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ING 2013 New York City Marathon, pt 2: Race Recap

ING 2013 New York City Marathon, pt 2: Race Recap

My days in NYC leading up to the marathon were nothing short of amazing; I’ll revisit those in another post; at the rate I’m going, I’ll probably have a novella before too long. I have wonderful (if not also hilarious) stories, tons of pictures, and some excellent memories that I want to share soon, but for now, though, while the race experience is fresh, let’s get it all out.

Sit down if you’re not already… though if you read me regularly, you probably have a couple drinks next to you by now, too 🙂

As I said earlier, about my race strategy, you’ll know that I wanted to PR (anything sub-3:20:06) and, specifically, to go sub-3:20 at NYC. This was a belated realization and decision on my part, but no spoiler here—and besides, you can easily look up my time and see if I was successful.

What’s really fascinating to me about my NYC Marathon race though was the sheer experience of it all—and my deceptive time—but we’ll get there.

When I say that the NYCM is an experience, I’m not exaggerating. This was marathon #21 for me, and I don’t think any marathon I’ve done, even Boston x2 or Chicago x4, required the logistics or truly deserved the fanfare that NYC did. There are so many variables in any marathon, of course, but I think the NYCM puts those to shame. Maybe it was because of Superstorm Sandy cancelling the race last year, or because of Boston earlier this year, but I don’t really know.

This race really was one of a kind, though.

Despite the fanfare and magic of the NYCM, though, it almost seemed like the statistical likelihood of things going wrong, with the sheer number of variables that were in place, far outweighed the likelihood of things going well or, in a perfect world, according to plan.

Race morning: adventures in Staten Island

Since I was staying in the Upper East Side with a friend of a friend, and didn’t want to hang on public transit for an hour in the wee a.m. hours, I hired a driver to take me down to the Staten Island Ferry in time for the 6:45 a.m. shuttle, the same one that my friends Corey and David (and David’s Evanston Running Club-based group) would be on. Neither Corey nor David were checking gear, so that meant that neither of them had their cell phones, which necessitated that I rely on some serious ‘Where’s Waldo?’-style crowd scanning to find them.

After putting on approximately 15 layers of various articles of clothing (about 4 pairs of pants or tights, around 7 shirts or long-sleeves, two sweaters, a fleece pullover, old running shoes, thick/fuzzy socks, a toboggan hat, a scarf, and some gloves), and, correspondingly, making myself look like a 400-pound homeless, androgynous linebacker, I greeted my super-sweet car driver who arrived early (score!), and after he bid me adieu and told me, sincerely, that he hoped I would win (endearing), I waited outside for Corey and David. Around 6:30, I called it quits and entered the SI Ferry terminal so I could give myself enough time to go through security and figure out where the hell I was supposed to go.

Hangin outside the SI ferry terminal, waiting for Corey and David to magically appear at any moment
Hangin outside the SI ferry terminal, waiting for Corey and David to magically appear at any moment

How I managed to find Corey, who was sitting on the ground, in her own ‘homeless androgynous linebacker’ get-up, after not seeing her outside is beyond me, but it was so fantastic to have a Chicago buddy, someone whom I had also trained with over the summer, to hang with for the next few pre-race hours. (Sidenote: Corey reminds me a lot of my sister, and I think that’s part of the reason I really enjoy my time with her. aw. sentimental.) Anyway, we chatted away the morning on the ferry, stood in a forever long line at the terminal in SI so we’d have the luxury of shitting and pissing in indoor plumbing for the last time for the next few hours, and in that line, got the scoop (via text) from Lynton, who was already at the starting village, about where we needed to go and where we’d meet him.

400 pounds+ androgynous linebackers FTW
400 pounds+ androgynous linebackers FTW
Thug marathoner
Thug marathoner

I can’t emphasize how awesome it was to already begin my NYCM race day morning with a Chicago runner friend. I was pretty relaxed the entire morning, but it put me in an even more relaxed and happy mood, and any momentary stress-filled moments that we had, especially as Corey and I waited for.effin.ever to get a bus from the SI harbor to the starting village, practically vanished because we were able to just talk, and bullshit, and think about anything else.

Eventually, Corey and I got to the starting village and quickly met up with Lynton: again, mood score leveled up. By this point, it was probably in the high 40s with some wind bursts, and I had been feeling the beads of sweat dripping down my back and chest for the past hour from all the clothing I was wearing. I took a minute, right before we got in our first porta-potty line, to take off my two sweaters, and within seconds, two guys approached me, asked if the sweaters were mine, and asked if they could have them because they were “two dumb Texans who don’t know what the hell we were doing”; they were hangin’ in their race kits and noticeably shivering from the elements, against which they had no protection. I then offered them my pants—pretty funny reaction from them on that one—and two fewer pairs of pants for me (sharing is caring), and two fully-clothed (and grateful) Texans later, Corey, Lynton, and I porta-pottied for the final time together, fistbumped, and then split into our separate color waves (those two in blue, me in orange).

 

One of my favorite pictures of the weekend.
One of my favorite pictures of the weekend.

My only real concern this whole time was getting to my gear check in time for my wave. I was in wave 1, so I would be leaving at 9:40. I casually walked up to my gear check around 9:20 and then shuffled over to my wave starting line to find that my wave had closed LONG ago and that I’d have to start with wave 2, which I thought would be starting around 9:45 or so (spoiler: 10:05 start time for wave 2). I initially thought fuck—this is going to mean lots of weaving, lots of slower runners, more restraint than I want to think about this early in the course, but I almost immediately decided that it was probably a good thing that I’d have to start in a slower wave. Every article I had read prior to the race practically demanded that the first two miles be the slowest of the day, and while I was pretty confident I could do that in wave 1, I knew I could absolutely do that in wave 2. How I missed the important detail of when I was supposed to be in my corral is beyond me, but like I said, there are so many logistics to this race that I’m surprised that that was the only thing I missed.

I ended up hanging out at the very front of the wave 2 orange group and had a blast chatting with a gaggle of men, my new BFFs, from Germany, France, and Holland (or Finland?) as we all eagerly awaited the race start. The energy was electric, the combination of pre-race bodily smells INTENSE (and even moreso when you’re at many men’s armpit levels), but I felt completely relaxed and ready to run what should be the slowest miles of my day in the world’s largest marathon.

