1 hour ago
Friday, November 6, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Post mortem: I think I want to do speed and hill work like a mofo. And lose some serious weight to get sleek and fast (er, I mean faster.) And I'm still toying with the flat and fast Jersey Marathon - and well decided on the NYC Half March 21. I also bought a headlight for $20 at EMS. I'm totally ready for winter.
Rookie mistakes, be gone! I am no longer a first timer, bwa ha ha !
Rookie mistakes, be gone! I am no longer a first timer, bwa ha ha !
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
...Continued...
11 12:20
12 12:16
13 12:03
14 12:19
15 12:52
Dirty hipsters (who cheered well, God bless 'em, even if they smoked a lot) led up Bedford Ave to a DJ rapping over Jay Z and Alicia Keys. This section was pretty cool; I get to the 'hood a little bit for my job, and I had no idea folks would come out and get their party on for the marathon, but they really got into it and pumped everybody up. Then in what seemed like extremely rapid succession we hit little-Poland-like Greenpoint.
The Greenpointians were pretty well informed, as far as spectators go, and pretty vocal about being halfway there. I was kind of amazed that 13 miles had blurred by so quickly, but the crowd support remained amazing and I felt fine. I was ready for the first big bridge, the Pulaski (excluding the start, of course.)
I eased up but was again kind of bothered by runners around me spreading disinformation (which is really their problem, not mine, but it still manages to bug me.) There was some charity group or other asking one another what mile this was and answering "15!". I kind of didn't want to interfere but I had to chime in that it was Pulaski, not Queensboro, and 13, not 15, but they rightfully ignored me because it wasn't my business. Then an older, dorky, sweetheart of a guy came running past, stopped next to me, and asked, "Did you know there was a bridge here? Who put a bridge here?" He laughed and moved on, doing the same routine with a group a little further ahead. A moment later I was treated to the horrible sight of a thong / Speedo clad runner's bare hairy buttocks. I think I actually said "Ew" out loud, but at least it motivated me to power over the hill!
It seemed like no time at all passed between here and the Queensboro, two miles later. As I said before, I ran this in training and it wasn't as bad as all that. However, I didn't account for how the pedestrian walkway isn't as bad of a slope as the actual road ramp is. Nevertheless, I think I ran it smart and passed a lot of people on the uphill, including one lady who I initially lost during the bathroom break at mile 4. It seemed like a lot of wave 3 people started walking here; the walkers would only increase exponentially as the race went on. A woman to my side asked me which bridge it was, and I told her; it made me wonder, is it a hometown advantage to actually know the course? Wouldn't you have prepared enough to know which bridge is which? Or maybe she was just exhausted, or expected worse, like Joan Benoit asking where the Heartbreak Hills were. Who knows. I passed her, though.
Once the bridge started to curve downward, I psyched myself up for the crowds on 1st Avenue. I tried to cut the tangent down the loop onto 59th Street but was blocked by a walker (I found that a lot of the walkers, in their efforts to stay to the side, wound up hogging all of the tangents. At the time I was kind of pissed, as in "you don't really need a tangent if you're just going to walk it anyway," but it didn't last.)
Sadly, 1st Avenue was crazy underwhelming. It gets built up so much in everything you hear about the race, especially when you watch on TV and see the elites pass there, but by the time the middle of the 3rd wave showed up, the crowd was kind of tired and just stood there. There were still a lot of people, certainly, but they just weren't making a whole lot of noise. I had kind of been counting on it, but in hindsight it's good because I didn't go too fast and blow up here. Rookie lesson #3: Wear a shirt with your name on it. The only cheers at all came for those with a name; otherwise the crowds stood kind of glumly lined up against the barricades.
16 11:57
17 11:43
18 11:55
19 12:03
Despite the lackluster cheering section, the blocks seemed to click off here, especially because I knew I'd be seeing my boo-boo's at 102nd Street. Note the quick mile at 17 - I was psyched for my own personal cheering section! After navigating through the Poland Spring sponges or whatever at mile 16 or 17 (whose idea was that? I was kind of cold the whole race anyway and feared breaking my neck, or worse an ankle, on the detritus) and the sticky gel packets at 18 (I was surprised they still had any; THAT is a good idea, although I stuck to my Clif Blocks) I could finally see Kiernan's big yellow sign blocks ahead, followed shortly by Mr. Duffy in his Ray-bans.
I started waving like a lunatic and heard Mr. D yell, "There she is! She's coming!" I planted a kiss on both their cheeks, yelled something about being on 12 minute pace and their having 48 minutes to the next checkpoint, and moved on. I had the Duffy men bring a longsleeved tech shirt in case I wanted it, but for some reason when Mr. Duffy offered it to me I declined. I guess I felt like it would be a pain in the ass if I overheated; the wind was still making me uncomfortable but not so much I needed to bundle up like that. As I ran away toward the Bronx I thought I was kind of a pain-in-the-ass for micromanaging my team on time, but we had a plan and that was one of the only things keeping me together for the week leading up to the race, and I wanted to make sure we stuck to it.
I kept ticking the blocks up to the Willis Avenue Bridge. The crowds were much thinner and quieter here, but those who were there were still enthusiastic - there was a lady who dragged a whole sound-system out of her apartment in a red flyer wagon and was doing some spoken word thing about being there to open our minds. I missed a lot on this stretch. I passed by Patsy's and didn't even notice; I fixated on some kids playing soccer in the park off the east side around 112th; the lack of new distractions was becoming distracting.
It was here that I noticed for probably the second or third time that the race was organized in such a way that I was constantly stimulated and distracted and had no chance to dwell on the discomfort I was felling. It occurred to me how freaking lonely a small marathon would feel at this point, and I was grateful. Again, for the second or third or even fifth or sixth time during that run, I was overcome by how it seemed like everyone in the city had come out to support us along, because it was our day, and we were rock stars. I kept thinking of the cheesy but true thing Bob Glover kept saying in the Competitive Runner's Handbook - we were conquering heroes.
It was also along here that I saw my favorite sign of the whole course -- "26.2 miles - Not as easy as your girl." I laughed out loud at that one.
20 12:36
21 12:47
22 12:22
23 12:40
24 13:39
The Willis Avenue Bridge. I drive this thing a few times a week; it's a sharp slope but very small. However, I stopped to walk because I wanted to chew on some Blocks and I was feeling tired. There was a lady wearing a Boricua cape who looked like a Puerto Rican superhero; she started to talk about how she was from the Bronx and this was her bridge, and a lot of other closet Bronx marathoners started speaking up. I didn't really have the energy to talk, but it made me feel good. Once the Blocks were swallowed, I jogged up the rest of the incline and took in some of the sparse but no less energetic cheers from the Bronx crowd. As I moved on through, and past the Jumbotron, I got a little lift and started to feel a bit better, but continued to walk a little off and on because I was really starting to feel the toll of the effort by now. The crowds here were fun, including more DJs and a lot of little kids with their hands out, which made me happy. A crew FDNY lined the right side of the course approaching the Madison Avenue Bridge, and one lady jumped in with them and had a picture taken, which made me laugh.
