My brain is still swimming in race day memories…I’ve been walking around in this post-event haze, replaying parts of the event in my mind. I want to jump back into those moments, not to necessarily change anything, but to savor the nuggets I missed. I tried to take it all in, but it just simply wasn’t possible. This recap will have to do.
I didn’t have a chance to write about this marathon’s goals. This race had been almost 4 years in the making, therefore my main goal was to soak it all in. Immerse myself in the experience. My other goal was to kick the time clock’s butt. I had a killer training cycle this year, running 94% of my prescribed miles from Coach Erin, (about 400 miles from July 1!) even tackling 3 successful 20-milers. Last year, I had a wonderful experience, and a PR, at the Philadelphia Marathon, and I wanted that again. I was trained, hopeful, and ready for a 4:15 marathon.
The universe had other plans for me that day on one of those goals.
The Morning Of: I woke up on race morning about 5:00 AM. Actually, the wind rattled my windows about 4:00 AM, and I laid awake for an hour, listening to it throw branches on our roof, debating my outfit, and hoping not to lose power. And daylight savings time that weekend meant one extra hour of insomnia, sweet! I opted not to spend the night in the city, as my wave didn’t start until 10:30, and because I’m in a cheapskate phase right now. So by 6:00 AM, I was in the car driving into the city, dodging downed branches along the way and nervously downing a banana, the first part of my breakfast.
Flat Nancy’s Battle Armor: Hot pink tank: Kohl’s, Pearl Izumi black shrug, Skirt Sports skirt (with all the pockets!), 110% compresion socks, my beloved Hokas, and my Badass Mother Runner hat from Another Mother Runner.
I made a couple of last-minute changes to my outfit before I left. Earlier in the week I sewed snaps onto my running skirt, onto which I would snap my race number. But I scrapped that idea, fearing that the wind would rip it off. My Badass Mother Runner cap — with a photo of my mom and I taped inside the brim — got switched out for my NYC Marathon beanie I bought at the expo the day before. I have a tiny, wimpy ponytail, and I feared that the cap would get blown off my head in the wind. I also added my 110% Play Harder buff (that I received during that crazy Ragnar weekend) around my neck to pop up over my mouth to breathe warm air. FORESHADOWING!
Trains, Buses, Boats, and Automobiles: I drove into the city and parked in a garage. Walked to the subway. Took the subway, packed with runners, to the Staten Island Ferry. I aimed for the 8:15 ferry, but due to the crowds I got the 8:30 instead.
Lotsa runnahs
Always enjoying “Working Girl” flashbacks while riding the ferry, I headed to the lower lever for more seating to spread out and finish the rest of my breakfast: a bagel with almond butter and tart dried cherries, greek yogurt, orange juice, and water spiked with Nuun.
Verrazano Bridge, I’m coming for you!
Once docked on the Staten Island side, runners had to take a shuttle bus to the start. This is where things got a little backlogged…I had to wait over 30 minutes outside to board a bus. Right on the edge of the island, I could see the whitecaps on the Hudson and started to shiver as wind slapped my cheeks. I wore 2 sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants over my race outfit, and I carried a blanket around my shoulders, and I was still quite cold. I pulled my buff over my nose and mouth, glanced at the Statue of Liberty, and stood amongst the huddled masses yearning to be warm.
After finally boarding a bus, it got stuck in a logjam on the way to the start. I knew I’d be cutting it close to make my wave at 10:30. I took a glance at my hands, on which I had sharpie’d the day’s mantras:
The left hand is NSFW.
“I am here, now.” That is a mantra I got from Dimity McDowell, one of the creators of Another Mother Runner, and co-leader of that crazy Ragnar weekend. It’s a way of staying in the present, and not worrying about the next thing. It’s about experiencing and savoring the moment while staying grounded.
“BAMR” stands for BadAss Mother Runner. Ever since that Ragnar weekend, my teammates and I have kept up our private Facebook group, friendships have grown, and cheering sections have exploded. I knew I wanted the collective power of the BAMR group with me on this day. It also reminds me of my mother. She may not be a runner, but she has fought stage 4 lung cancer for the past 2 years. Truly, the epitome of a badass mother.
