I did it!

I am proud to be a finisher of the 112th Boston Marathon! I knew I could do it, but I never really thought I would get to the end—have you ever felt that way about something? I wonder if that’s what pregnancy is like? Probably not, huh? Normally things don’t sneak up on me, being the intelligent, quick, and observant lady that I am. Because I started to plan for it five months ago, it certainly seems like I would have been wary of the exact date and time of the race, crossing off squares of a calendar each morning, writing “x hours and minutes to go!” (who does that?) as a motivational note. But I wasn’t. Partly it was, I think, because I hurt my stupid IT band and had to totally revamp my training. Partly it was because I knew I could finish the race (remember, there’s no shame in crawling) since I had done one before. And partly it was because I didn’t have co-workers and nearby friends also training who could remind me every second about it (this is a good thing). Minus my pre-race jitters and inability to finish breakfast, I really never felt it coming. Maybe that’s like a psychological defense mechanism though…

Even when I was running today it didn’t hit me until about mile 8 that I was actually doing it. It was so exciting and interesting that I barely noticed my legs hurting at mile 16 (I noticed pretty soon thereafter, though). There were so many people; I highly recommend the people watching at a busy marathon. Quite entertaining really. I mean, I passed a hugely obese man, dragging his overlapping belly down the course—don’t tell me you can’t run a marathon if this guy can. There were people in full nun costumes, which must have sucked in the 70 degree blazing sunshine. Obviously there were the scary-skinny people who you would expect to finish in two hours, but mostly there were just normal, everyday looking average Joes and Josephines plodding along. Some people were miserable, some people were smiling, some people were singing and yelling, some people were listening to music, and some people were talking to anyone who came near. I would say it was even better than watching people at an airport, if you can believe it. So that helped pass the time too, anyway.

Here We Go

Have you ever thrown up because you were so nervous? I haven’t, but I know some people who do it all the time and I almost joined their ranks this morning. My friend PE used to sprint through the snow in ski boots to go secretly hurl in the woods behind the starting shack before every ski race, and while I never have had that kind of butterflies in my stomach, I could not get that peanut butter and bananaed bagel down my gullet. I choked down as much as I could, feeling each bulge of [normally delicious] crunchy peanut chunk as it scraped down my shrinking esophagus, and trying not to think about how dry my throat was even though I was on my third Nalgene of the morning. I finally gave up on breakfast, giving a pretty big chunk of it to the mutt in the back of the car and hoping I didn’t look as pale and pathetic as I felt. Luckily for them, I don’t think dogs get nervous when food is involved, and luckily for me, I have a pretty good tan most of the time.

Anyway, this anxiety thing really sneaked up on me. I packed my marathon bag, laid out my clothes, set two alarm clocks, drank a ton of water, and relaxed the night before the race. I stretched a bunch of times, took some preventative anti-inflammatory drugs, and checked everything about six times. I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat, lie awake picturing myself tripping over another runner and breaking both our legs, or dream about other improbable and ridiculous events. But when I woke up, gee whiz was I nervous. There was nothing I could do about it though, because, as I said, I obsessively checked everything and made sure my day was planned and totally prepared for. I guess it never really hit me I would finally run the race; four and a half months of training is a long time to think about a lot of other stuff besides a marathon. Well, maybe I have some ADHD issues, but that’s not important. What is important is that I ate enough breakfast, caught the bus to the start, used the bathroom in time, and met my charity team right when and where I was supposed to. Did that make me less nervous? No. But making it to the starting line is probably half the battle for some people, don’t you think?

Bib Pick-Up

Let me sum it up for you: absolute mayhem. Where did all these people come from? How can there be this many people in the world who think running a marathon is a good idea? How many freakin’ flavors of “energy gel” do you need to show me before you realize I think they are all disgusting?

My running buddy and I met up at the marathon exposition, which took up an entire floor of a giant conference center building in downtown Boston and was basically set up like a maze they didn’t want you to ever get out of. Well, that’s good business I suppose, but really, I started to get a little claustrophobic and nervous at the end of my visit. There were literally people bumping into each other everywhere I looked; a shirtless man, attached to all these machines, was in a bubble, running on a treadmill, in the middle of the show; someone was on a loudspeaker, yelling some running mumbo-jumbo I didn’t understand every three seconds; there were at least fifteen sneaker stores, eighteen energy bar stations, and twenty-eight energy drink stands set up in among the socks, sports bras, shorts, movies, posters, commemorative gear and other running paraphernalia people do not need to buy the weekend before the marathon. We couldn’t even tell where the exit was because each corner of the room was set up just as all the others, so we wandered around, probably seeing everything twice, maybe three times, and just made sure to get at least one of every free sample because we paid our race entry fee, dammit.

