Pre-marathon warm up: Posing for photos. That creep looking at me? Jealous of my sweet gloves.
Miles 1-2: Feeling pretty great, I went out at a fast clip but felt like I was rolling at 8 minute pace. It seemed like a good sign considering I went through the first and second mile at 6:49 and 6:48, respectively. I sad my farewell to Greg and was on my way.
Still posing for photos. Clearly more important than actually running.
Miles 3-13: Crossing the 3-mile mark, I looked down to see my watch had stopped working again. I panicked slightly. Maybe I’m just spoiled in that the races I normally run have clocks at each mile but Richmond you let me down. Much to my dismay, I would have to wait until the half-way mark to figure out just how fast (or slow) I was running. But feeling as good as I was – think Bella when Edward lays his cold, vampire hands on her for the first time – I thought, I’ll just keep this same pace the entire race and I’ll have nothing to worry about.
Crazy? Yes indeed. But that is no significant departure from my normal mental state, so I went with it. And it felt great. The miles were flying by. I had no idea what pace I was running but I was smiling to myself, giddy with the excitement of all the upcoming marathons I would be partaking in, eagerly anticipating my arrival at the finish line, where I would gloriously raise my arms in the success of a completed goal. I was honestly having a grand time, soaking in the beauty of Richmond, and adamant that nothing would stop me.
It’s corny but I’m rarely content with moments while they’re actually happening without having the time to dwell and think back of their positive aspects. This occurence of sincere happiness is fleeting and rare and if found in needle form I would it shoot up. Continuously. In an addictive manner. As my personality so clearly demands.
13.1: Finally, I can see how fast I am running. 1:28. 1 second slower than my half-marathon time. I would have liked to pace myself a little slower but I gave the time my approval (because I had a choice in the matter) and only a lingering fear I might start to feel the oncoming pain sooner than I had hoped.
Mile 14: In an attempt to calm my nerves about having no watch, I set my sights on some chick up ahead with legs about 17 times as long as mine. I think, if I can just stay with her then I’ll be fine. Problem solved. Right?
Miles 15-16: A bridge. A windy, windy bridge. The chick I mentioned with those spidery legs? Well she was also about 3 times as skinny as myself, providing no buffer from said wind. I struggle onward, hoping it will end. Hoping this spider chick won’t blow over the edge to her demise before completing the marathon. We push onward to calmer air.
But I fear the bridge has gotten the best of her and decide, watch or not, her pace has slowed. The sign posted “Make the bridge your bitch” obviously had no lasting effect on her. So I pick up the pace and suddenly am struck with the oncoming and urgent need to pee. I have to pee real bad.
I knew this would happen. In the sense that I pee too much and have the luxury of stopping mid-run to pee as I please, as my runs are done in the comfort of the woods with trees providing adequate shelter. Now what? I see porta potties along the course. But no one seems to be using them besides that one police officer back at mile 7. Or 4. Everything seems to be blending together and all I can think about is relieving myself. I turn my head and see the closest person near is almost 100 feet back. If I stop I know I’ll never get my pace back. Not by myself. I think maybe I should just pee my pants, be a real runner here. This thought was immediately followed by me cursing myself for getting my name printed on my bib. Now instead of, “Hey look, that chick peed her pants,” they’ll comment, “Hey look, Michelle pissed herself.”
A dilemma indeed. I do the math in my head. Realizing it’s worth it, I decide to go for it. But a fan yells out my name in encouragement and I get nervous. I decide to wait a bit, see if the feeling will pass, or I’ll lose control over my bladder and it will no longer be my choice.
Miles 17-19: The exhaustion starts to hit, taking away from my obsession to take a pit stop – or pit run if you will. At one point I had been running a few 25 or so yards behind a man, who I decide to approach to ask about his pace. I have no idea how fast I am running and feel as though I may be crawling at a solid 8:30 pace. He informs me it is 7:20. I panic. If I had set out at 7:20 that would have been one thing. I’ll feel like the complete idiot I actually am if I go out at 6:49 pace and finish at 9:30 pace, which I am sure, at that moment, is about to happen.
Solution: Sprint ahead. Oncoming delirium apparently convinced me that if I just took off maybe my body would respond and accept that as a reasonable pace. Heck, maybe I could bust out a 5 minute mile. Ok, may not but either way, the man behind who said, “Where is she going?” kind of caused for doubt to cross my mind over this decision. But, stubborn as I am, the thought of him passing me after this comment provided for a solid mile 19, where my goal was to just get some distance between myself and the stranger who doubted my racing strategy.
Mile 20: Again, finally, I can see my time. 2:15. My head starts spinning. What does that mean? I start to get angry at myself. I’m an accountant and I can’t do simple math. I try. I tried for almost a half a mile but I just don’t know. I don’t know my mileage pace or whether I need to pick it up or if I’m going to keel over on the pavement at any moment. I decide to just finish and worry about it later.
Miles 21-25: The drag. Oh, how these miles dragged. I was alone. I passed two people. One person passed me. But I was alone besides that. The only thing keeping me going were the folks screaming “Go Michelle!” and this time I praised myself for getting my name on my bib. Then I remembered I still had to pee but had now accepted I would stop for nothing, as there was a greater chance of me voting Republican in the next presidential election than me starting to run again if I took a bathroom break.