Miles 1-2: Staten Island

9:01, 7:54

Fortunately, I’ve three good friends (hi, Austin, Amy, and Jack!) who’ve run NYC and whose experiences taught me a lot about how to prepare for and execute this race. Reading lots of blogs and articles helped too, of course, but it’s always better when a buddy has gone before you 🙂 All I allowed myself to think about in miles 1-2ish, going over the Verrazano-Narrows bridge, which was also the steepest hill of the day, was Austin’s advice to go as slowly as possible, as challenging as it would be to do, and to look to the left to soak in the awesome Manhattan skyline. Fortunately, I was on the left, so looking over was especially easy, and I saw only about 2 or 3 guys peeing off the bridge. The wind was variably strong and super gusty, a preview of what we’d have for the first 21 or so miles of the day, so I kept my long sleeve technical and gloves on for a bit longer than I expected. I couldn’t believe I was finally running NYC, after paying for it three times since 2009 (after getting in on the first lottery go in ’09 and deferring, and then qualifying in 2012), and I had already decided before the race began that I was going to have a fuckin’ blast, run intelligently, Cheshire like crazy, and race like hell.

always with the Cheshire
always with the Cheshire

Miles 3-13: Brooklyn

7:48, 7:28, 7:39, 7:43, 7:42, 7:35, 7:48, 7:44, 7:53, 7:40, 7:31

Once I hit Brooklyn, I again recalled Austin’s warning that it would be really hard to slow the eff down in Brooklyn but that it was critical in order to run NYC well. I repeatedly told demanded to myself do NOT barrel through Brooklyn. Do NOT barrel through Brooklyn. I mostly ran on feel but checked in to my pace bracelet periodically, to see where I was supposed to be, and then my watches (wore two, again) to see where I actually was. I happily found that I was off my goal pace, about 50 seconds or so slower than what I should have been, and I was satisfied. One of the most helpful blogs I read (repeatedly) before the race said that until around mile 15 or so, I should be +/- 90 seconds off my goal pace and time, so I told myself that I was doing NYC right so far. Brooklyn was absolutely electric though. Going through all the neighborhoods was just a thrill, and seeing how quickly things changed—going from a Latino block, to Eastern European, to African American, to Hassidic Jew, among others—was just really cool. We were running straight into some super gusty (20+ mph?) winds in Brooklyn, which made things a little chilly, but by mile 3, I was warm enough that I had already dropped my LS and gave my gloves to a little child on the corner.

I also made the executive decision early in Brooklyn that I was going to douche ham douche it up and side-5 and high-5 as many spectators as I could. I thought this was a minimally energy-exerting activity for me, and, more importantly, it would probably slow me down some, which is what I wanted. I wanted to finish Brooklyn 100% fresh and make my body think that we had signed up to run just a half today, not a full.

The Brooklyn spectators were incredible. I easily side- and high-5ed at least 100 people’s hands (oh, the germs!), and I felt like each of them was there just for me that day; having my name written on both arms and twice on my singlet and bib sure helped, too. They yelled for me, I cat-called back to them (heeeeeeeeeeeey babycakes!) and I was just having a blast at this running party. Sign me up for more, por favor.

Running is fun!
Running is fun!
Let's be friends!
Let’s be friends!

My body felt incredible in Brooklyn. I didn’t clock-watch very much, but I checked in periodically just to see what my margin looked like. I was fine. I was totally comfortable, I knew I was where I wanted to be, and my body was just rockin’. The only niggle that popped up was some chafing in my right armpit area. I tried tucking, then untucking, and then retucking my singlet into my bra, and then actually tearing my singlet at the seam (not possible with one hand mid-run, FYI), and nothing really worked. I thought I had lubed up in the morning, but I’m guessing it had dissipated in my 1000 layers of clothing I had worn. Fortunately, it wasn’t horrible, just tender, and slightly modifying my armswing helped a bit. After a few miles, I finally realized that the medics were only on the right side of the course (weird, right?), and I was able to score a popsicle stick full of Vaseline around mile 11. I lubed the shit out of my arm, so much so that I felt like my armswing was a veritable slip-n-slide, and successfully averted the potential crisis.

Miles 13.5ish-16ish: Queens

7:31 (mile 13 the Pulaski Bridge), 7:40, 7:47, 8:14 (Queensboro bridge)

At the halfway point, I saw that I was just under 3 minutes off pace; I wanted to be at the halfway around a 1:40 for a sizable negative split, and I came through at 1:42:47. I was completely happy about this and thought, again, that I was doing this right. I wasn’t stressed at all, though I had to have a few mini-moments to myself about trusting my training and trusting my dear and esteemed runner friends’ experiences with the course.

not sure which bridge this is, but I think it might be the Pulaski. Sunshine! Rainbows! Unicorns!
not sure which bridge this is, but I think it might be the Pulaski. Sunshine! Rainbows! Unicorns!
love the other guy's expression - YAY RUNNING
love the other guy’s expression – YAY RUNNING

The Pulaski Bridge wasn’t especially long or steep, but there were already a good number of folks strollin’ by the time I hit it. I wouldn’t allow myself to weave, since my watch was already about .1 off the mile markers (and once I realized that back in Brooklyn, I was more selective about when I’d go high-5 spectators), so again, I just figured that I’d stay steady, pick a path, and go with it. By the time I got into Queens, I had consumed about 3 gels: in the starting village, around mile 4, 9, and then at 13, right before the bridge. I had attempted to score an orange slice from a child in Brooklyn but dropped it (damn race day butterfingers), but my energy levels felt great. Just like with any recent marathon I’ve done, I decided early that if I saw food on the course—the usual suspects like bananas and oranges—I’d take them. Experience has taught me that besides pacing very deliberately, I need to consume a lot in order to really stay far ahead of bonking.

For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what the NYCM course map looked like, so I had no idea where Queens was in relation to Brooklyn or Manhattan. I felt great still though, though I had momentarily gotten rained on a few times in this stretch (and I didn’t know if it was actual rain or someone else’s flying perspiration…), but I eagerly awaited mile 15, the Queensboro Bridge, the part of the course where unicorns go to die, according to numerous recaps I had read.

While I’m happy to say I didn’t die here, I think this is where I really began to trip over people a bit. One line from a blogger’s RR really echoed in my mind on the Queensboro: whatever you do, run in a way early in the race that’ll ensure you get to the Queensboro in fighting shape. The bridge wasn’t terrible, just seemingly never-ending, and when I’d check in on my pace, I noticed my Garmin was reporting something like a 9 ½ minute mile. I quickly dismissed it (Grand Ave bridge much, Chicago runners?), and again, just focused on staying steady and not weaving a ton through the hordes of humanity who were dragging ass by now.

I had also recalled from the same RR that this was the quietest mile of the course and that this would be a good place to revel in the run, to think about the final 10-11 miles of the course, and to really begin to focus. I did a full-body assessment again, gave myself the all-clear, and just wondered when the hell the bridge was going to end. I knew that Manhattan awaited us on the other side, and if I got really lucky, I’d see Chanthana, Matt, and Kevin around mile 16, and then Lee Ann around mile 17, on the left-hand side of the course; I just needed to get off this bridge first.

Miles 16-20ish: Manhattan

8:14 (the Queensboro bridge), 7:32, 7:32, 7:37, 7:32 (Willis Ave. bridge around 19.7)

Leaving the Queensboro was a relief. It wasn’t particularly challenging; it was just hard to get around people who quickly realized that they messed up early in the course. I knew that the “wall of sound” in Manhattan was waiting for me, and I heard it before I saw it, making me think of the Wellesley women in Boston. I couldn’t believe the crowds in Manhattan; I think all of them on First Avenue had to have been at least 10 rows deep. It was like no other marathon I had ever experienced, and the energy was palpable beyond belief.