We made it out without any nervous breakdowns and without buying anything, which I think is pretty key considering a) I don’t have any money and b) everything in there cost about three times as much as it should. I figure the finisher’s medal will have the logo on it and that’s good enough for me—added motivation in case something happens and I don’t think I’m gonna make it. So, at least I got my bib, which is necessary, and the cool long-sleeve running shirt that came with it. I also got a tummy-ache from all the hippy junk I was eating just because it was there. Who eats organic, cruelty-free fruit roll ups anyway? I did. Yes I did.

Seven Days

In seven days, God created the Earth. I don’t remember much from Sunday School, but I’m pretty sure that’s right. Unless…did he create everything in six days and then rest on the seventh? Or did he create the seventh day so everyone else could rest on it? Damn, I should know this.

In seven days, I will create a marathon finish. I will walk, run, crawl, pull over, restart, drink water, drink Gatorade, eat some snacks, use the port-o-let, and otherwise make my way from the start to the finish. It ain’t no Big Bang or Creation Story, but it sure is somethin’.

I think the best part of what I will do in seven days is what I have done leading up to the race. Every time I had to write an e-mail, begging for money to sponsor MetroLacrosse, I knew I was doing something good for others. Every time I untied my shoes after a long run, I felt like I was doing some good for myself. Sure, the idea of needing to come up with $5000 when I could barely afford to by my own-self some new sneakers was a bit daunting, and I was definitely pissed when the money I was raising didn’t even go toward my $200 entry fee (selfish, I know). Sure, the weather was horrible some days and I hated the actual event of running, and when I got home I cursed the skies and blasphemed everything in sight. But, overall, the training experience has given me: a goal to work toward in my post-school pre-real-job boredom, a release for some everyday frustrations (most often work-related, am I right?), an appreciation for how the heck non-profits can afford to pay even one single employee, the realization that I'm getting (a tad) older and need to pay more attention to my body, and a healthy plan to follow so I don’t sit inside watching E! television and reading crap magazines in my “down-time”.

Plus, I get a cool fluorescent orange team jersey and a medal. And I guess I also get to feel good about helping inner-city kids stay off the streets and learn sports and health and good stuff like that…that’s not bad either.

Pure Hatred

To each his own, I guess, but here is the only thing I have to say today: you are absolutely dumb if you think running indoors counts ever as acceptable training.

I just hate it. Detest, abhor, etc., etc.. It’s boring, it hurts, it’s sweaty, it has no semblance whatsoever of “real” running, and it means you have to see, hear, and witness other people in the gym which means you have to put up with their loud music/annoying tv show/teeth-grittingly bad lifting form/cell-phone conversation/mirror-viewing-faces and don’t even get any fresh air. Maybe, just maybe, if I had a personal room (with several locks on the door) with just one cushy, comfortable treadmill and my own big tv (for which I do not need headphones) with a big, open window and a fan blowing in then, maybe then, I would run on a treadmill and not want to kill myself. Even if this opportunity came up and it was slightly raining and/or cold I would still run outside. I get a p-shiver just thinking about the treadmill. Yuck.

And also, if you need to get your dog a treadmill you are a bad, bad parent.

Two Weeks to Go

There are exactly 14 days until the marathon. I have been planning for this day for a good five months now, and it feels surreal that the day is actually coming. Among applying to run for charity, raising money for said charity, doing workouts with this charity, buying new shoes ($$), stalking the official website, and actually logging the miles, I haven’t even really thought about the marathon being a real day that would some time arrive. That’s pretty stupid of course, but I also think maybe it’s a good thing. I haven’t been too worried about it, and that can’t be all bad.

Unless…
What if on Sunday I forget the race is on Monday and I:
Don’t set my alarm clock?
Cut my toenails and they become too short and ingrown?
Go out and get totally hammered? Go on a long, relaxing-but-tiring-and-definitely-not-on-the-training-plan run?
Eat spicy Mexican?
Go skiing and break a leg?
Have a Red Bull and stay up too late, pacing the apartment with a heart rate of 170?

These are just a few things that could potentially happen to someone who hasn’t yet realized the marathon is a real race on a real day that will really happen. Out of the 20,000+ people running this marathon, I wonder if a single one will encounter one of the potential, and totally realistic, hazards. Luckily for me, I only marginally like Red Bull (the diet one), won’t go skiing, just cut my toenails, and it’s a good thing I don’t worry. Ever. About anything.

