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While my legs are still
sore and the excitement is still keeping me on my feet, I want to try
to recapture the experience of running the New York City Marathon—my
very first marathon.
The story may end with my aching legs (or maybe this is just the first
chapter) but it’s harder to decide on a beginning. In many ways,
it all started with me finding VCTC. About a year and a half ago (June,
2004) I was looking for a way to get back into shape, to get back to running
(I had run on and off in the past, but never very consistently), and I
was curious about the trails of Van Cortlandt but did not want to venture
on to them by myself. So I checked on line, read about VCTC, and contacted
Ken, who warmly invited me to join a Saturday morning run. I met such
a friendly, welcoming group of runners that first morning that I didn’t
hesitate to join in. I didn’t have a clue about how far or fast
I wanted to run, so I took my cue from other runners and joined a group
heading to the trails. As we approached the railroad tracks, I asked,
casually, “so, how far are you going?” When the answer was
“about 10 miles,” I gasped silently (having never run more
than 5 or so at one time in my life), and not wanting to turn back, said
“okay, I’ll try it.” I did—and had a great time.
Not only was I was hooked on running longer distances that day, but I
loved the comraderie. I grew to look forward all week to the Saturday
runs, and later, to the track workouts which I eventually joined (those
were a lot harder for me—I had never pushed myself for speed, had
never raced.
Running is contagious and addictive. Somehow the more I ran with VCTC,
the more I wanted to run—and I began to run races After just a few
months of running with the club, I decided to run the Yonkers half-marathon
(kind of nutty, as I had never run a race longer than 5 miles at that
point). I trained hard on the hills of Van Cortlandt and Yonkers and ran
the race. I really enjoyed it—and quite to my surprise, placed first
in my age group. There’s nothing more encouraging (further fueling
the addiction) than winning your first medal, and this was a big plaque!
Just two months after running Yonkers, I joined VCTC to cheer runners
in the New York City Marathon of 2004. It was the first marathon I had
ever watched. It was so exciting to see all the runners, and especially
to support our members running by in the Bronx. It was probably about
that time that I began to vaguely contemplate the idea of running a marathon.
Could I maybe do this too? It also struck me that it would be great thing
to do to celebrate my 50th birthday (coming up exactly one month before
the 2005 New York City marathon).
Running through the summer and into the fall, I was sort of following
a training plan—more weekly miles, wonderful long runs at Rockefeller…but
still not completely sure that I was actually training for a marathon.
I raced more halves (Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan) and shorter races. Running
(and my friends in VCTC) helped me get through a very difficult summer
after my father passed away but systematic training was erratic. By September
I should have been revving everything up (I was sure I could handle the
tapering much better) but so much interfered with training—like
daily life, family, etc. It seemed harder and harder to find the time
for those very long runs I was supposed to be doing. I kept asking everyone—some
said two or three 18-20 milers should be enough. Others said do at least
five, and some should be 24 miles. Oh, oh—will I have time for any
of that?…I avoided the long training runs in Central Park to preserve
my knees…oh no..should I have done them?
Finally a week before the marathon—and I still didn’t know
if I would run it. I was sick with some kind of flu—terrible fatigue,
sore throat, fever. The good news was that I was forced to taper pretty
dramatically—in fact, I couldn’t get out of bed. When I went
to the Javits Center to pick up my race number, I was very excited—but
still feverish, and I kept wondering—will I be able to run?. Literally
the day before the marathon, I did not know for sure whether I would feel
well enough.
The morning of the marathon. Mist was hanging over Van Cortlandt when
I went to meet Ken at dawn in front of Firdaus’s apartment.(another
example of how supportive VCTC is—Ken drove us to the start, as
he routinely does for members running NYC, so we didn’t have to
deal with the buses from Manhattan. I was a nervous wreck—still
not feeling a hundred percent, but at this point not sure whether or not
this was my virus or anxiety. We picked up Chris in the city and drove
to Staten Island. Would I be able to run? Could I actually finish? I took
some Tylenol hoping that everything would stop bothering me.
Despite my constant doubt and worry (and secret wish that we would get
stuck in traffic and miss the start) we arrived at Fort Wadsworth, Staten
Island, and Ken drove away. I was now stuck in Staten Island. Chris, Firdaus,
and I walked towards the staging area. I was struck by energy in the air
and the sense of being in a global village, with announcements in German,
Italian, French, Spanish. Waiting at the edge of the Verrazano Narrows
Bridge, I talked to the woman next to me who was from Germany—not
her first marathon but first in New York City. She was also excited and
nervous. Another woman told me she lives just on the other side of the
bridge but had to go into Manhattan to get to the start (could things
be any more difficult and complicated than a marathon in New York City?)
At this point, everything began to move quickly. What I thought would
feel like an eternity whizzed by and the start gun went off. We were moving,
the mats underfoot were beeping, we were running slowly, then faster,
like a trot, up the incline, as the mist above the bridge lifted and sun
broke through the high clouds. Women begin to pass items of clothing from
the center towards the side of the bridge where they were flung over the
railing—sweatshirts, pants, hats moving sideways as we moved forward
and upward.
As I crested the top of the bridge, men began to join us from the sides
of the bridge. I began to get a sense of runners all around me. We passed
the one mile marker and I was glad to see it was a slow mile—just
as I planned. I was wearing a wrist pace band (which I could barely see)
but remembered Ken’s advice about starting slow and about what to
aim for at the half-marathon distance. I was determined to keep it slow
in the beginning. We descended to the end and crossed over the bridge
and suddenly there were all kinds of people standing along the side of
our route. Now we were running through the streets of Brooklyn—we
passed so many different sights, different neighborhoods, most of it unfamiliar
to me. Horns blaring, people shouting, music playing. I heard a rapper
singing: “you go girl” and while I knew it was his song’s
refrain, it felt like it was directed at me. “Go Kate go,”
“Go Canada,” Go Italy,” “Go Bunny ears.”
