Tuesday, November 1, 2011

26.2 Miles Later



Well, kids, it's all over. As a lot of you know, I finished the marathon- my time was 4 hours and 36 minutes, just a few minutes over my goal time of 4:30. The first thing several people have asked me is: "How was it?"  It's too hard to synthesize the experience into one sentence, honestly, so I have mostly been responding with "painful but rewarding."  In reaction, people ask, "Why? Why was it painful?" Well, I'll explain.  Here's my story of what happened that day; I realize it's quite long, so feel free not to read all of it, but I thought you might like to hear what it's really like to run a marathon- at least, for me. Here we go.

I went out for a pre-race dinner at 5:30 pm with Flash, his husband, my mother, and grandmother (who came from Colorado to support me), and we had pasta, of course.  At dinner, I was feeling pretty relaxed; as I told Flash, I was no longer even really nervous.  I think I had used up all my nervousness in the days preceding that last one, and I was just ready to do it.  We ate a great last carb-filled meal, then I went home to get ready for bed. I had been preparing (more like obsessing) for the whole week about what gear I was going to bring, what I was going to wear during the race, what music I was going to listen to, where I was going to meet Flash beforehand, what sweats I was going to wear to the start and throw away, etc.  So I had little to do the night before the race except put on my race clothes one last time and pin my bib onto my race shirt.  The temperature forecast was 36 degrees at the race start and barely over 43 by the finish, so I had decided to wear a thin long-sleeved shirt under my bright pink race shirt and some compression shorts.  I stood in front of the mirror for a good ten minutes trying to straighten the bib out of nervousness, then checked and double-checked my gear, but finally I had to acknowledge that everything was ready, and I hit the sack at 9:30 pm for my 5:15 am wake-up call.

Though I woke up a couple of times during the night out of nervousness, I felt relatively rested when my alarm went off.  I put on my race clothes and extra layers, made my breakfast and coffee, grabbed my race check bag (a plastic bag they give you to check before the race and retrieve afterward) and ran out the door.  I took bikeshare to the metro to save time, but I had no idea how long it was going to take for me to get to the race- the metro was not running all that often, and there were already tons of racers on the trains. As I waited in the station with other runners, I started pacing back and forth because I was feeling so restless, but many other people looked really very calm and relaxed.  By the time I had switched lines and arrived in Pentagon at 6:40, I stepped out into a wall of marathoners who were all inching forward, trying to funnel into two tiny escalators.  I was supposed to meet Flash, Speedy and M at one of the race bag dropoff trucks at 7, so I was already starting to panic that I might miss them and have to run the whole thing alone.  By the time I finally got outside, it was still the cold darkness of predawn.  I followed the stream of runners who were pouring in from several directions, and we had to walk for at least 10-15 minutes to get to the runner's village, then stand in line again at a security checkpoint. I ran over to the trucks, arriving just after 7:05, and didn't see Flash or Speedy anywhere.  I checked my bag and headed back to the truck at which we were supposed to meet- and just then, Speedy spotted me, and grabbed and hugged me.  We were both so excited to see each other, because he had been very nervous, like me, that we were not going to meet up in time.  Flash and M showed up a bit later, and once we were all ready, we walked over to the race start.

I have been in several races, but nothing quite like the Marine Corps Marathon.  For those of you who don't know, there are 30,000 marathoners, 11,000 of which are first-timers (which means that almost 20,000 are not only crazy enough to run a marathon once, but to do it again).  As we lined up according to expected finish time (M went up further, since she was shooting for sub-four hours), there were helicopters circling overhead and music over the loudspeakers.  The sun finally started to come up, and it was a beautiful clear day, though still very chilly.  Speedy, Flash and I killed time by checking and re-checking our gear, starting to peel off layers, stretching, and hugging one last time.  Finally, it was time for the start. At 8 am, Drew Carey (yes, the comedian), who also ran the marathon, came over the loudspeaker and fired the starting gun.

Believe it or not, it took us a good ten minutes to walk to the start after the gun, because there are just so many racers. In fact, I didn't take off another layer until we had almost gotten to the start line.  Flash insisted that we not start jogging until we cross the actual starting line, so finally when we got there we all started our watches and were off.

The first part of the race was pretty much, well,  gravy.  The adrenalin rushed my system, and we took it slow for the first couple of miles to warm up.  People were chucking layers off as we went (don't worry- they donate them to the Goodwill!) and there were quite a lot of spectators even early on, cheering and holding signs.  My favorite was a guy holding a sign that said, "My hot wife runs marathons. I drink beer." I was feeling fine, even merry, several miles in- thinking "this is fun!" and then, "Hmm... Remember this feeling at mile 21. You'll need it."  For the first 7-8 miles we were in Arlington, and there were some pretty long hills, but we still picked up our overall pace (which may have been a bad idea, in retrospect).  By the time we crossed the Key Bridge into Georgetown, I was feeling pretty warm, like I was getting more into my rhythm.  Once we got over the bridge, we veered left and went out the C&O for a couple of miles (including the last big hill).  At one point Flash asked us if we felt ok at the pace we were going (9:30s or so), but we all felt fine at that point, so we just kept going.  By the time we ran down M street, turned down along the Potomac past the Kennedy Center and then the Lincoln Memorial, I was feeling pretty awesome.  My mom and grandmother were waiting just outside the Lincoln (about mile 11) and as Flash, Speedy and I ran by they waved ecstatically. I beamed at them, waved, then kept plodding along the wall of cheering spectators.