One thing I noticed throughout was that no matter how tired I felt, I always had a little left to smile or say thank you to a water volunteer or cheer when something great was going on. And usually when I realized I had that little bit, it kicked me in the butt to start running again, or to move with more energy, or whatever. Good stuff.
I was able to move a little faster coming down the hill from the Madison Avenue Bridge into Harlem, and ran into another DJ playing James Brown. This made me cheer and move it a bit faster; a Gospel choir soon thereafter had a similar effect. I got some high-five love from a guy in a three piece suit and realized how close I was as I circled around Mount Morris Park. I felt pretty good for having just run 22 miles.
Then, 5th Avenue laughed at me.
I noticed when I hit 110th and Central Park started, and I got all excited. Then it got HARD. Everything hurt and I just couldn't keep going. I guess that was the wall; it's tough to avoid when you're confronted with a relentless uphill after running 22 miles. I alternated running and walking and noticed how great the crowd was here - thicker and louder than a lot of points prior, with more signs and love for everyone. Still, I struggled. I was kept going knowing I'd see my people again at the 23 mile marker.
Rookie lesson #4: Don't put your family at the hardest part of the race, because you'll just want to stop and go home with them. When I saw the yellow sign a few blocks away, I tried to step it up and slog toward them. I kept thinking all I wanted was a hug from my husband (there was a guy in Brooklyn and another on 1st Avenue offering hugs to all the runners -- somehow this was not nearly as appealing as curling up with my dum dums).
When I finally got to them, I repeated the kiss on the cheek for Kiernan and then Mr. Duffy, then came in for the hug. I wanted to stay. I didn't say anything, but turned and tried to keep it going. It was SO hard, because the hill keeps going until 90th, at Engineer's Gate when the course enters Central Park. Next year I'm putting my crew in the park. That was too much. I was kind of heartened when I entered - I knew it was downhill, and the thought that these are my long run and race stomping grounds was comforting - but there were still definitely some rollers to come and I didn't feel like I could handle it at that point. I barely felt like I could even jog. I walked until I saw a Brightroom guy and tried to pick it up for a good picture, but just wound up walking past.
Finally, I converted my death march into a death jog when the downhill past the Met became more pronounced. I had my head down and was just concentrating on moving when I heard someone shout my name - "Kate!" I looked up and saw another coworker, a total surprise because she wasn't there for me, just watching the race, but I had run into her at NYRR finishes in the past and knew she was currently in the midst of her 9 + 1 for next year. I waved and she yelled "Congratulations!" That gave me a jolt -- as I was looking up I also finally saw the 24 mile marker, realized there were only 2 miles left to go, and finally started to kick it in again. She saved me. Thanks Suzanne!
25 11:59
26 11:38
.2 2:27
From Suzanne, it was a downhill (it was actually Cat Hill, which I didn't realize because I was looking the wrong way.) I had planned on my traditional "Meow Kitty!" greeting to the Cat (yes, I'm weird. That's a huge part of my appeal) but realized I missed it too late when I suddenly came up on the Boathouse. I managed to power up the hill immediately after and just kept going, passing the legions of death marchers slogging through the water stop at mile 25, which I skipped, knowing it wouldn't make any difference at this point. I started seeing clean, showered, well dressed finishers wearing their medals back in the park cheering the rest of us on. I was partly touched (that is seriously awesome that you would come back and cheer for the slow people after your finish) and partly jealous (Damn! That guy had time to go home, eat, shower, get a nice sweater and come back out? Well played!) I curved out and came onto Central Park South, not really knowing how far it would be to the finish.
On CPS, the crowds were, once again, loud and wonderful. I kept looking for the NYPD Captain with the bullhorn at 7th Avenue, but he apparently retired, because he wasn't there. I noticed a few signs dropped onto the course and it passed my mind what a tragedy it would be if someone were to slip and fall and break something on one of them before the finish. I passed a lot of people and kept trucking to Columbus Circle, which I recognized as the start to the Mini 10k. Then it was back into the park and a huge sign (which I mistakenly thought was the finish for a few seconds) announcing mile 26. I started to lose it again but just kept running.
The last .2, of course, is the terribly placed hill before Tavern on the Green. I ran toward it and accepted a high five from the volunteers stationed ten feet from the line for that express purpose (imagine that volunteer title - "High five Marshall.") I ran on through with my arms extended to the side. I tried to do something more heroic but really couldn't. I think some people blocked me from the Brightroom guys. I don't care. I moved to the right and received my medal - out of all the almost losing it moments, this was another one of the closest to actual tears, but they never came. I had a picture taken with a big "I love you" sign for my men (although I think my smile might have been more of a grimace, but we'll see when the pictures get here), moved on to my space blanket, food bag, and more death marching past the baggage trucks. I didn't drop baggage on purpose, but this apparently made no difference, and it took a good twenty minutes to get to the 77th Street exit on my sad, aching feet.
11 12:20
12 12:16
13 12:03
14 12:19
15 12:52
Dirty hipsters (who cheered well, God bless 'em, even if they smoked a lot) led up Bedford Ave to a DJ rapping over Jay Z and Alicia Keys. This section was pretty cool; I get to the 'hood a little bit for my job, and I had no idea folks would come out and get their party on for the marathon, but they really got into it and pumped everybody up. Then in what seemed like extremely rapid succession we hit little-Poland-like Greenpoint.
The Greenpointians were pretty well informed, as far as spectators go, and pretty vocal about being halfway there. I was kind of amazed that 13 miles had blurred by so quickly, but the crowd support remained amazing and I felt fine. I was ready for the first big bridge, the Pulaski (excluding the start, of course.)
I eased up but was again kind of bothered by runners around me spreading disinformation (which is really their problem, not mine, but it still manages to bug me.) There was some charity group or other asking one another what mile this was and answering "15!". I kind of didn't want to interfere but I had to chime in that it was Pulaski, not Queensboro, and 13, not 15, but they rightfully ignored me because it wasn't my business. Then an older, dorky, sweetheart of a guy came running past, stopped next to me, and asked, "Did you know there was a bridge here? Who put a bridge here?" He laughed and moved on, doing the same routine with a group a little further ahead. A moment later I was treated to the horrible sight of a thong / Speedo clad runner's bare hairy buttocks. I think I actually said "Ew" out loud, but at least it motivated me to power over the hill!
