NYCM Birthday Weekend (Oh, and a Workout)

Sunday AM: 3 mile w/u + strides
Target: 4-5x3k @11:00 or faster (5:52 pace) w/2 min. jog/rest
Actual: 11:18 (into wind), 10:55, 10:57, 10:53
1 mile c/d
Total: 12 miles
Sunday AM #2: ~4 miles to/from/around marathon course
Daily total: 16 miles

Wow, what a weekend! It's hard to summarize it all into one cohesive blog post, but since I'm far too lazy to write a handful of separate entries I'm going to attempt just that.

So, let's go back to the beginning. Except I don't really know where the beginning is. Technically, this trip started on Wednesday morning as Jordan and I loaded up and headed out for the rest of the week on the road. NYC was our ultimate destination for Friday meetings at the Runner's World international editors summit and marathon weekend shenanigans, but we had several stops along the way. Wednesday night found us in Princeton, NJ and an impromptu hosting from newly relocated Esther Erb. Fresh off her recent top three finish at the US Marathon Champs, she led us on a great Thursday morning run in an amazing soft surface park next to her new digs before we continued southbound to Philly. On Thursday night, Karhu sponsored a Halloween-themed Urban Scramble with Philadelphia Runner, which basically meant that I sprinted through the downtown Philly streets with a heavily perspiring Karhu bear (and yes, I did count those two miles). We had great company yet again for my birthday morning run, as former D2 standout and soon-to-be Philadelphia Marathoner Tina Muir showed us around her favorite local training grounds in Wissahickon Park. And then, finally, we set off on the final leg of our journey into Manhattan. Marathon weekend was upon us!

The Karhu Bear and his new Philly Runner buddies

Friday afternoon until Sunday morning was all a blur of reunions with friends, industry colleagues, and elite marathoners and coaches past and present. My workout was originally slated for Saturday morning, but after a little bit too much fun Friday night at the Runner's World party it seemed a bit unrealistic. Instead, Jordan and I decided to see how long we could stretch out a 10-mile run (answer: about five hours) by meandering our way around various marathon-related activities. First we jogged up to Columbus Circle and met Sarah and Jay to cheer on Molly, Esther and other elites in the NYRR Dash to the Finish 5k. In desperate need of coffee and lured by the buttery aroma of freshly baked croissants, we swung by Fika before making our way over to the Hilton on Avenue of the Americas for a quick work meeting. If you've never experienced this hotel during marathon weekend, it's really something else. Besides being the official host hotel for the event and its athletes, it is also the unofficial hub for the elite race and everything it entails. Within its massive lobby and bar area, you're likely to be surrounded at any given time by dozens of elite marathoners, coaches, agents, team--ahem--doctors, media and pretty much anyone else that is associated with the race in any capacity. It's hard to make it through the lobby to the elevators without bumping into a handful of people that you know, which of course is what happened and somehow resulted in us abandoning my workout plans in favor of a pre-race shakeout with Kim, Amy, Katie DiCamillo and Diane Nukuri-Johnson, whom I'd never met before in person but upon first glance quickly confirmed that, as suspected, her legs were twice as long and half as fat as mine.

Posing for the paparazzi on Friday night with Huub, the Karhu CEO. He would go on to run 3:50 on Sunday.

The run was easy, relaxed and fun, but at the same time infused with a distinct undercurrent of nervous energy. As we entered Central Park, I'm sure each of the girls visualized what it would be like the next day when their race-weary feet would pound the same section of pavement on the finishing stretch. The park is always bursting with energy the day before the marathon, as eager runners criss-cross the paths and snatches of conversation in every imaginable language can be heard in passing. The girls stopped for drills and I continued on with Jordan, jogging under the finish line banner to soak in the atmosphere even though we knew it would be an absolute cluster. We continued south on the West Side Highway, our run now approaching a total of eight miles and approximately three hours, before deciding to stop at the Javits Center and poke around the expo for a bit. Finally, just past 1pm, we returned to our hotel to relax before another run and a birthday dinner with friends. Since Heidi was in town and she turned 31 just a few days before me, it was only natural to make this a joint celebration. Naturally, with a group comprising all runners, we were full and happy and buzzed and soundly tucked away in bed before 11pm.