I scanned as best I could but didn’t see Chanthana, Matt, or Kevin, yet just as I gave up, I heard GOOOOOOOOOOOO ERIN!!!!! and quickly saw maroon (the color of Kevin’s racing team) in my peripheral vision, so seeing (or hearing, rather) those guys was a great pick-me-up. I cruised right along First Ave on the left hand side, amazed at the sheer humanity that was lining the streets and how much every spectator seemed to be yelling—never have I ever felt like that big of a celebrity before in a race—and I was feeling awesome. I didn’t check in a bunch on my pace at this point, but I told myself that this stretch was where the pros would often begin to kick—way too early—and regret it later. I told myself that steady was the name of the game and that I hadn’t yet hit 20, when the magic really started.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure many of the mile(s) on First Ave were uphill, but it didn’t feel that way at all because of the spectator support. Seeing Lee Ann, a Chicago Bootlegger, and her huge Yoda hat was amazing, and a solid side-5 from my BRC gal was just terrific. Her sunshiney face at mile 17 was like seeing Meredith’s sunshiney face at 25 in Chicago; talk about a wonderful pick-me-up.

do or do not; there is no try. spectator of the year.
do or do not; there is no try. spectator of the year. thanks for the pic, Lynton/BRC FB group.

I felt fantastic, I felt relaxed, I had managed to see the only spectators in NYC whom I actually knew, and I still had some race to run. Here again, my memory of the NYCM course map failed me, and I knew that we’d be heading north into the Bronx next, but where that was going to happen was beyond me. All I knew was that I had to be patient for a while longer, even though my pace was still about 3 or so minutes off my goal end time. I knew I was doing this right; I just had to trust myself.

Right around the 30k mark, shortly before we exited Manhattan for the Bronx, I had a moment with myself. I was feeling really well still, I knew I was about 3-4 minutes off goal time by now, but I deliberated if 30k was too early to kick in a marathon despite how good I felt. I was especially hesitant to begin to kick here because I think that’s part of the reason I didn’t finish Chicago as strongly as I wanted to—it was just too early to kick. I willed myself to be a patient grasshopper, to wait until I had 10k to go, and then—and only then—would I let the wheels fuckin’ roll.

Miles 20-21: the Bronx

7:32, 7:32 (Madison Ave bridge around 20.7)

Marathons are tough, no doubt. A lot of people come undone, for whatever reason (of which there are maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaany), around mile 20, and I knew that that might be in store.

That’s part of the magic and frustration of the marathon distance; you really never know what you’re going to experience mile-to-mile.

I was still feeling great, still very fresh, but I was trying to be realistic and acknowledge that things could go south at any time. Sure, I had felt like I had paced extremely well up until this point, but I figured this part would be where I’d learn, for better or worse, if I had, in fact, actually recovered from Chicago. My energy levels were fantastic because I had been ingesting AccelGels on the regular and had managed to score a ton of fruit from the spectators along the way. Energy-wise, I knew I was fine; physiologically, I felt fantastic as well, but I knew this could quickly become do-or-die time.

I wasn’t necessarily afraid of the (remaining) miles at this point; I was just hyper-aware.

Other RRs I read said that the Bronx is always sparse with spectators, which can be especially hard if you’re having a bad day, so I had that expectation going into this borough. I was pleasantly surprised to find a healthy number of spectators on the course cheerin’ their effin’ hearts out. We were only in the Bronx for a hot minute, the fewest number of miles for any of the boroughs, but it was great. Don’t knock the Bronx, folks. It’s not Manhattan or Brooklyn, but it’s not bad.

The only tough part of the Bronx was that the streets seem to be a bit more narrow, and if you’re deciding to begin your kick at the last 10k of a marathon, the combination of some marathoners’ final 10k death marches and narrower streets can be a bit problematic… especially when you’re really just now beginning your race.

Miles 21-26.2: Manhattan & Central Park

7:32 (right at the end of the Madison Ave bridge), 7:19, 7:06, 7:35 (Fifth Ave hill before CP), 7:09, 7:06, 7:01 for .2

It was time.

Again, acknowledging that things could go south at any moment, I knew I still felt great and that if I hauled ass, which I felt like I could do, I could go sub-3:20. It would be tough, but I could do it.

This is what Pfitzinger had been training me all year to do. Just like one of his chapters says, if you run a marathon well, intelligently, the last 10k is yours and yours alone. This is it. This is what your training is all about. Revel in your preparation; you’ve got nothing to worry about here.

Once back in Manhattan, fortunately the streets magically widened again, but the throng of runner humanity hitting the wall was tough. I didn’t want to weave, but I also had business to attend to, people! By this late in the course, I had nearly run down (as in, nearly smacked into their backside because they suddenly STOPPED running) about 3 or 4 people and had received no fewer than four people’s elbows into my shoulder, chest, arms, and almost my face. By this late in the course, I was beginning to think that missing my wave and starting with wave 2, while helpful early in forcing me to manage my pace, immensely challenged me on the back 10k, simply in terms of how many more members of humanity I’d have to navigate.

It’s hard to haul ass, even aggressively, when you don’t have a lot of space to do it in and when you’re only pushing 5’5.5”.

I repeatedly (and kindly, I think) asked people to watch where they were going and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T STOP! Despite the salmon-swimming-upstream feeling I had in trying to run quickly through many people who were running less-than-quickly, my body felt amazing—no indication of an impending visit to the wall—and for the last 10k of a marathon? My god, I felt otherworldly. I have never. ever. felt so strong during the back 10k of a marathon, on a flat or hilly course alike.

I cruised along, trying my best to keep a clear path without adding much distance, and even on the seemingly never-ending Fifth Ave hill between miles 22.5-23.75 (approx), I told myself to. just. keep. going. By now, I was on autopilot on the hill, trying to maintain an even effort, and when the hill fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally crested and we entered Central Park, around 23.75 (or so), the only word on my mind was HAUL.

HAUL.

HAUL.

Saturday morning, Lynton and I had run a four mile shake-out in Central Park, so I remembered the topography of some of what I’d have left in the course: some rollers but, seemingly, lots of downs. As I look at the course map now, I know that we had to do some ascending, but in the heat of the moment, it simply felt like I was flying downhill. I was passing people left and right—what Lynton and I fantasized about the morning before, his exact words being imagine how awesome it will be to pass tons of people here tomorrow if you race well—and I felt like I was flying. As soon as I had decided to start my kick, I felt my stride opening up, and the images of all the MLRs and LRs from the summer, the ones that I insisted on having fast finishes, came flooding back to me. This was exactly what I had trained to do. What I was about to do was no different than what I had practiced doing all summer long on the lakefront and at WFG.