Finally, we reached Hain's Point, which is a long strip of land that juts out into the Potomac (the northernmost part has the Jefferson Memorial on it).  I had run a couple of races and several training runs on Hain's Point, so I knew what to expect, but it's an extremely long and boring stretch.  I started feeling more tired than I had expected to at that point in the race, and my right knee was starting to get stiff when we got to the first water station. I had felt fine during the 20 mile races pretty much the whole time, so I wasn't sure why I was already feeling fatigued: from the cold weather, or the excitement of seeing my family, or going out too fast at the beginning, or if it was just psychological.  Basically, I started to think: "what did I get myself into?" We had already been running for almost two hours, and we still had 15 miles to go.

We ran past my mom and grandmother again at about mile 16, and my legs were feeling pretty tired. That next part of the race looped around the Washington Memorial and down one of the side streets on the National Mall  to the Capitol, then back along the Mall to the intersection with 14th street. I was really starting to feel like I needed to slow my pace a bit, and I told Flash and Speedy to go ahead, but they insisted we stick together.  We ran past the Capitol at mile 18.5, where a couple of my friends were waiting to see me go by, and I was really starting to dread the last six miles.  I had a feeling that Flash and I were not going to be able to stay together, and I was going to have to go it alone.  My triathalete friend Jen, who was originally going to run with me for the last six miles, had gotten very ill recently and (understandably) didn't think she could run, and I had no backup plan if I got separated from my running buddies.  Need I remind you that I had never run more than 20 miles before in my life, even though I had run 20 more than once.  After I passed my friends and we got to the last Mall water station, Flash, Speedy and I got separated by the crowd, and I didn't see them again.

By the time we rounded the corner onto 14th and started running across the highway on the big Memorial bridge, I was feeling pretty horrible. I was alone. The crowd of spectators thinned out, and the wide bridge seemed like an interminable expanse in front of us.  And there was still another hour of the race to go.

By now I wasn't really worrying about my pace or time. I wasn't in it to win it, so to speak.  I was just trying to finish.  When I had talked about how I was training for a marathon during these preceding months, people who had already run a marathon before would get this odd, pained look on their faces and say, "oh, those last six miles... you find out a lot about yourself in that last six miles," or "that last hour was probably the longest of my life." A coworker who has run several marathons before even told me that the difference between 20 miles and 26 miles is so huge that it is basically like the 20 mile mark is the halfway point.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, the reason why you aren't supposed to train over 20 miles is because you run out of glycogen and your body is running on empty- you are going on sheer will at a certain point, and many people start cramping up.  No matter how much I  prepared for it mentally and physically, though, I had no idea what it was really going to be like.  It's the kind of thing you can only really appreciate when you have been through it.

As I started over that bridge, I thought about all the times that Flash had told me about his experience with it the year before.  I saw people start to walk and even to stop on the side of the road and try to stretch out their cramping legs, and I knew that was one of the worst things you can do. A couple of times I even started to feel like the world around me was going a little out of focus, like it was a mirage, but I wouldn't let myself stop.

At some point at about mile 21, my legs started cramping. It was the strangest sensation, and something I had never felt before in my hundreds of miles of training.  It was like one of the muscles connecting my thighs to my knees (on both legs) just started seizing.  I remember just thinking, "Huh. That's new..." but surprisingly, I didn't panic; I was already way past that point.  Luckily, my marathoning co-worker had warned me this could happen and told me to bring ibprofen, so I had packed several  in my handheld water bottle. I popped one in my mouth, took a big swig of water, and kept trudging- but that seizing feeling was really only held temporarily at bay.

We finally looped down off of the highway and turned down to Crystal City, which was a "short" out-and-back final portion of the race- so as we were running out, we saw people running back. Everyone looked miserable by that point, and they definitely looked like they did not envy those of us who were still on our way out.  I was having trouble even drinking water at that point, let alone downing gatorade or my gel chomps, but I walked through the water station and made myself drink a bit more. Every time I ran a step by then I was in pain; I had already been running for almost four hours. I just kept a running monologue in my brain to keep my mind off it: "You can do this. You trained SO HARD. You can't stop now. You only have a little more than a half hour to go. It's a walk in the park. You will never forgive yourself if you stop. If this were easy, everyone would do it."

