Wednesday, October 22, 2008

All The Gory Details: My Nike Women's Marathon Race Report

Pre-Race
The wake up call from the front desk came at 5:00 am on Sunday morning. I (completely uncharacterisicly) hopped right out of bed and over to my massive pile of marathon stuff. I put on my marathon ensemble, posed for some pictures, and headed downstairs with Melissa to catch the Team in Training bus to Union Square. Well, we thought there was a bus, anyway. We got downstairs and realized that we were just walking down to the start with our teammates. At any rate, by 5:45 we were on our way. We arrived in Union Square, paid our first of many visits to the Porta Potties, and checked our gear. Then we shivered. For at least an hour, huddled together. It was freezing at the starting line.

It’s Go Time.
At 7:00, the gun went off. And we still stood there, huddled together, in our garbage bags, shivering. Finally, after about 15 minutes, they opened our corral and we began to walk towards the starting line. (No sense wasting those running miles before the actual start, right?) About 20 minutes after the gun went off, we crossed the starting line, and we were off! About a quarter mile in, we tore our garbage bags off and we were ready to take the race head on. We were all smiles, in utter disbelief that the marathon had actually started. How did this day come so soon? Wasn’t it just yesterday we were sitting in line at a concert, coming up with this crazy plan? And certainly training just started a week ago. Yet, here we were, running in San Francisco, ready to take on 26.2 miles. It was an energizing, happy feeling.

Bliss: Miles 1 – 6.
The run started off towards Fisherman’s Wharf. Miles 1 – 6 were a happy blur. We ran along the Wharf, past Ghiradelli Square, and saw the Golden Gate Bridge with a beautiful, mountainous backdrop. Melissa, Lauren, and I didn’t talk much during these miles. I spent my time concentrating on keeping a slower pace than I thought I needed, soaking up the moments, and coming to the realization that it was race day, and I was, in fact, running a marathon. We passed several clumps of spectators, including a church choir. I was feeling happy, calm, and confident.

Oh, Is That All The Hills Are?/Somebody Make the Half-Marathoners Go Away: Miles 6 – 11
Everyone tells you the big hills in San Francisco will be bad. Surprisingly, we didn’t mind these hills. I didn’t love them. They were steep, that’s for sure, but there was an end in sight. Somehow, a huge incline doesn’t seem too bad, if you can look up and see that it will end soon. We ran/walked up the hills as best we could. I was confident that even if the hills slowed us down, we could make up the time in the less hilly back half of the course.

During the hills, we did develop a strong dislike for the half marathon walkers. (Sorry if any of you are reading this!) Many of them walked in large groups, and as the hills narrowed the course, they seemed to line the enitre trail, making running without weaving nearly impossible. During miles 10 and 11, we were counting down the seconds until the half marathoners dissappeared. I was ready for a little breathing room.

Wait, Come Back, Halfers & I Hate Trees: Miles 11 – 15
Right around mile 11.5, the marathon and half marathon courses split. As soon as the half marathoners left, I regretted my disdain for them. I wanted them back. Did I mention we’re slow runners? Well, apparently some of the only people around us were the half marathon walkers. Suddenly, about 80% of the people around us dissappeared. The spectators all seemed to be cheering the halfers on to the finish. Nobody seemed to care that we had 10+ miles to go. We were surrounded by trees, flowers, and nature. It was deafeningly quiet. We could hear crickets chirping.

It was horrible. I cursed the trees. I cursed the slow, steady incline that had no end in sight. I said I never wanted to see another tree again. I blamed Jon (who had visited this part of the course, Golden Gate State Park, the day before) for telling me this part was beautiful. I cursed the spectators for not cheering for us. I wanted to hear noise, to see a familiar face of someone who wasn’t running alongside me, to see something other than nature. I couldn’t wait to get out of this part of the course, to see something different, to see other people – even if they were running towards the finish line. I was having a total mental meltdown.

Happy Again: Mile 15
Just before the 15 mile mark, we saw our husbands! It was one of my happiest moments on the course. They chatted with us, encouraged us, gave us Jolly Ranchers, and assured us that the forest was almost over. I felt energized. I was ready to take on the rest of the course. I was ready for a good time for this course. 6:30, perhaps?

Porta Potty Lady: Bad Times Around Mile 15.5 – 16.
Just after we left the boys, we got ready for yet another Porta Potty stop. As I was exiting the facilities, someone nearby glanced at her watch and said, “Ugh. We better get going if we’re going to make the cutoff.” Cutoff? What cutoff?
“Excuse me?”
“The cuttoff. You have to be at Mile 18 ¾ by noon, or you don’t get to finish the race.”
[Insert angry yelling, screaming, cursing, and angry discussions with Lauren and Melissa here.]
We knew nothing of a cutoff. We read every piece of literature given to us by Nike, TEAM, every e-mail, every packet, scoured the website. Nobody said anything about a cutoff. We were prepared to be off the course in 6.5 – 7 hours. We were NOT prepared to be to mile 18 ¾ by noon – especially because we didn’t get to start until 7:20. We were livid.