Pre-dinner Sardinia reunion at the Hilton with the incomparable Marcello Magnani. His two elite athletes, Valeria Straneo and Daniele Meucci, would crack the top 10 in the elite race the following mroning.

Race morning! But first, my stupid workout. Delaying it by a day sure sounded like a better idea 24 hours prior, but at this point I was out of options. Time to get it done. The first few steps out the door confirmed that the weather had indeed turned overnight--the first two days of November had found me incredulously running in only a sports bra--and now it was cold, overcast and quite breezy. Actually, "gale force winds" might have been a more appropriate way to describe the gusts that blasted us in the face as we hit the West Side Highway, but I tried not to dwell on it. As unpleasant as it would be for the first part of my workout, the marathoners would face it for the majority of their run. If they could handle it, so could I.

That optimism lasted approximately five minutes into my first 3k interval, which we were unfortunately forced to run northbound into the wind so that the rest of the workout didn't send me south all the way to the Statue of Liberty. Jordan and I consciously decided to relax and not force the pace for this one; there was simply no point. But my struggle would be rewarded with the wind at my back for the remainder, which enabled me to run strong and relaxed and totally comfortable at the target pace. Hell, with as much action packed into this weekend, I consider simply completing a workout to be an accomplishment in itself! There was no time to revel in my self-satisfaction, however, as we started jogging back to the hotel immediately after the final interval so we could rinse off, layer up and then head uptown to meet the crew for some race spectating. We hoofed it over to First Ave to see the elite women at 17, and I was pumped to see Kim holding strong in seventh place. From there we dashed to the park and planted ourselves squarely at the 24-mile marker, eager to see the final stages of the race unfold in front of us. We screamed like crazy for Kim (who finished sixth!) and Amy and Diane (who still managed to look like a model over two hours into a marathon) and then the elite men who followed shortly thereafter. I've never spectated from this particular location before but I'd definitely recommend it--not too crowded and with a fantastic vantage point.

Eagerly waiting at mile 24...

...for Kimberley to come flying by!

By the time I made it back to the hotel, checked out, said goodbye to Jordan as he departed for a friend's house, and met Sarah back at NYAC for some post-race fun, it was time to hit the train station and head home. I boarded the car and settled in alongside Huub and our other coworker ST--both of whom had just crushed the four-hour barrier in the marathon and then hustled down to Penn Station--and was almost immediately struck by the letdown, the carefully measured mix of exhaustion and sadness and almost instantaneous nostalgia that always sets in at the end of this sort of weekend. People ask me all the time if I plan to run NYC, and I always honestly respond that I'm not sure. It's a deceptively tough course with mercurial weather, and I would be lying if I didn't say that I witnessed some carnage out there today. But without question, I know I'll return next year and years to come just to be part of this amazing experience.

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Philly Marathon Race Report

Goal #1: Run a PR (sub-2:41:06)
Goal #2: Run sub-2:40
Goal #3: Run sub-2:39
Goal #4: Place top 5
Actual: 2:39:02 (chip), 2:39:08 (gun); 4th place female (2nd American)

Going into this race, I knew that on a perfect day in ideal conditions I was primed to run between 2:37:30 and 2:38:30. This would be at least three minutes faster than I'd ever run before, but I had unwavering confidence that it was possible. Every workout I've done in the past four weeks has been better than any workout I did before the Trials--and some of those weren't too shabby. 

It wasn't a perfect day.

It rarely is.

But throughout the mental and physical roller coaster that is the marathon, I persevered. I remained positive. I showed my sisu (and a whole lot more, if you happened to be hanging around near mile 15). But first:

The trip into Philly was uneventful. Jordan and I broke up the 7-hour drive into two days, stopping Thursday night in Greenwich before finishing up on Friday afternoon. The elite athlete coordinator hooked me up with a great room at the incredibly nice Loews hotel, located about a mile from the start and finish line in the heart of downtown Philly. Friday night we met Pezz for dinner and caught up on all the Charlotte gossip. Considering she just debuted in 2:32 as the third American at Chicago and was ready to run sub-1:13 in the half, I figured any time spent with Pezz was bound to rub off on me and translate into a fast race on Sunday. 