This last part is a bit of a blur. I know we had some hills to ascend in Central Park, but in my mind, it was just one enormous downhill. I wasn’t clock-watching at all at this point because I knew it was completely down to the wire, and I felt like any effort I expended reading my watch and comparing it to my pace bracelet would likely ensure that I’d probably end up in a runner pile with runners whose races ended long ago. I needed to literally keep my head up and focus on the final 2.2 miles because it was now or never that sub-3:20 was going to happen.

We exited the park around Columbus Circle, and I recalled reading somewhere the night before that the couple blocks outside the park, maybe around end of mile 25-beginning of mile 26, were two long blocks’ long. I was prepared to ride the pain train because I hadn’t yet touched it—maybe a douchey-sounding acknowledgement here but truly, very honest—and yet again, despite how close we were to the finish line, the throngs of runner humanity I felt trapped in, around, and behind seemed massive.

humanity everywhere
humanity everywhere
haul! haul! haul!
haul! haul! haul!
let's go!
let’s go!

At the 800m to go mark, in the name of ‘ride the pain train’ plan, suddenly my mind diverted to singing ‘the itsy bitsy spider,’ much as it often does in the throes of speedwork when I’m trying to concentrate (yet relax) on hitting a specific goal pace; this is what happens when you’re a SAHM, folks. Children’s music enters into your head and becomes an earworm at a moment’s notice. I immediately refocused and had an internal monologue about my emotional unavailability for sing-songy children’s music at this present time. A quick look at my watch made me realize that unless I could pull out the fastest 800m of my life, a sub-3-minute half mile—and at the end of a challenging course, despite my feeling still pretty fresh—the sub-3:20 wasn’t going to happen, nor would the sub-3:20:06, technically still a PR.

By now though, my heart had completely taken over, and as dramatic as it sounds, it felt like the entire essence of my running being was propelling me forward. I still dodged a ton of people in the final 800 meters because, though I knew a PR wasn’t going to happen, I still wanted to come in as quickly as possible. I knew that the sub-3:20 wasn’t mine for the taking that day, but I knew that I had executed a really fine NYC performance, with a time that’s decent, given the course’s challenges, a ~4 minute negative split (!), and just three weeks after my PR marathon in the flat lands of Chicago, my hometown.

just before finishing
just before finishing
seeing the finish line... and rockin' the cameltoe antithesis. one day I will find an awesome pair of running shorts suitable for a marathon
seeing the finish line… and rockin’ the cameltoe antithesis. one day I will find an awesome pair of running shorts suitable for a marathon

Crossing the finish line, hand over heart, I was elated. The sudden realization I was finishing NYC just 89 seconds slower than the marathon I had done three weeks earlier, absolutely floored me. I’ll own it: NYC is a harder marathon than Chicago, and the fact that my time difference here was negligible to what I did in Chicago three weeks earlier just blew. my. fuckin. mind. I knew a 3:21 NYC was “better” than a 3:20 Chicago, so I was stoked. The thought of being bitter or frustrated about not hitting my goal didn’t occur to me like it did in Chicago. Sure, I wondered how things might have transpired if I started in my correct wave, if we didn’t have a 20 mph headwind for most of the race, or if I began to kick at 30k, but the fantasies were fleeting.

hand over heart. problematic only because it looks like my heart is actually hurting me. noted.
hand over heart. problematic only because it looks like my heart is actually hurting me. noted.

Once I realized that I performed way better than I ever would have imagined in doing the Chicago-NYC double, by going from an easier to a harder course in just 21 days, my attitude quickly became how the hell did this just happen, and I absolutely became the hippy-dippy runner girl at the finish line, totally fixated on having an attitude of gratitude, and damn near wanted to hug every. person. I. met.

The walk from the finisher’s chute to the UPS gear check vehicles was long, and sure, it was a bit chilly, but that walk was easily the best thing the NYRR could have mandated its runners do post-race. It’s so counterintuitive, but at least in my experiences, the more I move immediately post-marathon, the more quickly I recover. With my attitude of gratitude and endocannibinoid-fueled essence in full tilt, I made eye contact with almost every single volunteer and medic I saw, and personally thanked them for helping make the race such an amazing experience and for sharing their beautiful city with me.

I so wish I am kidding here, because this sounds so ridiculous, but I was totally that girl. I’m surprised someone didn’t call a medic for the crazy ginger weirdo.

Miraculously, I didn’t cry, but just like in Brooklyn, I fist-bumped and high- and side-5ed practically everyone I could. I also quickly befriended all the runners!!! I could and learned from a woman named Demetra, a 50-something Brooklynite running her first marathon, that she BQed. Our eyes quickly locked in the finisher’s chute, and I could immediately tell she wanted to tell me something—she wanted to share her freakin’ huge accomplishment with someone, people!!!–and I damn near exploded with glee for this perfect stranger (and also managed to get some official course pictures with her, ha. Congrats again, girl!).

 

with my new bestie, Demetra
with my new bestie, Demetra

As I moved along in the 1-2 mile long walk to get my gear, I saw another woman runner who seemed like she was in bad shape, and we quickly established a friendship as I suggested that she take my arm and walk some to help with the cramping that she felt was about to commence (in retrospect, I’m not sure that this was the brightest idea, but she seemed to appreciate it). When she told me her name was Amy, I immediately got ridiculously sentimental—the endocannibinoids, people—and told her that a dear runner friend of mine was also named Amy and that it was really cool that I had met another runner Amy. (I’m shaking my head and rolling my eyes at myself now). New Amy and I shared our experiences of the day, and once I safely got her to her gear check, I grabbed my stuff and shortly after found Lynton, the guy whom I reaaaaaaaally wanted to see, and learned of his amazing, kick-ass, PR-busting performance.

My day was so made, and it didn’t even involve me hitting my own goal time. Hearing Lynton’s experiences, from Lynton himself, while everything was still so raw and fresh made me beyond proud—so indescribably happy, damn near joyful—and even now, writing this recap days later, the same flood of emotion that came over me in the immediate minutes post-race, when Lynton told me about his experience, is happening yet again. I’ve written about this elsewhere, but running is as much a team thing as it is individual, and when your teammate delivers, you celebrate the accomplishment like it’s your own because you know the effort you must expend to realize the goal, to make the dream manifest.

this picture makes me tear up. such an incredibly special moment. so very proud of Lynton. (and the teacup thing we're balancing is pretty BA.)
this picture makes me tear up. such an incredibly special moment. so very proud of Lynton. (and the teacup thing we’re rockin’ is pretty BA.)

My NYCM race didn’t give me the time that I wanted, or I guess, I didn’t give myself the time that I wanted, perhaps in part because I didn’t start when I should have, or perhaps because I should have kicked earlier than I did, but the race gave me a simply unmatchable experience that I have never felt in any of my other marathons.

My NYCM showed me that I’m absolutely capable of much more than I have imagined for myself, as bewildering and intriguing as that may be, and that if I don’t take chances, I’ll never really know what I can do. There really is something to saying fuck it and just burning our boats, people.