It seemed like no time at all passed between here and the Queensboro, two miles later. As I said before, I ran this in training and it wasn't as bad as all that. However, I didn't account for how the pedestrian walkway isn't as bad of a slope as the actual road ramp is. Nevertheless, I think I ran it smart and passed a lot of people on the uphill, including one lady who I initially lost during the bathroom break at mile 4. It seemed like a lot of wave 3 people started walking here; the walkers would only increase exponentially as the race went on. A woman to my side asked me which bridge it was, and I told her; it made me wonder, is it a hometown advantage to actually know the course? Wouldn't you have prepared enough to know which bridge is which? Or maybe she was just exhausted, or expected worse, like Joan Benoit asking where the Heartbreak Hills were. Who knows. I passed her, though.
Once the bridge started to curve downward, I psyched myself up for the crowds on 1st Avenue. I tried to cut the tangent down the loop onto 59th Street but was blocked by a walker (I found that a lot of the walkers, in their efforts to stay to the side, wound up hogging all of the tangents. At the time I was kind of pissed, as in "you don't really need a tangent if you're just going to walk it anyway," but it didn't last.)
Sadly, 1st Avenue was crazy underwhelming. It gets built up so much in everything you hear about the race, especially when you watch on TV and see the elites pass there, but by the time the middle of the 3rd wave showed up, the crowd was kind of tired and just stood there. There were still a lot of people, certainly, but they just weren't making a whole lot of noise. I had kind of been counting on it, but in hindsight it's good because I didn't go too fast and blow up here. Rookie lesson #3: Wear a shirt with your name on it. The only cheers at all came for those with a name; otherwise the crowds stood kind of glumly lined up against the barricades.
16 11:57
17 11:43
18 11:55
19 12:03
Despite the lackluster cheering section, the blocks seemed to click off here, especially because I knew I'd be seeing my boo-boo's at 102nd Street. Note the quick mile at 17 - I was psyched for my own personal cheering section! After navigating through the Poland Spring sponges or whatever at mile 16 or 17 (whose idea was that? I was kind of cold the whole race anyway and feared breaking my neck, or worse an ankle, on the detritus) and the sticky gel packets at 18 (I was surprised they still had any; THAT is a good idea, although I stuck to my Clif Blocks) I could finally see Kiernan's big yellow sign blocks ahead, followed shortly by Mr. Duffy in his Ray-bans.
I started waving like a lunatic and heard Mr. D yell, "There she is! She's coming!" I planted a kiss on both their cheeks, yelled something about being on 12 minute pace and their having 48 minutes to the next checkpoint, and moved on. I had the Duffy men bring a longsleeved tech shirt in case I wanted it, but for some reason when Mr. Duffy offered it to me I declined. I guess I felt like it would be a pain in the ass if I overheated; the wind was still making me uncomfortable but not so much I needed to bundle up like that. As I ran away toward the Bronx I thought I was kind of a pain-in-the-ass for micromanaging my team on time, but we had a plan and that was one of the only things keeping me together for the week leading up to the race, and I wanted to make sure we stuck to it.
I kept ticking the blocks up to the Willis Avenue Bridge. The crowds were much thinner and quieter here, but those who were there were still enthusiastic - there was a lady who dragged a whole sound-system out of her apartment in a red flyer wagon and was doing some spoken word thing about being there to open our minds. I missed a lot on this stretch. I passed by Patsy's and didn't even notice; I fixated on some kids playing soccer in the park off the east side around 112th; the lack of new distractions was becoming distracting.
It was here that I noticed for probably the second or third time that the race was organized in such a way that I was constantly stimulated and distracted and had no chance to dwell on the discomfort I was felling. It occurred to me how freaking lonely a small marathon would feel at this point, and I was grateful. Again, for the second or third or even fifth or sixth time during that run, I was overcome by how it seemed like everyone in the city had come out to support us along, because it was our day, and we were rock stars. I kept thinking of the cheesy but true thing Bob Glover kept saying in the Competitive Runner's Handbook - we were conquering heroes.
It was also along here that I saw my favorite sign of the whole course -- "26.2 miles - Not as easy as your girl." I laughed out loud at that one.
20 12:36
21 12:47
22 12:22
23 12:40
24 13:39
The Willis Avenue Bridge. I drive this thing a few times a week; it's a sharp slope but very small. However, I stopped to walk because I wanted to chew on some Blocks and I was feeling tired. There was a lady wearing a Boricua cape who looked like a Puerto Rican superhero; she started to talk about how she was from the Bronx and this was her bridge, and a lot of other closet Bronx marathoners started speaking up. I didn't really have the energy to talk, but it made me feel good. Once the Blocks were swallowed, I jogged up the rest of the incline and took in some of the sparse but no less energetic cheers from the Bronx crowd. As I moved on through, and past the Jumbotron, I got a little lift and started to feel a bit better, but continued to walk a little off and on because I was really starting to feel the toll of the effort by now. The crowds here were fun, including more DJs and a lot of little kids with their hands out, which made me happy. A crew FDNY lined the right side of the course approaching the Madison Avenue Bridge, and one lady jumped in with them and had a picture taken, which made me laugh.
One thing I noticed throughout was that no matter how tired I felt, I always had a little left to smile or say thank you to a water volunteer or cheer when something great was going on. And usually when I realized I had that little bit, it kicked me in the butt to start running again, or to move with more energy, or whatever. Good stuff.
I was able to move a little faster coming down the hill from the Madison Avenue Bridge into Harlem, and ran into another DJ playing James Brown. This made me cheer and move it a bit faster; a Gospel choir soon thereafter had a similar effect. I got some high-five love from a guy in a three piece suit and realized how close I was as I circled around Mount Morris Park. I felt pretty good for having just run 22 miles.
Then, 5th Avenue laughed at me.
I noticed when I hit 110th and Central Park started, and I got all excited. Then it got HARD. Everything hurt and I just couldn't keep going. I guess that was the wall; it's tough to avoid when you're confronted with a relentless uphill after running 22 miles. I alternated running and walking and noticed how great the crowd was here - thicker and louder than a lot of points prior, with more signs and love for everyone. Still, I struggled. I was kept going knowing I'd see my people again at the 23 mile marker.
Rookie lesson #4: Don't put your family at the hardest part of the race, because you'll just want to stop and go home with them. When I saw the yellow sign a few blocks away, I tried to step it up and slog toward them. I kept thinking all I wanted was a hug from my husband (there was a guy in Brooklyn and another on 1st Avenue offering hugs to all the runners -- somehow this was not nearly as appealing as curling up with my dum dums).
When I finally got to them, I repeated the kiss on the cheek for Kiernan and then Mr. Duffy, then came in for the hug. I wanted to stay. I didn't say anything, but turned and tried to keep it going. It was SO hard, because the hill keeps going until 90th, at Engineer's Gate when the course enters Central Park. Next year I'm putting my crew in the park. That was too much. I was kind of heartened when I entered - I knew it was downhill, and the thought that these are my long run and race stomping grounds was comforting - but there were still definitely some rollers to come and I didn't feel like I could handle it at that point. I barely felt like I could even jog. I walked until I saw a Brightroom guy and tried to pick it up for a good picture, but just wound up walking past.