Dinner with Pezz on Friday night. "We can have one drink, right?"

Wide awake at 6am on Saturday to catch a stunning Philadelphia sunrise.

On a perfect, crisp Saturday morning we jogged together, and I was pleased to note that my legs felt the freshest I could recall in recent memory. For the rest of the day I tried to balance spending money at Anthropologie with not expending too much energy, and after an ill-fated attempt to meet up with some Charlotte friends for dinner (90-minute wait?! Have fun with that.), I wound up at the aptly-named Marathon with Katie DiCamillo and her dad. ("We're pretty busy right now, so there's going to be a wait...of at least 10 minutes." "Um, yeah, we can handle it.") Katie, who ran a ridiculous 32:31 to place second at the Stanford Invite 10k this year (a mere two full minutes faster than my 10k PR, NBD), had planned to debut at NYC a few weeks ago. So did a lot of people. Instead, she re-routed to Philly and was aiming for a sub-2:35 clocking. I had no doubt she was capable.

I went to bed, and then I woke up, and then I got ready, and then it was 6:55. On the starting line, surrounded by friends from all different aspects of my life--Allison, Sarah, Dalena, Danielle--it almost felt like we were about to head out for a nice Sunday long run. Jordan was there, too; having long since requested an elite entry, then gotten injured, then gotten un-injured, he gamely offered to play queenmaker for the first half of the race for me and Allison. Although I would like to think I'm the kind of person who would insist on doing this thing myself, I didn't hesitate to accept his offer. (I guess I don't really know what kind of person I am.) But I've run behind him dozens of times in workouts over the years and he's never steered me wrong. Why should today be any different?

The first few miles were lightning fast. Left to my own devices I'm certain I would've gone out too aggressively; as it was, despite Jordan's plan of taking us out in 6:10 we were 6:02 through the mile. It felt like walking. The next few mile markers were off, or so I was told by Allison and Jordan. I don't wear a Garmin, and didn't today, and rather than concern myself with any miscalculations I simply focused on doing what I've done so many times before: tuck in and relax.  

We were clicking off the miles effortlessly, 5:55 to 6:00 without a second thought. After four or five miles I felt rather than saw Allison slipping quietly off the back; she'd said in advance that a half split of 1:20 was desired. We were out too fast too soon for her, and I hoped the same was not true for me. 

It felt ridiculously easy until seven or eight. I didn't know the course, willfully hadn't studied the map, and was surprised to discover that the ensuing three miles were almost entirely uphill. Until that point I'd practically been breathing out of my nose; now I found myself struggling to stay physically and emotionally composed. Not mentally composed, but emotionally. If you don't think there's a difference, then you've never truly raced a marathon.

It wasn't exactly hard, but it was no longer easy, and that worried me.

You've got a long way to go.

I pushed the negative thoughts aside; there was no other choice. I knew Jordan planned to take me through halfway, but suddenly I was desperate for more of his help. As the course wound its way back toward downtown Philly, signaling the precise demarcation between Part 1 and Part 2, I spoke for the first time in over an hour.

"Can you go farther?"

"Yes," he said.

I was instantly relieved, but apparently I should've been more specific. Five minutes later, his job executed perfectly up until that point, he was done. He had carried me this far, and now the second half--which was "half" only in the most literal of ways--was up to me.

"Nothing fancy."

A strange mantra, perhaps. But as Jordan left me--solo, in no man's land--around mile 14, those were his words that stuck with me. "Believe in yourself," he said. "I believe in you. Know that it's going to hurt."

And then: "Nothing fancy." Meaning: you don't have to trick it up right now. You don't need to do anything other than what you're doing, what you've been doing for the past 80 minutes, to transform this goal that you've been fixating on for the past six months into reality.