Run, Run, Run, As Fast As You Can: Mile 15 3/4ish – 18 ¾.
But, in our groggy, marathoning, frustrated state, we came up with a plan. We had 30 minutes to cover about 3 miles. There’s no way we come close to that at our normal pace. So, we did the only thing we could do. We “sprinted.” To those of you who are speedy or who run shorter distances, a 6:2 Run/Walk at an average pace of 10:00/mile doesn’t sound like a sprint. To the three of us, who had just run 15 miles on hills, and are used to a 6:2 Run/Walk at about a 13:00 – 14:00/mile pace? It was agony. We about doubled our run pace and walked as fast as we normally run.

A little bit into our spriting, we ran past a TNT coach. “Is it true that there’s a cutoff ahead?” I shouted. She shouted back that yes, there was a cutoff, and we better hurry if we were going to get there. Super. Just the encouragement we needed. We commenced sprinting and cursing, simulateously.

Any distance runner knows, and those of you who aren’t runners certainly could have guessed, that picking up the pace by 3 – 4 minutes per mile in the middle of a 26.2 mile run is not the best strategy. It was absolutely awful. A few hundred feet away from the cutoff, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I could see the blue chip timing mats waiting for me, but I just didn’t know how I was going to get there. That’s when my first angel of the day found me. I don’t even know his name. A TEAM coach in a green and purple jacket found me crying, speed walking towards the cutoff. He assued me that I had plenty of time, beautiful walking form, and that I would make the cutoff. In between sobs, I told him the story of my Chicago run last year, and how afraid I was that I wouldn’t make it in time. He walked me all the way to the cutoff, where I met up with Lauren and Melissa, who had run ahead.

We celebrated, and then continued hating the cutoff.

A Long, Cold Walk: Miles 19 – 21.
This was the part of the race that was supposed to be easier. The hills subsided for a while, and we just had to do a little loop around the Bay, back to the Pacific. Piece of cake, right? Yeah. Not if you just finished an all-out sprint. We cursed. Our feet hurt. Our hips hurt. Everything hurt. We’d just blown any chance of spending the last miles of the race happy… and we knew it. We were mad, mostly, that we had been caught off guard by the cutoff. Had we only known, we would have run a different race.

We walked slowly, agonizingly over these miles. We were mad. We talked about how mad we were. Melissa started jogging a few times, and I was afraid we were going to lose her. Turns out she just needed to do something different than walking to keep her muscles going. Lauren and I jogged up to her, and we thought we’d try to do a 2:6 Run/Walk. We decided against that during the 6 minute walk.

We got passed by the “end of race” cop car. We got to timing chip pads as they were tearing them down. We got to food/water stations to watch them clean up and to be handed the last few glasses of water or Gatorade. (They did have chocolate left at the Chocolate Mile, thank God.) There were no spectators to be seen. We were lonely, we were sore, and we were angry. It was miserable.

We did the only thing we could do. We found a Porta Potty and stopped for yet another bathroom break.

An Angel Named “Mama Lisa”: Miles 21 – 24.5.
In line for the Porta Potty, I noticed Melissa sitting down on the curb, stretching and crying. Seeing her tears made me cry again, too. A TNT Coach ran by with some of her team, and hugged us both tight after checking to make sure we were okay. At that point, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I prayed. I cried and prayed. I didn’t have a clue how we were going to do 5.2 more miles. We were really struggling, and it seemed like a long way.

And there she was. Mama Lisa. A coach for the TNT Bay Area, this woman saved us. I’m not sure we would have made it to the finish line without her. A spunky little woman, Lisa said, “Oh, baby, don’t cry. Come on, we’re going to do this thing. Let’s go. Come on.” She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She had us laughing. She told us stories about being cutoff from a 100-mile race, and stories of her 86 year old friend Helen, who is still running marathons. Somehow, Mama Lisa managed to do all these things without making our task or worries seem insignificant. She was the perfect, encouraging distraction.

Almost There: Miles 24.5 – 26.
Around mile 24.5, we caught up with my worried husband, who was thrilled to see us in one piece. We were hobbling along with Mama Lisa, still slightly annoyed, but in a better place overall. He walked and talked with us, as we made our way closer to Melissa’s husband, Jim, and Lauren’s fiance, Kenny. When we reached the other boys, Mama Lisa went on her merry way, back to usher in some more runners who needed an angel.

Late in mile 25, the giant blister taking over my baby toe decided to pop and I screamed in pain. I felt like my foot was on fire, and the finish line seemed a long way away. I grabbed on to Melissa for support, and as the finish line drew nearer, we kicked out the boys and decided to have our own finish.

Sweet Victory: The Last .2.
Our hands clasped together tightly, Melissa and I began to run. This was it. The finish line. Pink’s “So What” was blaring from speakers, a man with a microphone announced, “From the Land of Lincoln, it’s Lauren and Melissa, coming in at 7:15!” (Our clock time, not our chip time). I was sobbing. A marathon finish line – I was finally realzing a long-time goal. Along the sides of the finish line were tuxedo-clad fireman with silver platters of blue Tiffany & Co boxes. My heart surged with pride as I was handed a pretty blue box with a white bow. I’d done it. I had a medal. A real medal. Not a pity medal, a medal I earned.

I haven’t taken the medal off since.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

hello. i am back. because i am awesome. be my friend.