Finally, I converted my death march into a death jog when the downhill past the Met became more pronounced. I had my head down and was just concentrating on moving when I heard someone shout my name - "Kate!" I looked up and saw another coworker, a total surprise because she wasn't there for me, just watching the race, but I had run into her at NYRR finishes in the past and knew she was currently in the midst of her 9 + 1 for next year. I waved and she yelled "Congratulations!" That gave me a jolt -- as I was looking up I also finally saw the 24 mile marker, realized there were only 2 miles left to go, and finally started to kick it in again. She saved me. Thanks Suzanne!
25 11:59
26 11:38
.2 2:27
From Suzanne, it was a downhill (it was actually Cat Hill, which I didn't realize because I was looking the wrong way.) I had planned on my traditional "Meow Kitty!" greeting to the Cat (yes, I'm weird. That's a huge part of my appeal) but realized I missed it too late when I suddenly came up on the Boathouse. I managed to power up the hill immediately after and just kept going, passing the legions of death marchers slogging through the water stop at mile 25, which I skipped, knowing it wouldn't make any difference at this point. I started seeing clean, showered, well dressed finishers wearing their medals back in the park cheering the rest of us on. I was partly touched (that is seriously awesome that you would come back and cheer for the slow people after your finish) and partly jealous (Damn! That guy had time to go home, eat, shower, get a nice sweater and come back out? Well played!) I curved out and came onto Central Park South, not really knowing how far it would be to the finish.
On CPS, the crowds were, once again, loud and wonderful. I kept looking for the NYPD Captain with the bullhorn at 7th Avenue, but he apparently retired, because he wasn't there. I noticed a few signs dropped onto the course and it passed my mind what a tragedy it would be if someone were to slip and fall and break something on one of them before the finish. I passed a lot of people and kept trucking to Columbus Circle, which I recognized as the start to the Mini 10k. Then it was back into the park and a huge sign (which I mistakenly thought was the finish for a few seconds) announcing mile 26. I started to lose it again but just kept running.
The last .2, of course, is the terribly placed hill before Tavern on the Green. I ran toward it and accepted a high five from the volunteers stationed ten feet from the line for that express purpose (imagine that volunteer title - "High five Marshall.") I ran on through with my arms extended to the side. I tried to do something more heroic but really couldn't. I think some people blocked me from the Brightroom guys. I don't care. I moved to the right and received my medal - out of all the almost losing it moments, this was another one of the closest to actual tears, but they never came. I had a picture taken with a big "I love you" sign for my men (although I think my smile might have been more of a grimace, but we'll see when the pictures get here), moved on to my space blanket, food bag, and more death marching past the baggage trucks. I didn't drop baggage on purpose, but this apparently made no difference, and it took a good twenty minutes to get to the 77th Street exit on my sad, aching feet.
Monday, November 2, 2009
5:22:16.
Oh, and Meb. Amazing.
Interestingly, although the hill up 5th Avenue caused quite a wall, I was actually exactly on my goal - 5:15 - but spent 7 minutes waiting in a port-o-potty line after the 4 mile mark. Silly rookie. Don't you know there's a huge bank of toilets without a line around mile 8? Now you do.
I guess this is race report, part 1. I don't normally do these things, but it's kind of a special event. In celebration of my Frankenstein walk, I give you a race report in multiple parts.
Pre-Start
As noted in my 5am post on race day, I was kind of, um, restless. However, all of that taper madness obsessing and planning and list making really paid off, because everything went off beautifully. I boarded the 7:30 ferry exactly as planned, freaked when I saw the Verrazano off the side of the boat, got a seat in the front of the bus, and quietly began to freak some more as we passed the marathon banners in the streets of Staten Island. It finally paid off to be a local, as I knew you exit on the opposite end of where you board the ferry; a lot of people didn't seem to get that.
Fort Wadsworth was a maddening swirl of humanity, to put it mildly. I chose to block it out and promptly found a spot on the pavement against a fence, huddled up in my 4 layers of throwaway (thank you, Mr. Duffy, for being a closet pack rat and keeping so many layers of snowboarding gear you never, ever use anymore). I spread out one of the many fleece Mets blankets we got from Shea back in the day and hunkered down to try to distractedly pretend to read the paper.
Okay, let's get this out of the way now: I didn't actually cry at any point during the day, but damn if I didn't tear up at every random interval of time. Some of the first were clearly as I approached the staging area and realized it was all real, but one of the worst was after I had decamped and started to hang some of my throwaways neatly on the fence. The first wave had started - I missed it in a port-a-john - and when I came out, I started to remove some more layers just below the bridge on the Green camp side. I could just see the mass start moving over
the bridge, and people started to applaud and wave to the runners. Some of the guys (they were invariably guys, in the very first corrals of the first wave) ran all the way to the right side of the bridge, looking down into camp Green, and waved down to the rest of us, and I was seriously overcome by how everyone here was working together and had the same goal and wanted nothing short of everyone achieving what they were here for, and would support one another to that end. Choked-up-city.
So by this point, the third wave has been called and is moving into the corrals. Having just peed, it didn't occur to me that I should subject myself to that dirty, smelly, no toilet-paper experience again so soon, but sadly that was a poor move on my part. I also didn't realize exactly how far the corral waiting areas extended, and wound up starting way far back of where I could have (I was a D). It seemed like everyone was all screwed up, anyway - it was a mishmosh of every corral letter and some lost looking second wavers. There were actually some uppity second wave ladies who insisted that I was wrong that this was the third wave. They pointed to some guy in front of them and said, "He's in wave 2. This is wave 2." I knew I was right, so it was all good, and I ended the lame ass exchange with, "Well, we all start eventually," but I kind of hated that they were all snotty when they missed their own start time. Oh well. Anyway, I should have moved up farther, but I didn't know that at the time. Lesson #1 of the first marathon.
After waiting in the corral for what seemed like hours but was actually probably around 45 minutes (I was surprisingly un-cold, due to the sardine like conditions) we finally got moving. See above re: failure to use part-a-john. I had no sense of time at this point, but the last time I had used one was probably an hour and a half before I started. Bad call! Lesson #2.
Then, the start and the bridge. Brrrr! I wore a sleeveless tech shirt for the race, and still had an old NYRR long sleeve for my final layer, and that was NOT DOING IT against the ridiculous wind on the Verrazanno. I can't imagine how windy it must have been on the upper level if it was that cold on the lower. Sadly, it was somewhat underwhelming due to the lack of view and freaking freezing uncomfortable conditions. I found myself trying to get as far to the right as possible to hide behind people against the wind. I managed to hold back on my first mile, but not as much as my pace band suggested, and ran it in 12:28.