That I successfully and strategically pulled a 3:21 on a hilly and tactical course a mere 21 days after my 3:20 PR, a PR on a remarkably easier course, blows my mind and gives me a lot of drive for future training cycles. Some pace calculations estimate that a 3:21 NYCM time would equate to a +/- 3:18 on a flatter course, and this idea inspires me and makes me eager to try my hand again at my next mary.

For now, though, the sense of accomplishment and total surprise leaves me feeling enormously grateful for the opportunity to be able to run at all, of course, and to be able to trust myself, and my training, and the sage advice of my running friends whose experiences and wisdom shape nearly every single mile of my training. The sense of pride that I have in Lynton’s accomplishment, added to my own sense of satisfaction, makes my 2013 marathon cup damn near runneth over, and I can’t think of a better way to close out a year that began with a 3:31 PR in January and ended with a 3:20 in October. What this means for future training cycles is probably too soon to tell, but suffice it to say that I am incredibly pleased for how my 2013 marathons have progressed and what I’ve learned along the way.

The NYCM and experience was another race game-changer for me, and this time, it wasn’t because I hit my own time goal; acknowledging this is pretty powerful stuff and simply amazing beyond words. Instead, the NYCM was a game-changer because despite all of the reasons why I should fail, I really don’t feel as though I did, and ultimately, what I produced was exponentially better than anything I could have ever anticipated. Sure, we all want to PR at every race that we do, but the likelihood of that happening is slim to none.

2013 has been something of a defining year for me as a runner, and the energy and drive I now feel coursing through my body, when I consider future races, goals, and ways I can improve, is just remarkable. I feel like I’ve come a long way in a short amount of time, and if presented with the right opportunity, I can do even more.

The Chicago-NYC double showed me as much.

Race Recap: Eugene Marathon 2013

Race Recap: Eugene Marathon 2013

I made the conscious decision to not bring my laptop to Eugene because I figured I’d only use it to write my race recap in the airport, but since it’s oldish (5 years), heavy, and bigish, I instead went with an old-school pad of paper and a pen (a pen! imagine that) to record my thoughts before I got back to Chicago.

Well… nine pages later– yes, nine, handwritten, outlined pages later—that describe my entire Eugene experience, including my travel and fun in Portland, here I am, about to describe a race that never in a million years I thought I’d pull off right now in my running career, if ever, and suddenly, those nine pages leave me wondering where the eff I should even start, wondering if this is all real, if I actually did this.

Suffice it to say that I’m equal parts shocked, in disbelief, humbled, elated, and proud, and now, two days post-race, I’m still shaking my head in a “OMGwhatjusthappened?!” reaction…in addition to that aforedescribed whole equal-parts cocktail.

I’ll do my best here to concentrate on the race and on any factors leading up to it that, in retrospect, I think played into my Eugene Marathon experience, but I assure you that this won’t be brief. I’ll at least go for entertaining and informative, the latter particularly for anyone considering the Eugene race in the future 🙂

The Cliffs version: at 10:24:58 am Pacific time on Sunday, April 28, 2013, I had just completed my nineteenth marathon in Eugene, Oregon, in 3:20:41. That’s a personal best, my seventh Boston-qualifying race, a six+ minute negative split race, and more than eleven minutes faster than my PR I had set on January 13, 2013, in Houston, just over three months ago. In addition, Eugene was my third marathon post-childbirth (my first being on April 28, 2012, one year exactly after my due date), and nearly two years to the day after having my daughter.

Hence, my elation. And disbelief. And… I don’t even know. Everything.

Portland, Thursday-Friday

I had traveled to Portland a few days prior, Thursday night, and stayed with my girl Kelly, a college friend who had relocated to the other part of the country from Chicago in September. Also in Portland was my friend from my online RunyourBQ community, Austin, whom I had met for the first time in NYC last November. Kelly said she’d come to Eugene to cheer, and Austin had also trained for this race (his second Eugene) all winter long.

My brief stint in Portland before the race was generally pretty wonderful. It’s a beautiful city and one that reminds me of a cross between Akron and Chicago. It’s weird because it’s a city, but there are all these super darling houses everywhere, and everything is green, and then there are mountains (mountains!) in the background, and there are tons of vegan places… I could go on. I’d definitely return. The only downer about my time in Portland was that all day on Friday, and for part of Saturday, I had serious GI issues—serious enough to stop running during Friday’s shakeout run with Austin along the Willamette (thank god for a forgiving coffee shop, Stumptown)–that lasted pretty much until I went to bed that night. I had attributed the GI catastrophe to nerves, travel, and to ingesting Gatorade and not diluting it, as I usually do. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous about having GI issues during the race, but I reminded myself that on my shakeout run the day before Houston, I also had GI issues (again, from Gatorade), and still had a rockin’ run and PR the next day.

Nice shakeout with Austin on Friday in Portland; too bad my GI system gave me the finger
Nice shakeout with Austin on Friday in Portland; too bad my GI system gave me the finger
ooo, that's Mt. Hood peeking out
ooo, that’s Mt. Hood peeking out

Corvallis, Saturday morning

Come Saturday, Kelly, Austin, and I awoke early and picked up Austin’s friend, Ellen, whose parents live in Eugene and were hosting Austin for the weekend, and drove down to Corvallis, where Ann-Marie, Kelly’s former DePaul supervisor, now works, for a shake-out run at Oregon State University. Ann-Marie’s students were hosting an untimed, pretty low-key 5k/10k as part of their Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention week. Austin and I chatted away the 5k, just as we had our 10k shake-out the day before in Portland, and I felt comfortable and relaxed. The weather was also gorgeous, sunny and 70s+ (with no humidity), just as it was the day before in Portland.

Gorgeous campus
Gorgeous campus
With Kelly and Ann-Marie; mini-DePaul Residential Education reunion
With Kelly and Ann-Marie; mini-DePaul Residential Education reunion
With Austin and Ellen in Corvallis, post-shakeout run
With Austin and Ellen in Corvallis, post-shakeout run

Eugene, Saturday-Sunday

Following lunch (more great vegan food), Kelly, Austin, Ellen, and I continued south to Eugene and picked-up our packets at the race expo. The expo itself was really low-key and wouldn’t have taken more than 30 minutes if you talked to every single vendor in depth. We instead took about 20, between getting our race materials, posing for some pictures, and buying Connor an awesome (albeit perhaps inappropriate) shirt—picture forthcoming on that one. After the expo, we were good runners and went to Pre’s Rock for some pictures, and from there went to Ellen’s parents’, who graciously invited Kelly and me to stay for a homecooked dinner.

Showing off the goods with Austin at the expo
Showing off the goods with Austin at the expo
Paying homage to Pre's Rock the day before the race
Paying homage to Pre’s Rock the day before the race

(Here I’ll interrupt myself to just say how cool it was that I was having a homemade dinner the night before a marathon in the home of some near-perfect strangers. The running community is just awesome and really “gets it” when it comes to this stuff. Ellen runs, as do her parents, and it was obvious. I look forward to paying this forward for a future race).