“CTFD” is like “Don’t sweat the small stuff,” only more profane…sorry I’m not sorry. You’re going to have to Google it, because I don’t want to type it, even with asterisks, here. I started using it over the summer in the middle of runs or races in order to stay calm and focus on the task/route/run/breath at hand. I used it quite a bit in my last triathlon. “Calm down” is just not strong enough. I mean, we’re racing, not saving lives here. So CTFD, already.
The Start Corrals: After being stuck in backlogged marathon traffic, my bus finally arrived at the start and let us off and for a security check (bag check, a dog sniff, and a wand) at 10:15. Decision time: I could either rush to get into my wave, or CTFD and get into the 10:55 wave. As I still needed to strip some layers, load my pockets, and use the porta-potty, I decided to CTFD and go with 10:55. That also meant that I could hop into the wave that goes over the upper level of the Verrazano…YES!
I got myself pocketed and pottied, stripped my outermost layers, and headed into a corral line, which unbeknownst to me was the last corral of the last wave. I had heard horror stories of long waits in the start villages, but being that I was late, I didn’t have any time to sit around and get nervous. Before I knew it, I heard the cannons go off and “New York, New York” start to play, and because we were in the back corral…we didn’t move. That song ended and another song started, THEN we started to move, I synced up my GPS watch, started power walking…
The buses were used to “corral” the herd.
…turned the corner to see the start…
Almost there…
…started a jog, dodging discarded clothing items that were being dropped every which way…
Hmph
…and was greeted by 2 little “start” kiosks and a rusty Verrazano arch. Where did the cannons go? Where’s the bus-mounted scaffolds? Where’s the FANFARE?? In the 5 short minutes it took for me to get to the start line, everyone at the start got the heck out of dodge. I had heard the organizers dismounted much of the start line earlier due to the winds. The whole scene was bizarre. FORESHADOWING! No time to dwell. It’s time to CTFD and get moving!
The discarded layers (to be gathered and given to Goodwill) were gathering like a snow drift.
The Race: Staten Island/Verrazano Bridge
Once I passed the bus conga line and the start mats…HOLY WHIPPING WIND! The gusts blew around my head and I thought, jeez, who pissed off Storm from X-Men? People were stopping by the edge to take photos and I thought hellz no, a swirl would take me right over the edge. The gusts were so bad that it started clipping my heels together and pulling me to the right. Whitecaps raged on the Hudson. I felt like I was in one of those ridiculous Weather Channel videos. Runners who stripped lightweight layers tried to toss them to the side only to have them tumbleweed back into the main lanes to become wrapped up in others’ feet. I saw caps fly right off several heads and was thankful for the beanie decision. I felt my pinned-on race bib pull from the strain and I held it protectively to my torso.
My favorite shot on downside.
I put the buff over my nose and mouth to try and breathe warm air. I struggled to maintain a 10:00/mile pace, even when my goal was 9:40/mile. I told myself it would get better in Brooklyn.
Brooklyn:
It was not better in Brooklyn.
While the wind continued to slap us around, the sun did come out, warming things up a tad. The crowds appeared, and there are no words to describe the vibe that came with them. People holding “Welcome to Brooklyn” signs, kids with noisemakers, signs everywhere, NYPD officers clapping and cheering from their posts…cheering for strangers! It was a little overwhelming, and I got a little teary. CTFD, I told myself, and save the tears for later. It was then I realized just how crowded this race was. I was under strict orders not to weave, but it was so packed, and I was so far back, it couldn’t be helped.
While I was having a hard time maintaining my goal pace, I was enjoying myself on that long, straight thoroughfare that is 4th Avenue. I prepared myself for my first personal spectator spotting around mile 6.5…my friend Kelly (whom I met through Lori) told me at what block and which side she’d be on. Lo and behold, just after 11st Street, I spied her! Actually, this sign was hard to miss:
Really, just the best.
HOW AWESOME IS THAT?? She even had her baby boy strapped to her chest, under a pile of blankets, waiting in the cold and wind, for me…WITH A SIGN. I kissed Kelly, kissed the babyhead through the blankets, took a photo, and carried on, completely buoyed by the pitstop.
It wasn’t long after that I think this photo was taken, by a photographer on a lift, dangling over the roadway:
Happy runner here!
