It's been a long time since I had a 'first' in sports. I have now completed the ING New York City Marathon - my first marathon - and it was a completely different experience than I had anticipated. I always make up a race report after I finish a race of any kind (because I’m a nerd like that), so that I can look back over how it went and make adjustments for the next competition. This should be no different, I think, because this will definitely not be my last marathon.
I got nervous on Thursday and Friday of last week, because the time was nigh and I wasn't sure that my knees and right foot were going to get me across the line. After my 20 mile run, my training took a turn for the worse as I developed plantar fasciitis in my right foot, which just annoyed the hell out of me. I took care of it the best I could and it started to subside a little, but that meant that I had to do a lot of my volume the last few weeks on the bike or the eliptical, which while good for my lungs, was not good for my muscles and joints. The deal was getting done though, so I just shoved it out of the way and hoped for the best.
By Saturday afternoon I was on race auto-pilot and on Sunday as we got up to the start line, I was just itching to get going. I had forgotten my watch in the bag I was sending to the finish line and I started freaking out about not being able to take splits, until I came to a very important realization. I am in a completely different position athletically, than I have ever been in my life. Add to that, I was taking on a completely different endurance challenge than I had faced before. Literally, as we walked through the corral, I came to the conclusion that the only way for this first one to be a success would be to just have fun with it and take in the entire experience. I knew the pain was coming and I knew that this would in no way be my best, or only, marathon effort. Once I took that attitude, my outlook went from clinical to emotional and I started singing Sinatra with thousands of people, high-fiving little kids, congratulating fellow runners and making it a point to notice the signs and supporters along the way. My two favorite signs elicited completely different emotions. The first one said "pick up the pace, your ex is gaining ground", which I thought was pretty funny, and the second said "you are no longer a runner, you are now a marathoner", which got me a little choked up for a second there. One cannot be choked up and run successfully however, so that was the end of the choked-upedness.
The start was quite slow because a lot of the Livestrong entries were in the last wave, but it was a little ego boost to be blowing past people at the beginning, which is always nice. I took note of my basic splits at different points during the race but all in all, except for a brief stop when something was stabbing me in the instep, I cruised along the first 20 miles pretty well and I only stopped to take my gu and water every hour or so. Then I hit mile 21. And by hit I mean smashed into like a glass bottle dropped from a 10 story building. I had been feeling my knees, but was tuning it out because running was easier than walking, but at about mile 21, my knees began to protest loudly and the plantar fasciitis in my foot was fully awake as well. This, in retrospect was my favorite part of the race. Those last 5 miles were a fight.
It has been a long time since I had to truly fight and conquer in a sport. I have been unable to perform at all for so long, that it had slipped in my memory what it is like to really scrape and claw to finish something at any cost. Sounds a little dramatic, I'm sure, but despite the fact that my run to walk ratio had become inverted as I winced through most of those steps, I went inside and discovered that the reserve tank is still there and I can still tap it and still push through anything. I rediscovered that I am still pretty fucking strong (pardon the french). So, I battled all the way through the park and back out onto 59th street. When I got to the 800 meter mark, I had something I could quantify in rowing and pain terms, so the last 800 meters was pretty easy when I considered how many times I have felt like I was going to die with 800 meters to go and yet survived to win.
The whole ending on a hill thing is just the meanest possible way to finish a marathon, but I was in such a daze when I crossed the finish line, that I realized I was still running, but everyone around me was walking, so I should probably stop. I thought beforehand that when I finished I would get all emotional and be somewhat overcome, but really I just kept walking forward for about 40 minutes while I got the medal, the heat wrap, the bag of food and finally my bag with my sweats and personal items.
Reflecting on this whole process has made me thankful that I did my first marathon this way, when it means something substantial to me. Having been out of commission completely for four years and having had such a small window to train and get ready for this has made a difference in me. Before I had all of the physical tribulations with surgeries and recovery, doing a marathon was just something I had on my list for whenever. It wasn't a particularly big deal to me, because I knew without a doubt that I could do it and do a pretty good job. Running it now, in New York, after being counted out was an experience I shall not soon forget and I can actually say that I'm proud of myself for getting back in the game and for doing it by jumping in headfirst and then figuring it out.
To all of you who supported Livestrong on my behalf, I truly cannot thank you enough for the support. Many of those who donated have a loved one who has battled some form of cancer. Some have lost, some have won, some continue the fight. The money donated will go directly to help people engaged in their war on cancer. I looked at every name noted on the scroll on my page and I thought of them all at different times in the race, as I imagined the love and support they received during their respective fights. The analogy of a cancer battle being akin to a marathon is not lost on me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting your money where my mouth is, because the pressure generated by the support pushed me every single step of the way.