By eight, Kelly and I went to our hotel—as old-school as they come, with outdoor hallways and everything—that was conveniently right across the street from the Knight Stadium and just a five minute leisurely walk to Hayward Field, the start and finish of the marathon. We moseyed across the street to a grocery store to pick up some provisions for the next few days and ended up chatting with “Ultra Al,” a marathoner/ultrarunner from the Eugene area who was going to be running his 241st marathon on Sunday, right around his 60th birthday. (He also shared with us a bunch of head-scratching details, like about his part-dog/part-wolf canines at home for whom he had left voicemails on his home answering machine so they wouldn’t be tearing his place to hell).

Again, I love the running community.

Shortly thereafter, Kelly and I were back at the hotel, watching the most awful TV we could find (“Bet on Your Baby!”), and after a lot of talking to myself and pseudo-nesting, I got into bed to begin a pretty horrible night’s sleep around 10/11pm.

Marathon Morning

I set twelve—yup–alarms for marathon morning. I like to be safe. I was up at least once/hour due to nerves, weird dreams (walking with and running away from lions and lionesses that had escaped from a zoo), and because I had cranked the A/C to minimize the “old hotel” odor in our room. I got up at 4, ate my two whole-wheat bagels, then got back into bed (after turning off the A/C) to try to sleep a little more until 5:45/6. Once those alarms went off, my GI decided it’d be on my side this morning—YES!–which made me ridiculously and obnoxiously happy 🙂 After getting race readied, and with Kelly’s body-marking and pace band-attaching assistance, we headed out of the hotel at 6:30, me eating my banana on the go, to meet Austin before the 7am gun.

While I looked for Austin near the baggage drop, I saw the only other Chicagoans I “knew”–via Twitter—doing the race, Tim and Kevin, so I quickly introduced myself and continued to look for Austin. (Sidenote, since I started using twitter in January, I’ve met three people, and all of them have been Chicago runners).

Met the Chicago contingency, Tim and Kevin, better known as @timragones and @kgranato
Met the Chicago crew, Tim and Kevin, better known as @timragones and @kgranato; it was also a PR type of day for these guys in the full and the half (respectively).

Once Austin and I rendezvoused, and I had checked my stuff—including my gels, oops—I returned to baggage drop, got my essentials, then attempted to use the porta-potties before we decided that the lines were too long and it was too close to the gun. I was pretty sure it was a nervous piss anyway, so I wasn’t that concerned. Austin and I wished each other good luck in our races (he, a 3:05/BQ, and me, a sub-3:30), and went to our corrals (B and C, respectively).

I made my way to the very front of the C corral so I wouldn’t get trapped behind the pace group horde of people near the 3:35 pacer. There wasn’t a 3:30 pacer anyway, so I planned from the get-go to run my own race. I made minimal small talk in the corral, since the guy next to me, Eric, didn’t seem too interested in chatting, even though we shared the same goal for the day. I started to focus inward and visualize a great race and concentrated on running a 1:45 first half.

Aside from the usual national anthem, we also had some moments of silence for Boston. The RD also gave all runners black ribbons to wear on race day to signify our support and solidarity with Boston. While my watch and my pace band occupied my left arm, a big red heart I had drawn over the underside of my wrist occupied my right, for me signifying my love for the sport and the running community and my continued solidarity with Boston. I looked at this heart often throughout the race and thought of Boston and everyone I knew who had run it this year.

And with that, the Eugene lovefest was beginning.

 

Hello, Hayward
Hello, Autzen (where the Ducks play football!) [thanks for the correction, David & Warren]
Start-6mi

splits: 7:34, 7:44, 7:52, 7:53, 7:44

5k average: 7:44; 10k average: 7:42

Many of the race participants were doing the half, so the first few miles were somewhat crowded. Most of the runners around me at the beginning were halfers shooting for a 1:45 or faster. I took advantage of this and told myself to run my own race and to not chase anyone; in fact, I remember thinking that I should be going for a somewhat lethargic 10k to keep myself in check for later. From the get-go, my plan was to cruise the first half and come as close to a 1:45 as possible and then assess at mile 18/20 and kick accordingly, with anything that I had left.

These first few miles were mostly residential. Kelly was going to run over to mile 3, but I didn’t see her. We had a long and very gradual uphill between miles 2-4 and then a steep up around mile 4.5, while miles 5-6 were nice descents that helped with turnover. I saw Kel first at mile 6, which was awesome, and then shortly after, around miles 6.5-7, I saw Ellen, her parents, and her younger brother, Patrick, on their bikes. There were also some great signs in this area from the U of O students, saying things like “run quietly, I’m still hungover” or from little kids, saying “I want to play with your iPod.”

Look closely and you can see me in the blue tank. It looks like I'm on the heels of the woman in front of me.
Look closely and you can see me in the blue tank. It looks like I’m on the heels of the woman in front of me.

I took my first AccelGel at the 5.5 mi aid station. Unlike in previous races, Eugene’s plan was early and often—six times total—to keep my glycogen at top levels. I had only learned about AccelGel since Houston, thanks to Dan’s recommendation, and while I’d never just snack on the things, they didn’t mess with my stomach and were palatable enough and pretty easy to ingest (drink). I had also made the decision to not drink a ton of Gatorade on the course because of the GI issues I had had all day on Friday, but I figured between my morning calories and carbohydrates from the two bagels and banana, the on-course water, the six AccelGels, and the official aid stations’ bananas, I’d probably be ok.

 

7-13

splits: 7:39, 7:36, 7:42, 7:44, 7:51, 7:52, 7:52

Right around mile 7, I had the first of several bananas, or parts of bananas, on the run. I was pretty surprised to go through a seemingly blocks-long semi-drastic uphill around mile 8 because I didn’t recall anyone saying anything about it or seeing it on the course’s elevation chart. It wasn’t actually too bad because it was thick with spectators and lots of Team in Training-sponsored support, which struck a special chord with me. I found myself waving and smiling a lot through this mile but also thinking back to Traci and her mom and why I got into marathoning in the first place.

As we made our way out of the residential areas and back near Hayward, on our way to a bike path, around my mile 9, I saw some super speedy halfers returning to Hayward for their finish, including Kevin (who was flying his way to a sub-1:16 PR). I took my second gel at mile 10, and immediately afterward, we had a nice downgrade and entered into a shady park/bike path system, though the paths were pretty narrow. On one of the last miles we shared with the halfers, around miles 10-11, we went over a bridge, wherein I audibly said “ohmygosh” to anyone in the proximity who might be listening to me; while we were going over the bridge, with the beautiful (serene, I think) water beneath us, and the mountains in the background, and the greenery everywhere, I was overtaken with a “you’re definitely not in Chicago anymore” moment and just had to share it with someone.

