A Bagel Before Breakfast, Anyone?
I had set my alarm for 4:45am on Sunday morning. Of course I woke up at 4. No one sleeps well before a marathon, and with the logistics involved in getting out to Staten Island, I had a full blown case of pre-race jitters.
Nothing like a 5am bagel to steady the nerves. I met my fellow Fred's Teamers at the Hilton on 6th Avenue for a Team breakfast. 800 people milling about in a tacky ballroom, sporting bright orange jerseys and spandex bottoms ranging in length from ankle to just below butt-cheek. A sight to behold! We posed for a team photo (who'd wanna miss capturing that image for posterity,) then boarded the bus to Staten Island. What was supposed to be a half hour took twice as long; strange, since our buses had a police escort. In any event, arrival was spectacular. As the bus crosses the Bridge, a village has descended upon Fort Wadsworth, a former military base. It's a remarkable site; reminiscent of a state fair, only none of the food is fried and no one has a beer belly. It was about 7am when I arrived and I wasn't scheduled to start running until 10:40. Based on my informal research, here's how people kill 3 hours before a marathon:
1.) Stake out a grassy spot
2.) Eat a bagel
3.) Drink water
4.) Select and utilize the least offensive port-o-potty (this may take several attempts)
5.) Inflate full size Aerobed and take pre-race nap (I couldn't make this stuff up...)
6.) " " " Pool lounger " " " " "
7.) Drink Gatorade and/or coffee
8.) Repeat step 4
9.) Bag check (More on this in a moment....)
10.) Call everyone you know and find out if they've downloaded the phone app which subsequently is going to fail miserably
11.) Eat a 2nd, 3rd, 4th bagel...
12.) Lube up...(I'll come back to this one, too...)
13.) Lace up
14.) Head to the corral
15.) Strip (...and this one...)
16.) Hear the gun go off and then Frank Sinatra's voice blaring "New York, New York" over the loud speaker...
17.) Run---very, VERY slowly! (A note on this as well....)
Back to items 9, 12, 15 & 17. "Bag Check." Pretty self-explanatory, but worth mentioning because it was (I'm relieved to say,) an extraordinary feat of organization. Every runner is issued a clear, plastic bag in which to place personal effects. This is the only bag allowed into Fort Wadsworth, and anything and everything else is confiscated upon entry. That's 47,000 bags, all the same, many of which stuffed with the same contents (change of clothes, granola bar, etc.). When it's time to check one's bag (about an hour prior to start time,) a runner reports to a certain area and hands the bag over, which is then hurled into a truck containing thousands of others that look exactly like it. At this point, the runner thinks "Too bad, I kinda liked that sweat shirt...." PS--When I arrived at the finish, my bag was handed to me--my bag--complete with all its contents. New York Road Runners could teach the airlines a thing or two.
Item 12: The Lube-Up. Essentially, there's lots of Vaseline being liberally applied to various body parts. Without going into excessive detail, I'm not embarrassed to say that I am fairly conservative in my application of lube (---is it kind of weird that my parents are reading this?---anyway---.) I probably use a teaspoon to cover all necessary regions. A guy next to me takes off his running shoes and socks, and proceeds to heap the entire--ENTIRE--contents of a 13oz container of Vaseline between his toes. Thankfully, I have no idea how much he put on the rest of his person.
Item 15-November is typically chilly in New York, particularly in the early morning hours. With hours to spend outside before we start running, layering up for warmth is a necessity. As I became aware, there exists a pre-Marathon ritual; the strip-down. Once the gun goes off, sweatshirts, pants, hats, gloves and other articles of clothing are chucked (more or less) to the side of the road. I learned that stripping layers while moving toward the starting line is somewhat of an art; one which I have far from mastered. Were it not for the kindness of the gentleman to my left, who, seeing me stumble, offered me his shoulder, I may well have gone down before I even started. "First-timer out of race; Couldn't get her pants off!"
Item 17: Those of you who read about the elite runners may have learned that the woman leading for much of the race--Mary Keitany--came in third. Most believe she came out of the gate too fast and couldn't keep up the pace. Rookie mistake, but not for this rookie! I'm glad to report that I started very slowly, as I had been taught to do, and, while I didn't finish amongst the top 3 woman, I believe the strategy served me well.