The happys continued despite more heel-clipping, dodging of wind-born water cups, jumping over discarded clothing, and a slower-than-desired pace. The route took me near (but not quite through) my old ‘hood, Cobble Hill. Brooklyn looks NOTHING like it did in 1997. Except this cool building is still there.
My favorite shot of the day. Love the cloud swirl.
Shortly thereafter, I got a text from my husband that he and the kiddos would be waiting for me in the next block, but he didn’t tell me which side to look. I stayed in the middle, scanning left to right like I was at a tennis match. At the last minute, I saw my son and called his name, and darted over to see them. Cheers! Joy! Calls of “Mommy! I was afraid we missed you! I was crying that I missed you!” After some kisses and hugs, I was on my way, still feeling pretty good.
It got a little warmer as it was now mid-day. I ditched my gloves somewhere in Greenpoint, and carried on. Brooklyn is a loooooooong borough. The smaller streets offered a slight buffer from the wind, and I was able to get my pace into the mid-9:00’s with some effort, but then the Pulaski Bridge happened:
Sorry for the blur. This bridge is the halfway point.
The Halfway Point: Mile 13.1
On target and running about a 2:12-2:13 half marathon, I decided to use the bridge to stop and stretch my Achilles’ which were not bothersome but tend to tighten up in cold race pace conditions. As soon as I took the first step to start up again, I suddenly and sharply felt an acute, tight pain on the outside of my knee. OH MY GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY KNEE?? I hobbled a bit. The more I hobbled, the more it loosened, but I was freaked out! I hadn’t had knee pain in fifteen years – and it was the other knee! I got up to a decent run, but I could feel the pain lingering. Going down the other side of that bridge, I faced reality at that point. I knew I was not going to make my clock time I wanted. The effort needed to maintain even a 10:00/mile pace in this weather was not going to be sustainable, especially with this funky knee business. I glanced at my hand mantras and I tried to shift into a better headspace.
Queens:
Once over the bridge, I tried to troubleshoot what might be amiss with my knee. It occupied my thoughts for a while, and then I decided to put on my headphones and turned on my music. I tried to stay present…I AM HERE, NOW…and while my knee felt mostly better while I was running, Queens was a blur, and I don’t remember much of it. Mantra fail.
Just before the Queensboro Bridge to run into Manhattan, I slowed to a walk at a fluid station for water. I thought, “I’m okay, CTFD, it must have been a cramp.” I started to run again, and OH NO NO NO, the pain on the side of my knee was back like a gremlin. I had to run tip-toe and wincing, for about 30-40 steps before it started to subside. What the hell was happening? Was my knee going to completely crap out on me? Was I going to have to DNF (Did Not Finish) the race? I had time to think about this, as the Queensboro Bridge loomed ahead.
The bridge has the reputation as being one of the hardest parts of the race…a long, continual uphill and no spectators allowed.
At the base, starting the climb. It was crowed like sardines. Running sardines.
I enjoyed the relative silence of the bridge, and being that we were on the lower level and somewhat buffered from the wind (turns out this was the ONLY point I remember feeling relief from it), I just put my head down, plodded along, and ate that hill for lunch. That made me feel better about my knee.
My photography skills were going downhill too, apparently.
Manhattan:
Coming off the bridge was way cool. The crowds enveloped us on either side, sometimes 3-4 people deep, all going nutzo! Calling my name! A stranger to them, running an insane distance, and they’re cheering for ME! For everyone!
The screaming was unreal.
I stopped to see Mary somewhere in the 80’s (I ditched my camera to her to lighten the load), and then Dan and the kids again shortly thereafter. Both times, I would walk and be fine, and then startup again to that horrible knee pain, which would mostly subside after about 30-40 steps. I dreaded stopping and starting up again, but I knew I had to, at least for fluid stations. I was only at mile 18! I was also tiring (not bonking, though) and taking longer walk breaks but dreading the start-ups, because I knew it would hurt again. The wind kept at it, and at large intersections would swirl and whirl around our bodies, again clipping our heels together as we all hunched and hunkered to try avoid debris in our eyes. I AM EFFING HERE, NOW! I thought-yelled to myself as I buried my face in the crook of my elbows.