We exited the bike path and went through more residential areas, and I started to chat with a guy, Bret, who was running for Team and shooting for a 3:30. He was telling me about his girlfriend, who was shooting for a 4:30, her first marathon, and how he was planning to run her in if all went well with his race. We talked TNT for a little bit before we separated, but it was a nice little pick-me-up because I love talking TNT with former/current participants. Quickly thereafter, I saw what was probably my favorite sighting on the course: two ginger babies, in high chairs, on the devilstrip, just watching the runners go by. I was missing my girl, for sure, but it was just adorable. I feel like I saw a lot of babies, including newborns, in Eugene.

By the time I hit 13.1, I was at a 1:41/7:44 pace, a good 3+ minutes under my goal (1:44:53). I was trying to be very intentional about hitting each mile split as close to my goal as possible because I didn’t want to crash and burn, even though I was feeling great. My brief chat with Bret was completely conversational, and I felt like I was just going for a 13.1 stroll—not quite at a recovery pace but also not at one that I felt especially taxed. 13 miles is way too early for me to make a move in a marathon, so I figured I just needed to lie low for another five-seven and be present in each mile as it unfolded.

 

14-20

splits: 7:38, 7:34, 7:26, 7:39, 7:26, 7:29, 7:36

Though I had been feeling great at halfway, I knew I would be an idiot to begin pushing so early—and besides, I had really wanted to stick to my race plan—so I continued to cruise and enjoy the scenery and the experience. Since we had separated from the halfers a few miles back, things had opened up considerably, and I didn’t feel cramped at all—good for me for all the obvious reasons but also because I get somewhat claustrophobic in races when people are all up in my business. I’m afraid of tripping, or of being tripped on/over, so I usually try to stay away of tight packs of runners.

After another fairly quick uphill around 14 over a highway, we were cruising through a different residential area, though this part of the course seemed to have fewer people lining it. The spectators were all great, of course, but in terms of sheer numbers, the marathoners far, far outnumbered the residents. As I was going along, feeling well and drafting off some guys who were running two abreast in front of me, right around mile 14/15, I saw in the near-distance, probably a couple minutes away, bobbing yellow balloons.

FUCK.

Those balloons belonged to the 3:25 pacer, who had started in corral B (and thus, at least a minute or two ahead of me), and I thought if I were seeing him so early in the race, my pacing was shot to shit and I needed to slow the hell down, regardless of how I was feeling or how my actual splits measured up against those of my goal. Focusing on the positive (always), I thought that as long as I stayed back from these guys, I would be good to go. I didn’t need to think about/try catching up to them—and really, I didn’t think a 3:25 was in the books for Eugene (probably closer to a 3:28, maybe 3:27 if the universe aligned)–but having them right in front of me would be instant feedback on my pace for the remaining 11-12 miles.

I took my third AccelGel around mile 14.5, my only experience of the day with the gels where I had gagged a little—must have been the flavor (vanilla, I think). Continuing along and still concentrating on staying behind the yellow balloons, I was feeling great and told myself that I still had a lot of race to run and that anything could happen.

We entered the bike path system again around miles 15.75/16, and we stayed in it until around mile 25.25. Look at the course map, and you’ll see that much of the course is alongside a river. I think this was both good and bad, largely depending on how your race was going. Depending on where you were on the trail, sometimes there were lots of spectators, and sometimes, there were none, and it was just you and the river. As was the case early on, around miles 10-12, the path was also somewhat narrow, so when you came upon throngs of people, that boxed-in feeling set in REAL quick.

I saw Kelly again right around mile 16, what I thought would be the last place on the course I’d see her, and shortly after, Ellen and her family. By mile 16, I was suddenly in the thick of things with the 3:25 group, though I hadn’t at all tried to speed up to them. By now, I had also run into Eric, the guy I talked to in the corrals about wanting to go sub-3:30, and he was way more chatty now than at 7am (imagine that). However, that whole boxed-in/claustrophobic feeling I mentioned earlier set in pretty quickly, and I asked runners who were two-five+ abreast to part the seas for a second so I could pass through. When I was forced to run behind them, I had to uncomfortably shorten my stride. I didn’t want to get ahead of the pace group to take off; more than anything, I didn’t want to accidentally clip someone’s foot on his/her backstrike and send the two (or more) of us flying.

As I passed the 3:25 group around 16, after seeing Kelly and Ellen and her family, I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing. I had told myself that I wouldn’t make a move until 20, or 18, if I felt amazing, yet I did just that by getting ahead of this group, a group that I didn’t plan to be running anywhere near—let alone IN FRONT OF—for this race. I mentally weighed my options and thought that as long as I just maintained a steady pace for at least two-three more miles, I’d be fine. The 3:25 group probably wouldn’t be that far behind me, but more importantly, at least for me, anyway, I wouldn’t be close enough to them to get sucked up and boxed in again. If they passed me later, as I expected they would, so be it. A 3:25 was my plan for Chicago in October, not Eugene in April.

I took AccelGel #4 at 18 and then began to assess: now?

 

20-26.2

splits: 7:36, 7:27, 7:42, 7:42, 7:42, 7:43, 7:48, (7:05 for .2)

20mi split: 2:33:18, 7:40 avg; overall: 3:20:41, 7:40 avg

By mile 20, I was still feeling strong. All I could think about was a passage in the Pfitzinger book I had read, specifically in the “race day strategy” chapter, about miles 20-26.2. It said something along the lines of the last 10k of a marathon is what you should look forward to if you’ve trained well and consistently because this is where your tenacity and training is going to show. I think many running publications sufficiently intimidate and scare runners, future or current, of “the wall” that often happens at 20 miles, but I reminded myself that my long long runs were over 20 this cycle—21 or 21.5, three times. Hell, 20 miles into a marathon was still shorter than a training run for me, I rationalized. I told myself that even though I was still feeling well, a 10k at the end of the marathon is still a long way to crash and burn, so I tried to hold steady for at least one more mile, until mile 21, before making any sort of decisive action.

We were in the bike path/woods—still—going in and out of shade and groups of spectators. Some parts were noisy, others were pretty sparse, and while I was still feeling well, I was beginning to get bored of this damn path. I think this is where my city training really presented itself because even in the dead of winter, I’m used to training around other people on the lakefront path (or in the suburbs). Even on some of my super-early morning runs over the winter, I’d still see over 50 runners in 60-90 minutes—and after accounting for pedestrians and dog-walkers, that number would be even higher.

I recalled hearing about a big hill around mile 21, going over some bridge, so I had been mentally preparing myself for it. I didn’t know how long it was, or how steep, but it finally came, and it was a joke of a hill—even for someone from the flatlands. We first ran under the bridge and then took a hard right to curve up and on it, and as soon as we were at the top, we went right back down; this “hill” lasted a hot second. (Chicagoans, think of any of the undulations on the south side of the lakefront trail, and that’s the duration and intensity).