The first several miles were more of the same, trying to hold back against the initial excitement while getting used to the cool conditions (which improved a lot off the bridge, but remained pretty goddam windy.)
Splits here:
2 10:45 (whoa nelly! No more of that!)
3 12:12
4 11:34
The green route is the redheaded stepchild that veers off into no-man's land. However, there were a few intrepid Brooklynites calling down to us from pedestrian overpasses, standing by the closed highway to cheer (all alone) and so on. Thank you, Bay Ridge! By miles 3 and four, we finally moved into the residential neighborhoods (so no more peeing on the walls of the overpasses, MEN. You know who you are. All 25,000 of you.) and I got my first taste of the hospitality and lovely, breathtaking generosity and unity of the NYC crowds. People were hanging out, handing out napkins, oranges, Halloween candy - whatever they had and thought the runners would enjoy. There were block parties and dogs hanging out on stoops with their owners and kids doling out high-fives. Good times, and only the first taste of the goodness to come.
By mile 4, I had to pee. I mean PEE. I passed the port-a-johns at mile 3 because of the line, but by 4 I figured it was only going to get worse, not better, so I got in line. A couple of ladies behind me observed that there were some more toilets across the street (on the Blue / Orange side - most of those runners had already passed by the time we got there) with no line, but we made the communal decision that by the time we got there there would, in fact, be a line and we would have been better off staying. Wrong. Someone behind us ran over there (eventually) and was done before me. I lost 7 minutes. Damn!
By the time I got back out, I was a little panicky about making up the time, but then realized I should just say fuck it and move on.
5 17:23 (including potty wait time)
6 10:58
7 11:37
8 11:52
9 11:43
10 11:55
4th Avenue has already blurred together for me into impressions of the crowd, funny signs (including the, "Do your feet hurt from kicking so much ass?" theme, for which I saw at least one sign for each borough) and passing the Eiffel Tower at some point. I remember the crowd going from good to fantastic as we turned onto Atlantic and then Lafayette, thicker and louder and just more fun, especially with the high school band kicking out the Rocky theme right before the gospel choir up the road. I passed my friend S from work, who had said he might come out to check things out, and had even made a little sign for me. That was a huge lift - my first personal spectator! I waved, called out, and hauled it a little faster up the incline before the turn onto Bedford Ave. Onto the Hasidim! And quiet disapproval.
When the dirty hipsters finally started sowing up in North Williamsburg - approaching mile 11 - I'd never been happier to see those damn skinny jeans. I actually thought the phrase in my head multiple times, "Aw, you dirty hipsters! Good to see you! The dirty hipsters are really representing! Nice tunes!" Needless to say, my opinion of hipsters has improved. A bit.
More to come...
Oh, and Meb. Amazing.
Interestingly, although the hill up 5th Avenue caused quite a wall, I was actually exactly on my goal - 5:15 - but spent 7 minutes waiting in a port-o-potty line after the 4 mile mark. Silly rookie. Don't you know there's a huge bank of toilets without a line around mile 8? Now you do.
I guess this is race report, part 1. I don't normally do these things, but it's kind of a special event. In celebration of my Frankenstein walk, I give you a race report in multiple parts.
Pre-Start
As noted in my 5am post on race day, I was kind of, um, restless. However, all of that taper madness obsessing and planning and list making really paid off, because everything went off beautifully. I boarded the 7:30 ferry exactly as planned, freaked when I saw the Verrazano off the side of the boat, got a seat in the front of the bus, and quietly began to freak some more as we passed the marathon banners in the streets of Staten Island. It finally paid off to be a local, as I knew you exit on the opposite end of where you board the ferry; a lot of people didn't seem to get that.
Fort Wadsworth was a maddening swirl of humanity, to put it mildly. I chose to block it out and promptly found a spot on the pavement against a fence, huddled up in my 4 layers of throwaway (thank you, Mr. Duffy, for being a closet pack rat and keeping so many layers of snowboarding gear you never, ever use anymore). I spread out one of the many fleece Mets blankets we got from Shea back in the day and hunkered down to try to distractedly pretend to read the paper.
Okay, let's get this out of the way now: I didn't actually cry at any point during the day, but damn if I didn't tear up at every random interval of time. Some of the first were clearly as I approached the staging area and realized it was all real, but one of the worst was after I had decamped and started to hang some of my throwaways neatly on the fence. The first wave had started - I missed it in a port-a-john - and when I came out, I started to remove some more layers just below the bridge on the Green camp side. I could just see the mass start moving over
the bridge, and people started to applaud and wave to the runners. Some of the guys (they were invariably guys, in the very first corrals of the first wave) ran all the way to the right side of the bridge, looking down into camp Green, and waved down to the rest of us, and I was seriously overcome by how everyone here was working together and had the same goal and wanted nothing short of everyone achieving what they were here for, and would support one another to that end. Choked-up-city.
So by this point, the third wave has been called and is moving into the corrals. Having just peed, it didn't occur to me that I should subject myself to that dirty, smelly, no toilet-paper experience again so soon, but sadly that was a poor move on my part. I also didn't realize exactly how far the corral waiting areas extended, and wound up starting way far back of where I could have (I was a D). It seemed like everyone was all screwed up, anyway - it was a mishmosh of every corral letter and some lost looking second wavers. There were actually some uppity second wave ladies who insisted that I was wrong that this was the third wave. They pointed to some guy in front of them and said, "He's in wave 2. This is wave 2." I knew I was right, so it was all good, and I ended the lame ass exchange with, "Well, we all start eventually," but I kind of hated that they were all snotty when they missed their own start time. Oh well. Anyway, I should have moved up farther, but I didn't know that at the time. Lesson #1 of the first marathon.
After waiting in the corral for what seemed like hours but was actually probably around 45 minutes (I was surprisingly un-cold, due to the sardine like conditions) we finally got moving. See above re: failure to use part-a-john. I had no sense of time at this point, but the last time I had used one was probably an hour and a half before I started. Bad call! Lesson #2.
Then, the start and the bridge. Brrrr! I wore a sleeveless tech shirt for the race, and still had an old NYRR long sleeve for my final layer, and that was NOT DOING IT against the ridiculous wind on the Verrazanno. I can't imagine how windy it must have been on the upper level if it was that cold on the lower. Sadly, it was somewhat underwhelming due to the lack of view and freaking freezing uncomfortable conditions. I found myself trying to get as far to the right as possible to hide behind people against the wind. I managed to hold back on my first mile, but not as much as my pace band suggested, and ran it in 12:28.
The first several miles were more of the same, trying to hold back against the initial excitement while getting used to the cool conditions (which improved a lot off the bridge, but remained pretty goddam windy.)