Fresh Air and Sunshine

I know my feelings for this marathon have wavered greatly over the past few months, but it is dang hard to complain when the snow has melted, the sun shines everyday, and I can finally exercise without multiple layers, a hat, and gloves. Not only is it nice to get some Vitamin D up in this piece, it is also wonderful to stay away from the inevitable sticky stench of cold-sweat that builds up so quickly in running clothes when they are layered on top of a body confused about whether to be hot or cold. I’m all for doing what it takes to run outside, but I’m not much of a laundry-doer, per se. If I can’t smell it from its folded place in the drawer, then it’s not too stinky to wear again. I sure don’t miss having almost-frozen snot dribbling down my chin, (even if I can never feel it because when it’s that cold, my face is numb anyway), I don’t miss freezing my tootsies off and having them be borderline-frostbitten for hours after I come back inside (even though twelve years in racer’s ski boots definitely prepped them for cramped and frozen conditions), and I absolutely don’t miss waking up in the dark, looking out into the cold, gray, miserable weather and knowing I have to force myself to get outside for an hour or two (lest I wish to endure the wrath of the treadmill). No, I don’t miss these things at all.

If I could train for a marathon whenever I wanted, it would be in the spring. It’s not too hot yet, it gets light early and stays light pretty late, the sun is out at least five days a week (I’ve been counting), and everyone is in a great mood. You get lots of waves and smiles from people walking or driving by (except that old man this morning who told Law School BF to “f%^ing wait for the light you a%$wipe!” even though there is actually no crosswalk light. Moron). You don’t have to cram a puny run into the two minutes of daylight you barely have before or after you get out of work. It smells like fresh earth, or what I picture fresh earth to smell like, and if you have a doggy friend, he loves to smell and dig and paw every old pile of leaves, bundle of pine needles, blade of new grass, and generally wag his tail at how great the springtime is, making you feel like the best mistress in the world (which, naturally, you are anyway).

Here’s what you can do in the spring if you have a thick, black, possibly-from-a-husky fur coat on: go swimming. Bruschi the Mutt doesn’t swim in the typical four-feet off the ground, floating around panting and paddling kind of way. He just plops in the shallow end, rolls around a little on his haunches, laps up a few licks, does a circle, and he’s ready to go. This is especially grand if the swimming “pool” is more like a half-inch deep pile of old leaves and new mud. It’s even better for dog-swimming if it can take place between the last clean-water opportunity and home so one does not have to be stripped of the cooling mud/leaf combo. Needless to say, we have more than one skanky old towel hanging right inside our entry way.

Ahh, springtime!

The Question

When you send “update” e-mails to thousands of people, you better expect about that many people to ask you how training is going. Well hi-dee, I guess I can’t remember every person on that list because I was taken totally off guard yesterday at our first, and only, lacrosse scrimmage. Of all places, I consider the lacrosse field—my one actual place of current work—somewhere I can get away from my worries, eh? Since I do nothing all day but wait for lacrosse practice, I may or may not dwell upon the fact I haven’t been training at full tilt and have no idea how Marathon Monday is going to pan out and wonder what I will do if I start hurting at Mile 2 and then have to humiliatingly walk the rest of the 26.2 miles. So, it’s nice to think practice will help me forget these things. Well, not so. And I had to consider how to answer “The Question” on my toes, without any forewarning, to someone I didn’t even know had been following my progress. Good to know people are listening though!

“The Question” is, of course, benign, simple, direct, and probably offered as a polite conversation starter: “How’s training?” The problem with this question is there are at least twelve possible angles of attacking the answer. Do you mean the running part? The stretching? The hydration? The nutrition? The equipment? The weather? The program? The motivation? The time? If I had any idea about where to start, I guess the answer would come more easily. But I think I took ten seconds to even look my friend in the eye to start considering what to say. Do I talk about my injury (how boring and pathetic)? Do I just lie and say it’s all going to plan? Does she really want to know? Because this question was the last one I expected, I just blurted out a mix of answers and promptly changed the subject.

Some people, and I even know a few of “these” people, know how to answer the Question at any given time. But cripes, I don’t even know if I would consider what I am currently doing training anyway. I am sort of biding my time, resting my legs, icing them, stretching them, and wondering if (read: praying and hoping) they will make it through the race. I really want that finisher’s medal though, so I’ll probably just crawl if I have to. I'll be the girl the police drag on to the sidewalk because I'm taking so long to finish they have to open the roads again. That would definitely be on tv. But I will get that medal, dammit.