My fifth and penultimate gel came in at mile 22, and I was anticipating the last of the officially-provided bananas around mile 23. My racing experience has taught me that running a marathon needs to be something of an Old Country Buffet for me. If there’s fruit on the course—bananas and oranges are the usual suspects—regardless of who’s giving them to me (probably not the best thinking… and HELLO, germs), I’ll take ’em. I barely saw the last bananas, since a volunteer decided to cut them up and leave the pieces on the table, but I swiped two small halves and continued on, trying to eat them with as little effort as possible (here, I imagined what it was like for A to gum food before she had teeth and tried to do the same. Yup. I distinctly remember this thought process. It made a lot of sense at the time). A spectator shortly after the banana stop was handing out orange slices, so I also took one of those, and for a couple minutes in the late stages of the race, I was running sub-8 miles with 3 pieces of fruit in my hand. I secretly hoped a photographer wasn’t around because I probably looked (more) ridiculous by then.

Also around miles 22-23, the temperatures started to slowly rise, which I anticipated from reading the morning’s weather. We started at 7am in the high 40s/low 50s, and by 10, the temps were going to be around mid-50. The marathon weather gods also blessed us for most of the morning and gave us overcast skies with very little wind, but as the race wore on, the sun began peaking out periodically. Fortunately, I had the foresight on Sunday to throw on some sunscreen, since I had gotten pretty fried in Portland on Friday just from being outside for my shakeout.

This will sound bizarre, but I only remember thinking that my legs were beginning to get tired around mile 24. By then, I had taken my sixth and final gel (right at 24), and I was trying to concentrate on the final 2.2 miles. The course was relatively quiet for a lot of the 24-25.5 mile stretch, besides the brief interludes where we ran through parks and softball games, and I knew I was beginning to dig. I really didn’t want to slow down very much, even though I knew that (barring catastrophe), I’d have a sizable PR, so I reminded myself that it was only 2.2 miles and that I’d be done in twenty minutes (and that anyone can do anything for 20 minutes. Oh, the lies!). While the usual suspects in my legs (namely, ITB) were feeling fine, I felt like my quads were tiring, and I again had a talk with myself that I still had some glycogen to burn and that whatever fatigue I was feeling was all in my head.

The crazy mom in me apparently also kicked in around mile 24 because I was trying to conjure some of my mental games that I’ll use to pass the time when I’m doing planks—the alphabet (in Spanish and English), the countries of the world in A-Z order—but nothing I thought of would last as long as I needed it to. Finally, I had a EUREKA! moment and remembered two of A’s favorite songs right now that I could make have roughly 1,000 verses each, enough to hold me over until at least mile 25: “the hokey pokey” and “if you’re happy and you know it.”

No joke, the HP got me through those 7:42 minutes as I tried to name every body part I could think of.

Clearly, I have a new-found appreciation for that earworm of a song.

At long last, we finally exited the time and distance warp of a bike path around mile 25.25, and while I knew we’d be back at Hayward very quickly, I still couldn’t place where we were. I knew we were on one of the main drags near the U of O campus and Hayward, but there weren’t initially as many people as I would have expected for the end of the marathon. In retrospect, I could have been delusional by this point. I do recall seeing other runners/walkers who were just making their way to the park (so around 9 miles in), and I thought briefly of the same encounter I had in Houston, when I started to have an internal diatribe about the state of society’s health.

I really wanted to have a strong finish on Hayward’s track, and I felt like I could muster up another small kick for the final stretch, even though I was ready to be done. Imagine my ENORMOUS surprise to see Kelly, Ellen, and Ellen’s three family members right around mile 26. Seeing them, and seeing them go batshit for me, was just incredible. I immediately acknowledged them (a wave and a Cheshire smile, I think) and floored it—or as much flooring as one can do 26 miles into a race.

We veered left from the road and then right—the marathoners were on the right side of the cones—and before I knew it, I was kickin’ my last 150m of my marathon on the holy grail of American track and field. I looked down at my watch just as I was entering Hayward and saw it was in the mid-to-high 3:19 range and knew that I’d finish in 3:20 and change, and I just couldn’t believe it. I soaked up the last 100 meters of the run, put both hands over my heart to show my Boston love, and heard my name right after I crossed the finish line. I hugged a young female volunteer who medalled my neck, grabbed a space blanket, though I was hot, and immediately went into the athletes-only recovery area to find Austin. I’d soon learn that he also scored a PR for the day, clocking in at a 3:08, but just missing his BQ. As if the PR in and of itself wasn’t impressive, he also improved on his Eugene ’12 time by SIXTEEN FREAKING MINUTES; it’s like this year he practically ran two+ extra miles.

Happy for our PRs; where we're standing is just to the left of the last 150m of the half and full marathon
Happy for our PRs; where we’re standing is just to the left of the last 150m of the half and full marathon

In true post-marathon Erin form, I began to cry after I got my medal and space blanket as I realized the magnitude of what I had just accomplished. I went into Eugene hoping for a sub-3:30 and expecting to be able to execute accordingly, barring GI or weather issues, and if I were feeling especially rockin’, I thought a 3:27 would be doable. Never, ever, ever in a million years did I think I would be capable of running a 3:20 marathon just a few days ago and on the heels of a PR marathon in January, just about fourteen weeks prior.

Austin and I soon met up with Kelly and Ellen, and there were lots of congratulatory hugs, kisses, and crying. Eventually, we got our gear (though we almost missed it), and I was blown away to see my phone lit up with text messages, emails, and tweets from my running family. They were with me every step of the way, and some even told me that they watched me cross the finish line on their computer and were just blown away at my performance. Dan, my Houston buddy, even told me later that he was as proud of me and the PR that I realized on Sunday as he was when he got his own in Houston.

A PR is best shared with friends, preferably ones who don't mind when you cry on them.
A PR is best shared with friends, preferably ones who don’t mind when you cry on them.

And since then, since about 10:30 on Sunday morning, I have been in something of a dream state, not exactly knowing for sure that I did what I know I did on Sunday—if that makes any sense at all. (I’ve also come down with a sinus and ear infection since then, something that I was battling the week of the marathon in Chicago and, to a lesser extent, in Portland, so I can’t promise that anything I’m rambling on about is making a whole lot of sense in the first place). I am so genuinely happy and shocked and humbled, and the continued outpouring of support that I’ve been getting since Sunday—and really, throughout my training leading up to Eugene—has just been unreal. I am floored and deeply, deeply appreciative and indebted to my family and friends and runner family who have been with me since forever and have really been putting this sub-3:30 notion into my head in the first place.

I could write so much more about Eugene and my stay in Oregon, but I won’t in the interest of space and your eyes 🙂 Suffice it to say, however, that I couldn’t be happier right now. I haven’t yet decided what this means for the rest of my races and marathons in 2013, and really, I’m trying not to think too much about future performances right now. I’m taking my training partners’ advice and basking… and probably floating a little bit, too. 😀

 3:20:41; 7:40 average; 357/2564 overall; 77/1222 women; 23/227 F 25-29.

Pretty happy here, obvs. That nice wet spot down the front of my shirt? Had a run-in with an aid station volunteer and another runner. Most of that cup's water is all over me.
Pretty happy here, obvs. That nice wet spot down the front of my shirt? Had a run-in with an aid station volunteer and another runner. Most of that cup’s water is all over me.