The Bronx:
Around the Willis Ave Bridge, which is about mile 19 and heading into The Bronx, the wind was at its absolute worst. On the bridge, I stopped for another achilles stretch, and as I was fighting again with the knee upon start up, another huge trolling gust came though, the biggest one yet, and I almost collided with another runner beside me. The whole thing was so ridiculous, we just had to laugh. A split-second later, I saw the photographer in front of me, and did this:
“WHAT-EVAH!”
It was right then and there I decided to walk. I was going to give myself this mile.
While I was walking, I reevaluated. I wasn’t bonking or hitting “The Wall”, but my energy was waning. Every other part of my body felt just fine, even my feet, go figure! I was just wondering if my knee would make it, or if I would have to do the rest walking. I didn’t want to walk, even though I was prepared to do so. But it was quite chilly walking and I didn’t want 90+ more minutes of that cold nonsense. Between miles 20-21, I went in fits and starts, more walking than running, and I was starting to get mad and annoyed.
Back in Manhattan again:
Around mile 21, I looked up to notice a squadron of people passing me. It was the 5-hour pace group! I funneled my annoyance into motivation. I WAS GOING TO GO SUB-5, WHETHER MY KNEE WANTED TO OR NOT, DAMMIT. I did not want a 5:00+ marathon, especially after I was trained for 4:15. My slowest marathon prior to this was 4:58. Pushed by my pride, I was determined to keep them in my sights.
I was hydrated and fueled, so I knew that if I could just run those last 5 miles without stopping, I would be okay. I knew that if I stopped to walk again, that’d be it…those shoes would be made for a cold, hard walk the rest of the way. I put my headphones back on and focused only on the road in front of me. As if it knew, Under Pressure came on my music mix.
None of my hand-mantras were really appropriate for this clutch-time. Desperate times call for desperate mantras. I thought of my mom. As in Philly, I called on her from 500 miles away to push me forward. It’s been 26+ months since she’s been fighting the pain from her cancer. If she can fight for 26 months, I can fight for 26 miles. My mantra became “Fight for Mom, fight for Mom.” Over and over, like some record on repeat.
Clutch-time race-face. Central Park.
I don’t remember much after that…I was in a bizarre headspace and I just focused on the patch of pavement 10 feet in front of me, and my music. The bands and the crowds became sensory overload and I felt like my brain was turning inside out. Fight for Mom, fight for Mom. Dan and the kids were somewhere in Central Park, but I was so tuned out we missed each other. I vaguely remember people called my name (it was on my shirt) but I could focus on nothing but digging as deep as possible. Fight for Mom. Dig. Fight. Dig. Fight. I don’t think I’ve ever dug so deep in a race as I did in those last 5 miles, they seemed so long, yet they were ending in a flash.
Crowds roaring. Slight uphill. Finish line. I came out of my stupor. I raised my hands and smiled. I stopped my watch. 4:56:13. The fight was over. I was the victor.
Hands in the air!
I started sobbing like a baby. I couldn’t believe something I’d planned for almost 4 years was over, and that I had persevered. More than one volunteer asked if I was okay. I nodded I was. A sweet lady put the medal around my neck and said, “Tears of joy, honey…let it out. You did it.” I cried harder.
Weeping-over-a-medal selfie
In my hypothermic haze after the finish line, I had a moment of mourning for the perfect sunny, temperate, fast, pain-free race I’d hoped for. But looking around at my heat-sheeted companions, shuffling toward the park exit, I had a realization. The clock didn’t matter today. What did matter was that I did not give up, even when I feared I might have to. It was the toughest race I’ve ever done, hands (legs) down.
Let’s see how long it takes for me to sign up for another one.
Epilogue:
I went my chiropractor the day after. Turns out that my painful knee was classic IT band pain! I’ve never had that before. Nothing that a little rest and ice won’t fix. The doc thinks that it might have been due to tons of lateral movements. Between the throngs of runners, the clothing in the road, and the other obstacles like potholes and plates, I weaved and dodged more than I wanted to. There is no possible way to run straight on that course with that many people! Now, 10 days later, all is well. Onward.
Coming Soon: Random noticings (yes, that’s a word, because I say so) and insights from the race (that didn’t fit in this narrative)!
See Nancy Run. 