Finally I reached the turn around and passed mile 23, taking another ibprofen when my legs started to cramp again.  I was basically in a comatose state by then, just hoping to get to the finish line before I passed out.  Just then, in a true feat of deus ex machina, my friend Jen popped up out of nowhere and yelled, "I found you!!" I just said, "JEN!" and started almost crying, taking a stutter step and half hugging her as we kept running. I had not expected her to run with me at all, but I had no idea how much it would mean to me that she showed up right then- I was losing my will to keep going, and the fact that she showed up meant more than I could possibly tell her.  She said, "you're doing so great!! You're going so fast! the 4:30 pacer is right up there!"All I could say was, "Jen, this sucks SO MUCH!"

The rest of the last three miles is somewhat of a blur- I remember that marines were holding out pieces of doughnuts at about mile 24 (Flash told me later that he had some- I felt nauseated when I saw them).  Jen kept up words of encouragement, and I couldn't respond that much but I was really grateful that I didn't have to keep encouraging myself.  We passed the 25 mile marker, and Jen said, "Only a mile to go! You are rocking it!" and even though I felt like I was dying, I took the breath to say, "Jen. Never. Let. Me. Do. This. Again. EVER."  And right next to us, a woman piped cheerily, "That's what I said last year!" I would have laughed hysterically if my diaphragm would have allowed it (I couldn't).

After an agonizing ten more minutes (and more ibprofen), I finally could see the finish- which was straight up a hill for the last .2 miles.  Flash had told me about it, but I didn't realize just how bad it would be after all you have already been through.  I took a deep breath and started to grit my teeth in preparation- and just then, I tripped! I stopped myself from falling flat, but stopping short like that was the death knell for my seizing legs. A woman ran by me and screamed, "good recovery- come ON!" and I tried to follow her, but it's like my legs didn't belong to me any more.  Jen was yelling over the crowd, "c'mon!  You can do it!! You're so close!" So I waddled a bit until I felt like I could do it, then I ran to the finish. I made it.

The aftermath is a blur- waddling through a packed crowd of finishers, shaking hands with marines in uniform and getting my finisher's medal (I started crying), wishing I could find Flash and hug him. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done, mentally and physically, and it was over.

People have asked me if I will ever do it again, or what I'm going to do in the future. I guess I should never say never, though I told Flash right afterward I would never do that again. I will still run, of course, and do shorter races; we are signed up for a half marathon in the spring. I'm also excited to try some triathalons- my next great adventure!  But the real truth is that it doesn't matter. I ran a marathon, and now I can always say I have done it. And the best part is, there is no end- it's the beginning, because I have the rest of my life to aspire to ever greater fitness.

One more thing I should say before I close: I decided to start eating poultry again.  I realized after a certain point that I was just feeling too weak after really long runs, and my doctor advised me to take in another pure protein source other than fish (especially since it turns out I am allergic to soy).  For my body, it seems, it's just not something that can be sustained long-term.  I still don't eat red meat (right now at least), and I'm going to try and eat antibiotic-free and environmentally-friendly as much as possible.  But I applaud all of those continuing veggie athletes out there- well done, good for you!  The MOST important thing, which I hope I got across in this blog, is that you should listen to your body and give it what it needs.

As far as all my training this year, thanks to all my friends and family who supported me, cheered me on, and put up with me during this whole process; I couldn't have done it without you.  Thank you to my mom, grandmother, and friends for cheering me on in the race.  Thank you to Jen for getting me through that last three miles when I felt like my body was falling apart. Thank you to Speedy for being the cheeriest running buddy ever at 6 am on long runs.  And most importantly, thank you to Flash: you inspired me a year ago, when I had only ever run an 8K and you had just finished your first marathon, to go on to ever greater challenges. You got me to sign up for my first and second half marathons, and my first full marathon, with only words of encouragement all along the way. You got me up on those cold mornings to run, drove me to races, and always coaxed me through self-doubt.  You are a truly inspiring two-time marathoner and running buddy, and I can't even imagine how I would have done this training without you.  But most importantly, you're an amazing friend, and I'm so glad that we get to run together.

If you found this blog inspiring in any way to re-think your lifestyle and food choices, then I feel that I have succeeded at least in part.  If not, I hope at least it was entertaining to read about my many antics over the months.  I may start a new blog about overall fitness (and triathalons?) in the future, but until then, this is Dash, signing off...

The end (and the beginning).



2 comments:

  1. Okay I'm a total weirdo -- but I'm sitting in my office literally trying not to cry...otherwise people would think I'm totally crazy crying in front of my computer screen whose background is filled with giant vegetables...I'm SO PROUD of you and can't believe how awful that last hour must have been!! LOVE the deus-Jen-machina... As I've said many times before, I'm SO INSPIRED by your accomplishments and willpower, and you should be so proud of yourself.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You go girl, love the shoutout ;). Only wish id been less of a slacker and done the last seven. Ps is it weird that it wasnt until after i saw you in your moment of intense pain that im now thinking "huh, maybe i should try that sometime after all" :P

    ReplyDelete