My face during these miles must have been horrifying. I felt bad for the children lining the sidewalks. I wanted to yell out for parents to shield their eyes, but I had no strength to do anything besides put one foot in front of the other. At one point during this time, the back of my legs started to hurt, up to my lower back. It would come in waves and I wondered what it meant. Music was being played louder than I thought necessary and I couldn’t help by think we were running in a straight line the entire course. I felt like I took 5 turns the entire 26.2 miles.
Then my neck started to cramp. Those previous waves turned into what felt like a continuous, tight grasp on my spinal column pulling down. I would feel my head tilting backwards. It didn’t feel normal. This is when I wondered if it was worth it. Part of me was happy I had driven 9 hours to get to Richmond. If this marathon had been 30 minutes from my house, it would have been easier to give up. But I had made such an effort and spent some signficant gas money to get here, I had to finish.
I thanked myself for those tempo runs I pushed out against all my inner hatred for them. Those painful, painful tempo runs that I dreaded on a weekly basis. They provided for comparisons at this point: just one lap around the lake (where I do said tempo runs). This is just one lap around that stupid lake, you can do this, you’ve done it so many times before. I repeated this. Out loud. Much to the confusion of the spectators, whose eyes displayed signs of what appeared to be fear for my health. These tempo runs had their painful moments, their fleeting feelings of spewing vomit, their exhaustive last steps. But these tempo runs never wanted to take my life, which at mile 25, I’m pretty sure the city of Richmond and all its citizens did. That is why they held this race. To lure me to their city and take me down for their viewing pleasure. All of a sudden Greg doesn’t seem so friendly.
I peed a little. Tiny bit I did. I was so dehydrated though, there wasn’t much. No one would notice. They were too distracted by me vocalizing my inner dialogue.
Mile 26: I see a man hit the pavement. At the sign marked 26 miles. I feel pretty bad but scared that I may be next. I had commented on wanting to run myself into the pavement, but at the finish line. Not at mile 26.
Never has a yellow sign been so welcoming.
Mile 26 wasn’t THAT bad. I knew it was almost over and nothing could have been as bad as mile 25. It wasn’t and I hit the 26 mile marker, only to see this sign:
Why are they portraying this as though it's a good thing? Seriously. Not cool.
.2: Remember above when I mentioned I do most of my runs on trails? Yea well this is great. It has helped me with hills. Richmond hills in no way compare to my trail running hills of home. No one passed me on hills, and even on races in the New Hampshire region, I’m rarely passed while tackling any type of ascending landmass. Running downhill? Different story.
Pavement alone crushes my bones. I run down a slight incline – think wheelchair accessible ramp – and the images that flash through my mind are my shines shattering in to thousands of pieces. Anything besides the pleasant pine-layered, dirt trails of my trail runs reduces me to fear of medical treatment. In the form of plaster to cast my broken legs. And now I have .2 miles, after running 26 miles of downhill. The pain was unbearable. My thoughts drifted to how I could get Robert Pattinson to sign the leg casts I would soon be sporting. (No, I’m not 14. If you read this blog you know I just like trashy goodness.)
Realizing Robert had enough fans to deal with, I focus my attention onto what felt like the inclined position I was running in, as though I was inches away from laying on my back and taking a quick nap. At mile 26. Yea, sucks for that dude who fell down at mile 26, but at least he fell forward. I was going to be that idiot who keeled over on her bum, backwards, while running in a forward motion. It didn’t look good.
Me. Convinced my shin bones had broken through the skin. Pavement you blow. You blow hard.
At this point I had no idea what my time was. I thought maybe 3:10. I would have crossed my fingers for luck but I was too busy trying to stay upright. Then I saw the clock say 3:00 and some change but I questioned my vision given I had just ran 26.2 miles. Then I had my name followed by 3:00 on the speaker and realized I still had eyesight in my exhausted state. And I finished. And proceeded to keep running full speed ahead into the food tent. Not because I was hungry but because my legs didn’t know how to stop.
Trashing any semblance of proper form and just trying to finish. Note sweet neck position. Hot.
With slurred speech I started jabbering away to the photo guy, asking him to take a picture of “us.” He questioned where this supposed running companion was, and I questioned whether I was of stable mind. I had my vision but my ability to speak seemed to have been left back at mile 25.
Chatting it up with the camera guy. Sober? Quite possibly not.
The excitement and emotional response that I was anticipating was yet to come. Instead, I made a bee-line up to my hotel room to shower and change before my checkout time. Is it sad part of the reason I wanted to run under 3:30 was so I could have adequate time to bathe before heading home? Nah. Just me planning ahead. I ran to the elevators, then sadly realized, I could still run without much pain. That I actually felt pretty good. That maybe I could have broken 3-hours if I had pushed just that much harder. Or maybe I would have been like my fellow runner who collapsed at mile marker 26. All I know is that I had a schedule, which included showering before 12 p.m. And for once, I was going to stick for my schedule.
Chilling in the crotch of a statue. Also sad? That I was more excited to receive that sweet aluminum foil wrap after crossing the finish line than I was to receive the finisher's medal.
Up next: The longest drive of my life. The most delicious vegan cupcakes to cross my lips. My brilliant idea to run the day after. And another neck drama – this time I almost broke it.
2 Comments
November 15, 2009 at 9:10 pm
sexy neck position, lol.
You look really happy (:
Huge huge congrats!
November 16, 2009 at 2:12 pm
YAY!!! I was thrilled to finish my 5K.