Splits here:
2 10:45 (whoa nelly! No more of that!)
3 12:12
4 11:34
The green route is the redheaded stepchild that veers off into no-man's land. However, there were a few intrepid Brooklynites calling down to us from pedestrian overpasses, standing by the closed highway to cheer (all alone) and so on. Thank you, Bay Ridge! By miles 3 and four, we finally moved into the residential neighborhoods (so no more peeing on the walls of the overpasses, MEN. You know who you are. All 25,000 of you.) and I got my first taste of the hospitality and lovely, breathtaking generosity and unity of the NYC crowds. People were hanging out, handing out napkins, oranges, Halloween candy - whatever they had and thought the runners would enjoy. There were block parties and dogs hanging out on stoops with their owners and kids doling out high-fives. Good times, and only the first taste of the goodness to come.
By mile 4, I had to pee. I mean PEE. I passed the port-a-johns at mile 3 because of the line, but by 4 I figured it was only going to get worse, not better, so I got in line. A couple of ladies behind me observed that there were some more toilets across the street (on the Blue / Orange side - most of those runners had already passed by the time we got there) with no line, but we made the communal decision that by the time we got there there would, in fact, be a line and we would have been better off staying. Wrong. Someone behind us ran over there (eventually) and was done before me. I lost 7 minutes. Damn!
By the time I got back out, I was a little panicky about making up the time, but then realized I should just say fuck it and move on.
5 17:23 (including potty wait time)
6 10:58
7 11:37
8 11:52
9 11:43
10 11:55
4th Avenue has already blurred together for me into impressions of the crowd, funny signs (including the, "Do your feet hurt from kicking so much ass?" theme, for which I saw at least one sign for each borough) and passing the Eiffel Tower at some point. I remember the crowd going from good to fantastic as we turned onto Atlantic and then Lafayette, thicker and louder and just more fun, especially with the high school band kicking out the Rocky theme right before the gospel choir up the road. I passed my friend S from work, who had said he might come out to check things out, and had even made a little sign for me. That was a huge lift - my first personal spectator! I waved, called out, and hauled it a little faster up the incline before the turn onto Bedford Ave. Onto the Hasidim! And quiet disapproval.
When the dirty hipsters finally started sowing up in North Williamsburg - approaching mile 11 - I'd never been happier to see those damn skinny jeans. I actually thought the phrase in my head multiple times, "Aw, you dirty hipsters! Good to see you! The dirty hipsters are really representing! Nice tunes!" Needless to say, my opinion of hipsters has improved. A bit.
More to come...
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I slept pretty well... despite reports that I would not sleep at all, I managed to close my eyes before ten (I mean, 11... this was pre-EST) and woke up at the ungodly hour of 3:45, never to close them again. I'm drinking coffee and checking the weather radar. Rain was just tinkling against my window, which does not strike me as a good sign, but they said it would be this way. Should I bring throwaway shoes? This is a debate I've had in my head since they started forecasting a spot of rain in the morning. Bring old crappy shoes and let THEM get all nasty at Fort Wadsworth, then change into my clean dry new ones before I line up. That, like do I wear my glasses or my prescription sunglasses, will likely be a last minute, just before I get out of the car to line up for the ferry decision. Everything else is set. I start in approximately five hours and twenty minutes. Gah.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
One day to go!
I expo-ed it up on Thursday (and PS, those artificially cocoa flavored almonds in the goodie bag were pretty good, I thought. Not to mention the multiple Gatorade protein shake samples I drank. Chocolate!)
I've been carbing it out all week.
This morning we had the International Duffy Friendship Run, meaning Kiernan, Mr. Duffy & I took a nice, easy two miles, with the ease of the pace dictated by Mr. Duffy's (who is not a runner) ability to speak in full paragraphs. Hooray!!!
Crazy agitation has given way to a mild zen state. I have lists for the bag to bring to Staten Island, the bag to give to the Duffy men to have for me at the finish, and the meeting spots and projected times that I should get to those spots on the course. I have all of my dinner supplies (see Queens Half, lessons learned.) I have my clothes and weather forecasts and race day nutrition and everything all lined up. All I lack is my Sunday Times for reading before the start. I am re-reading A Race Like No Other. I saw but did not interact with both Liz Robbins, the author of said book, and Bart Yasso at the expo. I am marathon-ed out.
Simply put, I finally feel totally ready.
GOOD LUCK!!!
I expo-ed it up on Thursday (and PS, those artificially cocoa flavored almonds in the goodie bag were pretty good, I thought. Not to mention the multiple Gatorade protein shake samples I drank. Chocolate!)
I've been carbing it out all week.
This morning we had the International Duffy Friendship Run, meaning Kiernan, Mr. Duffy & I took a nice, easy two miles, with the ease of the pace dictated by Mr. Duffy's (who is not a runner) ability to speak in full paragraphs. Hooray!!!
Crazy agitation has given way to a mild zen state. I have lists for the bag to bring to Staten Island, the bag to give to the Duffy men to have for me at the finish, and the meeting spots and projected times that I should get to those spots on the course. I have all of my dinner supplies (see Queens Half, lessons learned.) I have my clothes and weather forecasts and race day nutrition and everything all lined up. All I lack is my Sunday Times for reading before the start. I am re-reading A Race Like No Other. I saw but did not interact with both Liz Robbins, the author of said book, and Bart Yasso at the expo. I am marathon-ed out.
Simply put, I finally feel totally ready.
GOOD LUCK!!!
Monday, October 26, 2009
This is a no good horrible very bad day.
First, I wake to a job half-done by husband man, and this makes me cranky, but not in an overt, I will now tell you that I'm cranky kind of way. No, this was a private cranky. But husband man, somehow sensing the impending crankiness, assumes that it is an entirely different brand of cranky altogether and thus begins to press me about the cause of said crankiness. When it comes out that his half-assery is the cause of said crank, shouting ensues. No good horrible morning.
Then, I head to the vet with Miko puppy, who had a small tumor removed from her leg (for a gazzillion dollars) last week. She needs to get her stitches checked, and it shouldn't cost any money, because we were assured that the follow up would be included. However, she needs an antibiotic shot because the incision looks a little sore, and a doggy anti-inflammatory, for a total of about $75. What? People Tylenol is $4. Why is dog Tylenol $35?
THEN I go to Trader Joes to buy carby things because I am, after all, in the midst of a stress-free taper, but NO! It is NOT STRESS FREE! Because at Trader Joe's I am overdrawn and need to call husband man to transfer money from checking to savings. VERY BAD!
To top it off, I go to pick up Kiernan from school and we stop to get some seltzer and gatorade (we're a house of seltzer drinking people - what can I say?) and it's overdrawn AGAIN. On like a $19 charge. WTF??? And it turns out some mystery automatic payment was actually taken out fo our account without my knowledge because my husband set it up that way without telling me, and we is BROKE ASS MUTHAS. Mostly because of the gazzillion dollars to the vet, but also the husbadn unemployment thing. Which blows. Stress free my ass.
