Monday, January 30, 2006

A Long and Winding Road



January 31, 2006
Miami, Florida

I like to travel for two major reasons: it gets me out of my comfort zone and, by definition, it invites me to think out of the box. I'’m coming to the conclusion that endurance running, and the training that precedes it, offers the same inherent benefits/challenges.

I've only run a few endurance races, always more comfortable with 5K or 10K options. The only half marathon I ran was in September, 2003, and I remember digging deep to keep going about mile 10. I had trained for that race all summer with long runs along the actual race course. So I felt ready--—and still I flagged the last quarter of the race.

Prior to Sunday'’s race in Miami, I had only done one long run--—96 minutes to be exact-- in Central Park a week before the race. So, I wasn't at all sure what to expect. Here'’s how it went.

4:45 a.m.
Wake up call from the hotel. Start putting on clothes that I'd laid out the night before.

4:55 a.m.
Second wake up call. Room service arrives with one small cup of coffee ( never drink the stuff, but pre-race it's a great stimulant to enhance performance ) and a carafe of hot water for tea ( pure comfort ).

5:05 a.m.
Do stretches and core work while eating chocolate energy bar ( one bonus to long runs is eating chocolate under the guise of health ).

5:15 a.m
Get in taxi. Driver's greeting: "I’ve been waiting for an hour out here."



6:00 a.m.
The race officially begins with the elite runners. I'’m sandwiched near the back of the pack. We’re in chutes arranged by bib number ( #14174 ).

6:10 a.m.
Mile One.
I reach the starting gate and start my stopwatch ( a major feat since I have marginal skills with even the smallest gadget ). We head over MacArthur Causeway toward Miami Beach in the dark. This is not flat but has a steady incline for about 1/4 mile, and the wind is blowing pretty hard right in my face. On my right are a dozen cruise ships festively lit. It'’s difficult to find my rhythm because there are so many people clustered together.
Someone in front of me trips and falls onto the metal and concrete bridge. I see a 30something man off to the side of the bridge stretching. He has one leg.
I crest the top of the bridge and start descending--—my favorite part of a race. I love going downhill. It reminds me of Norfolk Road, the blacktop street of my childhood. I would walk up to the top of that hilly road and run all the way to the end ( right by the Turner's house, the Bark's house, the Winslow's house. Where are those people now? ).

6:21 a.m.
Mile Two.
I'’m surprised at how fast it came up. Better pace myself, slow down, run my own race. The course is thinning out but still there are lots of people zigging and zagging, trying to pass the pack.
I look for someone to run with who can be my pacer. There he is ahead--—longish blond hair, 5’11" or so, probably in his 20s. His stride is long and steady and slow. I run alongside.

6:30 a.m.
Mile Three.
I've got my groove now. To quote my trainer, Bill, all the big body parts are working. My new friend, Troy, and I wend our way through Miami Beach as dawn approaches.
Troy is an electrical engineer at the Space Center. He promises great things for the space program in the future. He's never run anything longer than a 5K. In fact, this is only his second race. I'm impressed.
We enter the Art Deco section with its pastel, stucco buildings all of which look a little tired to me. There are a few people on the sidelines clutching their Starbuck’s coffee and, some, smoking cigarettes. Amazing.

6:50 a.m.
Mile Five.
South Beach. These people haven't been to bed yet and they look like it. I have my first Goo, a semi-liquid high carbohydrate gel to keep my body from depleting my glycogen supply. I stop for water and a little Gatorade and lose track of Troy.

7:01 a.m.
Mile Six. The sun rises. I find Troy again and run alongside him. I take a look around and realize that itss a beautiful morning. I watch the sun coming up over the dunes on my right. There's cheering from the sidelines from time to time. Some guy holds up a sign that says: Cocktails At The Finish.