6 Down, Only 20 to Go...
Having already run 6 miles, I found myself saying "Okay, now it's just 20 miles; I've run 20 miles before." While the logic is terribly flawed, two important points were reinforced in that moment:
1.) The mind has a remarkable ability to reframe bullsh*t and, similarly,
2.) Glycogen, the main source of energy used by the body in endurance sports, is diverted away from the brain and into the extremities. Result? Reliable legs. Unreliable mind.
I felt strong the first 15 miles. This covered all of Staten Island, Brooklyn and most of Queens. Crowds in Brooklyn were terrific, minus Bedford-Styvetant. No disrespect toward the Hasids, but they don't do "cheerful rowdiness" very well.
The only panic I experienced during the race came at about mile 13. I was still feeling great, and reached down to my belt to retrieve a packet of energy gel (these are manufactured substances with regulated amounts of carbs, sodium, sugar, etc. meant to be ingested during endurance sports...I find them to be kind of like Pepto-Bismol; sort of gross, but highly effective.) So I reach down for a gel and find that, of the 4 I safety pinned to my belt before the race began, 3 have been lost along the way. This is a problem because I had rationed exactly how many I needed to have on my person before meeting Jason on First Avenue, who had replenishments. Apart from the necessity of a fuel source, you'd be amazed how much one looks forward to a dose of gel, simply to break up the monotony that can accompany long runs. "Oh goodie, in 5 minutes I get to choke something down!" Whatever gets you through...Cardinal rule of marathon-running #2, after "Start out too fast, drop out too early (I just coined that, by the way...), is "Nothing new on race day!" Test everything in the training runs--shoes, shorts, breakfast, underwear vs. commando...NOTHING new on race day. So there I am, halfway through the Marathon, 4 miles away from refueling, without my trusty gel. It's a good thing the glucose had not yet been completely diverted from my brain, because I had enough sense to realize I could substitute the Gatorade available at the fluid stations, until I reached Jason. The only obstacle in my way was rule #2, but I figured I'd probably be okay, since I'd be drinking small amounts. I weighed my options:
1.) Substitute Gatorade (untested) for gels (tested) and risk the kind of GI distress that has you bargaining with the Devil for relief or
2.) Run out of steam before finishing 26.2 and write a final blog post about having to drop out of the Marathon.
In consideration of my ego, and my readership, I opted to drink up!
This unforseen circumstance may have contributed to my beginning to tire at mile 15. Or, it may have been that I'd been running for 15 miles. Either way, when I turned onto the 59th Street Bridge heading out of Queens and into Manhattan, I was starting to feel it. I knew I was close to seeing my family, which gave me a bigger boost than any gel or Gatorade could have, and that really helped me through. It's incredible, really. Because there are no spectators allowed on the bridge, crossing the Bridge can be a time of introspection, read: noticing what hurts. As soon as one leaves the bridge though, there is a roar as hoards of people have gathered on First Avenue to cheer on the runners.
First Avenue was fantastic, in no small part because of seeing my family. With the exception of Asher, who looks miserable (I think he would have preferred to be running than spectating,) I believe everyone was having a good time.
I'm going to condense the part where I leave Manhattan, and cross over the Willis Avenue Bridge into the Bronx. It went something like this:
--Crowd thins out
--Pain sets in
--Denial regarding remaining 8 miles
--Silent cursing
Heading back into Manhattan and into Central Park, I perked up. Having chosen the biggest possible iron-on letters for my shirt (see pic above,) I made certain to take full advantage of spectators' shouting my name to help propel me toward the finish line. Dayna, Deena, Dina, Dyana, and Diane all received a wealth of support.
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| Finishing just behind the Sikh gentleman.... And then, there I was. At the finish line. I wish I had the words to describe the feeling, but the picture does it so much better. Those of you (Dad,) paying attention to detail will note that the clock reads "6:19:12" and I reported finishing in 5:16:1. The discrepancy is attributed to the fact that the clock is timing the marathon from when the elite runners begin at 9:40am. My time of 5:16 covers the actual time it took me to run from the start to the finish. So, that's it. That's the story of Dayna training for, and finishing her first marathon, and raising a nice bit of cash for cancer research, along the way. The question I've been asked the most in the last week is: "Can you walk?" The second most asked question is "Will you run the Marathon again?" My answer to both is a most grateful "Yes." Thank you for sharing in this extraordinary experience. In whichever Marathon you choose to run, may you all be blessed with the feeling of crossing the finish line. With love and gratitude, Dayna And |