And now, I'm about to cook a pork roast, which I don't particularly care for, but which husband man bought several days ago and has not yet shown any signs of cooking, so I feel obligated to do lest it spoil (and therefore dump more $$$ down the drain.) Bah.
Horrible, no good, very bad day.
First, I wake to a job half-done by husband man, and this makes me cranky, but not in an overt, I will now tell you that I'm cranky kind of way. No, this was a private cranky. But husband man, somehow sensing the impending crankiness, assumes that it is an entirely different brand of cranky altogether and thus begins to press me about the cause of said crankiness. When it comes out that his half-assery is the cause of said crank, shouting ensues. No good horrible morning.
Then, I head to the vet with Miko puppy, who had a small tumor removed from her leg (for a gazzillion dollars) last week. She needs to get her stitches checked, and it shouldn't cost any money, because we were assured that the follow up would be included. However, she needs an antibiotic shot because the incision looks a little sore, and a doggy anti-inflammatory, for a total of about $75. What? People Tylenol is $4. Why is dog Tylenol $35?
THEN I go to Trader Joes to buy carby things because I am, after all, in the midst of a stress-free taper, but NO! It is NOT STRESS FREE! Because at Trader Joe's I am overdrawn and need to call husband man to transfer money from checking to savings. VERY BAD!
To top it off, I go to pick up Kiernan from school and we stop to get some seltzer and gatorade (we're a house of seltzer drinking people - what can I say?) and it's overdrawn AGAIN. On like a $19 charge. WTF??? And it turns out some mystery automatic payment was actually taken out fo our account without my knowledge because my husband set it up that way without telling me, and we is BROKE ASS MUTHAS. Mostly because of the gazzillion dollars to the vet, but also the husbadn unemployment thing. Which blows. Stress free my ass.
And now, I'm about to cook a pork roast, which I don't particularly care for, but which husband man bought several days ago and has not yet shown any signs of cooking, so I feel obligated to do lest it spoil (and therefore dump more $$$ down the drain.) Bah.
Horrible, no good, very bad day.
Ahhh! Six days left!!!
My weekend runs consisted of a 4 miler and a 6 yesterday, both just a tick slower than marathon pace. I feel good but a bit taper sluggish, like the books said I would. I can't tell if I'm more or less cranky because certain people around me (I'm looking at you, Mr. Duffy) are feeling high strung and making me a little crazy, and I think that's entirely un-taper-related. It is surreal that in less than a week I will be wrapped in a blanket reading the Sunday Times at the Fort Wadsworth marathoners refugee camp. I'm getting my bib at the expo Thursday - I think reality will settle in a little then.
My weekend runs consisted of a 4 miler and a 6 yesterday, both just a tick slower than marathon pace. I feel good but a bit taper sluggish, like the books said I would. I can't tell if I'm more or less cranky because certain people around me (I'm looking at you, Mr. Duffy) are feeling high strung and making me a little crazy, and I think that's entirely un-taper-related. It is surreal that in less than a week I will be wrapped in a blanket reading the Sunday Times at the Fort Wadsworth marathoners refugee camp. I'm getting my bib at the expo Thursday - I think reality will settle in a little then.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I am sitting here unshowered after logging my morning run because the hot water spigot is not giving me anything. Nada. Zip. Bad landlord, bad!
My personal strain of the taper virus has me all worried about pace, plus feeling crazy tired and not wanting to run. I cut 4 to 2 today. I am good at rationalization, ie, "With only 10 days to go, this run can't possibly have any training effect. I can slack off! I'm tapering!" However, those miles are inevitably run a bit too fast. Of those two, mile one was marathon pace and mile two was half marathon pace - without making any conscious effort to do so, but running easy, like a jog. WTF? I think I'm rested, thank you Mr. Taper.
Now, the hot water. Where is she? Mr. Taper, help! I am stinky!
My personal strain of the taper virus has me all worried about pace, plus feeling crazy tired and not wanting to run. I cut 4 to 2 today. I am good at rationalization, ie, "With only 10 days to go, this run can't possibly have any training effect. I can slack off! I'm tapering!" However, those miles are inevitably run a bit too fast. Of those two, mile one was marathon pace and mile two was half marathon pace - without making any conscious effort to do so, but running easy, like a jog. WTF? I think I'm rested, thank you Mr. Taper.
Now, the hot water. Where is she? Mr. Taper, help! I am stinky!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I managed to skip running ALL WEEKEND. I don't think that counts as taper. PANIC! AHH! I made my run extra long this morning to make up for it, even though that's not smart. After this I taper for real, on schedule! I'll do what they tell me! I promise!
PS I got my marathon registration for the expo in my email just now. It's real! I'm actually going there in 12 days!
PPS I realized I never changed my name on my license after I got married and now my license says different than my bib. Oh, dear. Off to the DMV with me.
PS I got my marathon registration for the expo in my email just now. It's real! I'm actually going there in 12 days!
PPS I realized I never changed my name on my license after I got married and now my license says different than my bib. Oh, dear. Off to the DMV with me.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Jamboree! We're off to the NYRR youth Jamboree at Icahn Stadium, where Kiernan is going to run a 400 and try the long jump (he was begging coach at the end of outdoor season and he finally gets to try it here, where 400m is the longest event and it doesn't matter.) There's an 800 for 10-12 yo, but alas, my budding teen is too old for it. It was supposed to rain horribly all day, but so far it's all cloudy blue skies.... may it hold out.
I'm supposed to fit 15 miles in somewhere this weekend and, since I didn't wake up hours early to do it right now, it looks like it'll be tomorrow in the cold pouring rain. Pray for me.
In the meantime, I can obsess about Accuweather! Hooray! The 15 day forecast is now up to Marathon-Eve (known to sane people as Halloween) and says it will be perfect - sunny, high of 50, low of 40. Yesterday, it said it might rain. Ah, obsessing!
Speaking of obsessing, I bought this book yesterday,
and it started making me cry around Fort Wadsworth. I'm only to the Martin Lel section (the book traces not only the history of the race, and a play-by-play of the 2007 marathon, but also weaves in the personal stories of several elites and a few every day racers) but I'm already heartily endorsing it. I read the author, Liz Robbins, relatively frequently in the New York Times Well Blog, and I've been using the Times' cool marathon training mileage tracker, so it caught my eye as I browsed in Borders* yesterday. Just. Awesome. I bought that and Duel in the Sun; more on that eventually.
Now, oatmeal! And in an hour or two, Jamboree!