Everyone got their own private cheers. I noticed only two miles in that
I was really sweating—it already felt very hot and humid. First
water stop and I poured water on my head to keep cool. For the rest of
the race I did this at each water stop, even when I don’t take anything
to drink.
In Brooklyn, little girls with long dresses offered us lollipops, a chorus
of children were sitting on church steps dressed formally in black and
white (looking a bit like the girls in rows in Madeline books), people
smiling, waving signs, children reaching out to touch runner’s hands.
We passed the 10K mats and I could not believe we had already run 6 miles
(then realized that’s less than one quarter of the way…).
I saw people with 3:40 and 3:50 pace markers on their backs and stayed
close because this was the time I was aiming for. So far, everything felt
just right—not too fast, not too slow. Brooklyn lasted a long time,
but then, suddenly, I saw mile 13. could this be the half-way point already?
We ran over the half-marathon marker mats as we crossed the Pulaski Bridge
into Queens. It seemed like such a short distance before we were on another
bridge—this one bigger, full of shadows, and I look down and saw
a sea of spectators.
As we descended from the Queensboro Bridge, there was a roar which at
first I thought was traffic but then realized it was people shouting:
we made a sharp turn, and we were flying down First Avenue. The mile markers
seemed to come so quickly: the music quickened, cheers got louder—but
I remembered words of warning (“don’t get carried away on
First Avenue—you still have a long way to go). Now I was focused
on getting to 96st street, where I expected to see my family, This was
more familiar territory—I watched the street numbers get higher.
Just past 96th street I heard “mom” and caught a glance at
my son, daughter, husband, waving, holding up signs (only later did I
get a chance to read them). I suddenly realized we were at mile 18 and
I still felt great. I had run this far before but never in a race. Now
I was entering new territory, but I was feeling good.
We were still on First Avenue and I began to focus on reaching the Willis
Avenue Bridge. I was looking forward to seeing everyone at the VCTC table.
We crossed the bridge, Yes, we were in the Bronx, but where were they?
Further up, near the next bridge. I saw the overpass and remembered from
last year that the table was right there. Still didn’t see anyone
I knew until I saw one VCTCer after another, waving, smiling, calling
out my name, telling me I was right on pace. They had been following my
splits through the Athlete Alert e-mails transmitted to cell phones and
Blackberrys, and ran towards me, asking me what I wanted, passing me water—and
in a flash, they were gone. A runner said: “boy you have a big fan
club” and I said, proudly, “that’s my running club.”
We crossed another bridge. I saw people next to me bending over, not looking
too good. More and more I become aware of runners struggling, some holding
on to their sides, others gripping a calf, one or two sitting down, a
few walking. We rounded off the bridge and were on Fifth Avenue. Another
warning came to me (“it’s all up hill,” the last miles
are the toughest,” “the real race begins at mile 20”).
I still felt good. What was this about “a wall.” This wasn’t
too bad, really—maybe I’ll do another marathon one day.
But then, all of a sudden, just as I pass mile 22, I was aware of feeling
very, very tired. My legs, which felt so springy minutes ago, were leaden,
and I felt that everything began to go in slow motion (whereas before,
it was fast forward). Ah, but we were in the park, this should be familiar.
Where was my family? They were supposed to be somewhere behind the Met.
I had just passed the Met but didn’t see them. (I found out much
later that they had seen me and shouted but I was so zoned out I did not
notice them.) So this must be what “hitting the wall” feels
like (though I expected my legs to get rubbery which they didn’t,
thank goodness). I was aware of feeling more and more thirsty and I stayed
thirsty even when I drank water and Gatorade. More and more people were
walking around me—a woman was lying on a stretcher with a neck brace,
with medical people surrounding her. What happened to her? Would I collapse
too?
The miles were longer and longer. The last three miles felt like the longest
three miles I had ever run. I saw the times and realized that I had slowed
down. Now I knew I was way off pace and suddenly it didn’t matter—I
just wanted to make it (could I do it under 4:00 at this point? ) Two
miles to go. I knew I could do it, two miles was nothing. But why did
it feel so so, so far. Finally 1.2 miles, 1 mile, 800, 400, 200 meter
markings, but even these do not come soon enough. I was still running
but it felt like a crawl (was I crawling?). I saw the finish line and
hoped that it was as close as it looked. I heard that beep, looked up
at the clock (no, not under 4:00, but just over—disappointed, only
a bit, just glad to be standing, but barely, so glad to have finished…but
was told to keep walking.
Wow. It was over, I actually ran a marathon. I gave myself a wonderful
50th birthday present. I felt great for the first 22 miles (and even stayed
on pace) and really enjoyed myself on the streets of New York. Today (the
next day), I am only just a bit tired and sore. Thank you, VCTC. You led
me here and got me through it.. I was befriended, inspired, coached, and
supported by the runners of VCTC.You helped me set new goals, face new
challenges, enjoy new accomplishments, find wonderful running partners,
make new friends, and enjoy running even more.
So, when do I begin training again? Should I run Boston? (I did qualify
with my NY time. You don’t have to be too fast at my ripe old age).
Means training this winter…I’ll make sure to put in more long
runs to run those last ones stronger… I know VCTC will keep inspiring
me to do more. Just don’t start talking to me about ultras, Firdaus.
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