Despite the stupid pre-race nerves. The swarm of accomplishment which never happened, was replaced by a swarm of confidence. I can run 26.2 in under 4 hours, like I've trained to do so many times. I don't need to feel intimidated by the race itself, or the 26.2 distance. I can do it, I can do it solidly, and I can even do it when the day isn't perfect.
Finally, I know I can do it.