*What does it say about my reading habits that I now gravitate directly to the Sports sections and settle by the running books for half an hour every time I walk into the Borders around the corner from my office? No more buy one, get one 50% off paperbacks; no, it's all Glover and Pfitzinger and Daniels and Bowerman and the Men of Oregon for me. Does running make people less literate? Discuss.
I'm supposed to fit 15 miles in somewhere this weekend and, since I didn't wake up hours early to do it right now, it looks like it'll be tomorrow in the cold pouring rain. Pray for me.
In the meantime, I can obsess about Accuweather! Hooray! The 15 day forecast is now up to Marathon-Eve (known to sane people as Halloween) and says it will be perfect - sunny, high of 50, low of 40. Yesterday, it said it might rain. Ah, obsessing!
Speaking of obsessing, I bought this book yesterday,
and it started making me cry around Fort Wadsworth. I'm only to the Martin Lel section (the book traces not only the history of the race, and a play-by-play of the 2007 marathon, but also weaves in the personal stories of several elites and a few every day racers) but I'm already heartily endorsing it. I read the author, Liz Robbins, relatively frequently in the New York Times Well Blog, and I've been using the Times' cool marathon training mileage tracker, so it caught my eye as I browsed in Borders* yesterday. Just. Awesome. I bought that and Duel in the Sun; more on that eventually.Now, oatmeal! And in an hour or two, Jamboree!
*What does it say about my reading habits that I now gravitate directly to the Sports sections and settle by the running books for half an hour every time I walk into the Borders around the corner from my office? No more buy one, get one 50% off paperbacks; no, it's all Glover and Pfitzinger and Daniels and Bowerman and the Men of Oregon for me. Does running make people less literate? Discuss.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
18 days...
I'm sitting here with the heat pad on my left ankle after icing it for ten minutes. Same achilles tendon. I don't think it's anything huge, just a little aggravation from the bridle path, but better safe than sorry. I had a successful inaugural "Test Mrs. Duffy's Achilles 5k" this morning in 41 degrees. Brrrr. Got the pants and gloves out.
Still freaking out.
I'm sitting here with the heat pad on my left ankle after icing it for ten minutes. Same achilles tendon. I don't think it's anything huge, just a little aggravation from the bridle path, but better safe than sorry. I had a successful inaugural "Test Mrs. Duffy's Achilles 5k" this morning in 41 degrees. Brrrr. Got the pants and gloves out.
Still freaking out.
Monday, October 12, 2009
I just remembered something I overheard one runner say to another during my long run the other day. He said, "The hay is in the barn, buddy. Now you've just got to get to the finish line in one piece."
I am currently icing a wonky left achilles. It felt weird on Saturday and sparked right back up with the weirdness with my 4 recovery miles today.
*Frown*
I am currently icing a wonky left achilles. It felt weird on Saturday and sparked right back up with the weirdness with my 4 recovery miles today.
*Frown*
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Let the taper madness begin!
Oy... with all the miles logged, the work, the family, something had to give, and that something was apparently my blog. Which is fine, really, because that's my venting-running-stress thing, and I've blithely been venting my running stress to anyone who will listen for the past few weeks, so no loss on that front. Three weeks from today is the big day. Wheeee!
So, I ran my last 20 yesterday, about 3/4's of it on the bridle path in Central Park. Either I measured waaaayyy short or I did the whole thing faster than projected marathon pace. I think a little of both was in effect, and I haven't yet figured out if I am experiencing an appropriate stress level. For one thing, I felt crappy toward the last quarter (no wonder) -- but for another, not that crappy, so should I be busy revising my goal? But what if I go out too fast as is my wont? Did I leave my marathon out in CP during the run? Yadda yadda yadda, worry worry worry, my taper has officially begun. Who knew it would come on so predictably?
ANYWAY, I think my 'A' goal is 5:15. Which I'm kind of shocked that I just said out loud (so to speak; wrote out loud?). That's about a 12:00 pace, slightly (JUST slightly) faster than I just ran my last 20. McMillen thinks I can do 5:08, so in the spirit of having a conservative goal for my first race (finish? Yes, I know I can do that) I'm thinking 5:20-ish. I would be pleased with anything in the low 5:20's on down; somewhat disappointed in 5:30 plus, but it being my first, I have no idea what to predict. Again, based on that last 20 (which could have actually been more like 19.5, but I'm not sure ) I could likely hit 5:20 at training pace. I'm freaking out. Taper pace obsession. Dear lord.
SO, I don't post for a week, then kind of blather on about my goal or lack thereof. THREE WEEKS, people! It's a bit surreal.
OH, and way to go Sammy Wanjiru (2:05:41, new Chicago Marathon course record by one freaking second!) and Dathan Ritzenheim (World Half Marathon championships bronze medal, 1:00:00, 26 seconds off Ryan Hall's American half record)!!! Ritz is the man - first the new 5k record, then the first American on the World Half podium in God knows how long. Well done, Ritzy!
Oy... with all the miles logged, the work, the family, something had to give, and that something was apparently my blog. Which is fine, really, because that's my venting-running-stress thing, and I've blithely been venting my running stress to anyone who will listen for the past few weeks, so no loss on that front. Three weeks from today is the big day. Wheeee!
So, I ran my last 20 yesterday, about 3/4's of it on the bridle path in Central Park. Either I measured waaaayyy short or I did the whole thing faster than projected marathon pace. I think a little of both was in effect, and I haven't yet figured out if I am experiencing an appropriate stress level. For one thing, I felt crappy toward the last quarter (no wonder) -- but for another, not that crappy, so should I be busy revising my goal? But what if I go out too fast as is my wont? Did I leave my marathon out in CP during the run? Yadda yadda yadda, worry worry worry, my taper has officially begun. Who knew it would come on so predictably?
ANYWAY, I think my 'A' goal is 5:15. Which I'm kind of shocked that I just said out loud (so to speak; wrote out loud?). That's about a 12:00 pace, slightly (JUST slightly) faster than I just ran my last 20. McMillen thinks I can do 5:08, so in the spirit of having a conservative goal for my first race (finish? Yes, I know I can do that) I'm thinking 5:20-ish. I would be pleased with anything in the low 5:20's on down; somewhat disappointed in 5:30 plus, but it being my first, I have no idea what to predict. Again, based on that last 20 (which could have actually been more like 19.5, but I'm not sure ) I could likely hit 5:20 at training pace. I'm freaking out. Taper pace obsession. Dear lord.
SO, I don't post for a week, then kind of blather on about my goal or lack thereof. THREE WEEKS, people! It's a bit surreal.
OH, and way to go Sammy Wanjiru (2:05:41, new Chicago Marathon course record by one freaking second!) and Dathan Ritzenheim (World Half Marathon championships bronze medal, 1:00:00, 26 seconds off Ryan Hall's American half record)!!! Ritz is the man - first the new 5k record, then the first American on the World Half podium in God knows how long. Well done, Ritzy!
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