I got nervous on Thursday and Friday of last week, because the time was nigh and I wasn't sure that my knees and right foot were going to get me across the line. After my 20 mile run, my training took a turn for the worse as I developed plantar fasciitis in my right foot, which just annoyed the hell out of me. I took care of it the best I could and it started to subside a little, but that meant that I had to do a lot of my volume the last few weeks on the bike or the eliptical, which while good for my lungs, was not good for my muscles and joints. The deal was getting done though, so I just shoved it out of the way and hoped for the best.
By Saturday afternoon I was on race auto-pilot and on Sunday as we got up to the start line, I was just itching to get going. I had forgotten my watch in the bag I was sending to the finish line and I started freaking out about not being able to take splits, until I came to a very important realization. I am in a completely different position athletically, than I have ever been in my life. Add to that, I was taking on a completely different endurance challenge than I had faced before. Literally, as we walked through the corral, I came to the conclusion that the only way for this first one to be a success would be to just have fun with it and take in the entire experience. I knew the pain was coming and I knew that this would in no way be my best, or only, marathon effort. Once I took that attitude, my outlook went from clinical to emotional and I started singing Sinatra with thousands of people, high-fiving little kids, congratulating fellow runners and making it a point to notice the signs and supporters along the way. My two favorite signs elicited completely different emotions. The first one said "pick up the pace, your ex is gaining ground", which I thought was pretty funny, and the second said "you are no longer a runner, you are now a marathoner", which got me a little choked up for a second there. One cannot be choked up and run successfully however, so that was the end of the choked-upedness.
The start was quite slow because a lot of the Livestrong entries were in the last wave, but it was a little ego boost to be blowing past people at the beginning, which is always nice. I took note of my basic splits at different points during the race but all in all, except for a brief stop when something was stabbing me in the instep, I cruised along the first 20 miles pretty well and I only stopped to take my gu and water every hour or so. Then I hit mile 21. And by hit I mean smashed into like a glass bottle dropped from a 10 story building. I had been feeling my knees, but was tuning it out because running was easier than walking, but at about mile 21, my knees began to protest loudly and the plantar fasciitis in my foot was fully awake as well. This, in retrospect was my favorite part of the race. Those last 5 miles were a fight.
It has been a long time since I had to truly fight and conquer in a sport. I have been unable to perform at all for so long, that it had slipped in my memory what it is like to really scrape and claw to finish something at any cost. Sounds a little dramatic, I'm sure, but despite the fact that my run to walk ratio had become inverted as I winced through most of those steps, I went inside and discovered that the reserve tank is still there and I can still tap it and still push through anything. I rediscovered that I am still pretty fucking strong (pardon the french). So, I battled all the way through the park and back out onto 59th street. When I got to the 800 meter mark, I had something I could quantify in rowing and pain terms, so the last 800 meters was pretty easy when I considered how many times I have felt like I was going to die with 800 meters to go and yet survived to win.
The whole ending on a hill thing is just the meanest possible way to finish a marathon, but I was in such a daze when I crossed the finish line, that I realized I was still running, but everyone around me was walking, so I should probably stop. I thought beforehand that when I finished I would get all emotional and be somewhat overcome, but really I just kept walking forward for about 40 minutes while I got the medal, the heat wrap, the bag of food and finally my bag with my sweats and personal items.
Reflecting on this whole process has made me thankful that I did my first marathon this way, when it means something substantial to me. Having been out of commission completely for four years and having had such a small window to train and get ready for this has made a difference in me. Before I had all of the physical tribulations with surgeries and recovery, doing a marathon was just something I had on my list for whenever. It wasn't a particularly big deal to me, because I knew without a doubt that I could do it and do a pretty good job. Running it now, in New York, after being counted out was an experience I shall not soon forget and I can actually say that I'm proud of myself for getting back in the game and for doing it by jumping in headfirst and then figuring it out.
To all of you who supported Livestrong on my behalf, I truly cannot thank you enough for the support. Many of those who donated have a loved one who has battled some form of cancer. Some have lost, some have won, some continue the fight. The money donated will go directly to help people engaged in their war on cancer. I looked at every name noted on the scroll on my page and I thought of them all at different times in the race, as I imagined the love and support they received during their respective fights. The analogy of a cancer battle being akin to a marathon is not lost on me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting your money where my mouth is, because the pressure generated by the support pushed me every single step of the way.
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