7:11 a.m.
Mile Seven.
The scenery is unremarkable. We've left the ocean drive. I’ve lost Troy for good, I'm afraid. I run past a man who is speed-walking the race course. He has a cane in either hand but walks with a certain confidence. A woman ahead of me has a tee shirt that reads: We Are All The Same Race.
I overhear a couple of 40ish runners behind me planning their post-race party.
“I brought some good drugs."
"Oh, yeah? What?"
"I don'’t know, but it'll mellow you out like Vicodin."

So much for the clean living of runners.

7:23 a.m.
Mile Eight.
More than half way. I have a pace bracelet on that gauges my finish based on each mile's pace. I'm ahead of my planned pace. I could finish 15 minutes sooner than I planned.
Fight getting overconfident. Just run your race, Mary.
Check in with my body to see if I want to kick in. Maybe at Mile 9.
Come up on a group of people with yellow tee shirts on. Some guy is barking orders at them: "OK. I want you to sprint to Mile Marker Nine." I’m glad I’m not with a group.

7:34 a.m.
Mile Nine.
Have my second Goo. My left foot is throbbing and I can’t figure out why. Oh, the lightbulb. Your foot is swelling. Just loosen your shoestrings. Right calf is starting to tighten up. OK. Stretch it. No need to panic. ( Love that self talk...)…Suddenly, I realize that I feel surprisingly good. Endorphins?
Do a little sprint and decide to let my gel kick in before I push. I need a pacer.

7:44 a.m.
Mile Ten.
I see a man that looks about my age, 5'10", tan, fit but not thin with a good steady pace. “Hi. I'm needing to pace myself and you're running just right for me. Are you doing about 10 minute miles?"
My new friend, Tom, is assistant fire chief in Miami Beach--—beach patrol division.
We talk about New York. Somehow we get onto the topic of 9/11. “I lost a good friend in 9/11. Amato.—His brother is in the department here with me. I’ve got goosebumps just thinking about it."

We are starting to cross Venetian Causeway that will lead us back to Miami and the finish line. Old Miami white stucco houses line the causeway entryway. Sure wouldn’t want to be in one of them in a hurricane.
I see a couple in front of me wearing a tee shirt that reads: You thinking running is hard. Try chemotherapy.

Where is Mile Marker 11?

7:56 a.m.
Mile Marker 11.
Finally.
I stop at a water station and pour water over my head and neck. My hands have stopped sweating. I'm starting to conserve physiologically.
I say goodbye to Tom who is running the whole marathon and needs to shuffle for awhile to slow himself down. I'll miss him.
More spectators now. Sometimes they call out my name ( it'’s on my bib ) --–especially if they'’re over 50! I'm keeping my time consistent.
Just watch your footfalls, Mary. This is when you can get careless and you’re tired now. Don’t trip. Stay focused. You can sprint at the end, but for now just lengthen your gait and stretch your legs a bit more. No hotdogging.

Where is Mile Marker 12?

8:06 a.m.
Mile Marker 12
Water over the head and neck. Gatorade. Many more spectators, camera crews, photographers.
You can do this. Stretch a little more. I see the finish line. Wow, that seems too soon. Sprint a little, not all out, though, until you can see. Damn. It'’s the chute that separates the marathoners from us--—they go right to Coconut Grove--—we go left to Bayfront Park.
Don'’t stop, just slow down.
I can hear the bands and the announcer ( "Here comes Sally Platchbaum from Milwaukee, Wisconsin across the finish line. Congratulations, Sally") I know it's a few more blocks.
Wait until you can see the finish line. Then you can sprint.

8:15 a.m.
Mile Marker 13
1/10 of a mile to go. Now you just give it all you've got. —Pump those arms, kick those legs up.
I pass ten or fifteen people as I use all my strength to move ahead, watching the digital clock tick off each second. Finally, I hear the buzz of my timing chip hitting the electronic device to record my time.

I did it.

Official Time: 2 hours,16 minutes. Finished 16th out of 105 in my age group.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Congratulations! I am so impressed! Well done! Brilliant!

I used to play, then coached, lacrosse and field hockey but never could run distances.

Great post - feel like I ran the race with you ...which is the only way I will ever be close to knowing what a half marathon feels like!