But I was beginning to struggle, in more ways than one. Not only was I completely by myself, entering what would already be the loneliest section of the course, but I was also in desperate need--truthfully, had been for 30 minutes--of a bathroom break. As silly as it sounds or as tempting as it is to make light of the situation, in reality that could've been a game-changer in the worst of ways. Anyone who has faced this sort of dilemma during a race or workout knows how distracting it can be at best, debilitating at worst.

So--and I don't necessarily want to celebrate this but can't in the spirit of transparency leave it out--I pulled a Paula Radcliffe. If you don't know what that means, it's probably for the best. Maybe this course of action cost me my coveted 2:38 (it most certainly cost me my gloves), but as Jordan said later, better a Paula Radcliffe than an Uta Pippig.

The next four miles were the worst. I was rudderless, completely alone and with no reliable grasp of how fast (or slow) I was running. In fact, shortly after 16 I was overtaken for the first time by another woman. She was running shoulder to shoulder with a young guy, and I instinctively latched onto him. She was Fifth Place.

Do not let them get away.

He is the new Jordan.

The girl yo-yoed 10 to 20 meters in front of us, but I stayed glued to the unnamed guy's back. At one point, somewhere around mile 20, I found my voice.

"I hope I'm not bothering you," I said, as polite and civilized as if I were tapping him on the shoulder in the middle of a crowded room. "But you're helping me more than you realize."

"Hell no," he responded, then nodded to the girl just ahead. "And don't let her get away." 

In another scenario I would've been somewhat amused and not a little bit suspicious of his seemingly abrupt shift in allegiances, but right now I was clinging to him for dear life. At 21 he accelerated and I matched him stride for stride, edging past this Fifth Place woman. Another target loomed just ahead, a woman who had been at least 100 meters ahead of me at the most recent turnaround. I passed her without hesitation, then turned to Fifth Place and gestured for her to do the same. I was now in fourth with no other women in sight.

But I was passing men, and lots of them. I didn't feel spectacular but wasn't dying either. There was no wall, only the grim resignation that the remaining minutes would not be remotely pleasant. Yet now, more than at any other point in the race, my self-talk was wholly, unequivocally positive. It was as though my brain, deprived of oxygen and taxed beyond the point of sustainable reasoning, only had room for a handful of fragmented thoughts.       

"This is my day," I told myself. I remember that moment, that realization with striking clarity.

Today is for all the people who told me I could. Today is for all the people who told me I couldn't.

Mile 25. Photo courtesy of P. Ciccarello

Since July, I've been envisioning the clock at mile 25. In all my scenarios it read between 2:30 and 2:31. Today, it flashed 2:31:40. Slower than I wanted, and with one significant uphill remaining before the final downhill push. (Not that I knew any of this in advance. Maybe I should actually do a modicum of research before tackling my next marathon course.) I didn't have much left, but I pushed as hard as I could. Five minutes. Four minutes. Three.

Just like all the previous times, I crossed the finish line with little fanfare. It's difficult to comprehend, really, how much thought and effort and work points toward one moment, one end, only for it to pass almost before you realize it's upon you.

Katie finished 15 seconds ahead of me, and Fifth Place finished in fifth place a few minutes behind me, and together we comprised the top Americans today, on this unusually weighted Philadelphia Marathon day given that NYC was canceled a mere two weeks ago. Pezz was the first familiar face I saw, and she came sprinting towards me, and it meant so much to know how sincerely she felt overjoyed at an accomplishment that paled in comparison to hers. Then Jordan was there, and I found my phone, and saw the posts and texts and calls that were already overflowing with genuine happiness for me.

It humbles me every time.

When I wrote my blog about the Trials, it felt like the the natural end. The end of a chapter, the end of a pursuit, the end of a very distinct period of my life. Today, here, this feels like a beginning. I still don't consider myself an elite runner, honestly. Maybe I never will, and maybe I never will be. But right now, in this moment, all I can think about is the future. I can't wait to run faster. It's not a "what if" or a "maybe," but when. I've done the work before, and I'll do it again, and everything from here on out is a step toward the marathon trials of 2016.

It wasn't the perfect day.

But today was perfect.
   

Receiving my fourth place award with the Philly mayor and race director.

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