Monday, November 20, 2017

Ten years later - My first marathon

Ten years ago, I ran my first marathon. Here is my race report from the Philadelphia Marathon on Nov. 18, 2007.  It was the beginning of a new era in my life and, gosh, it seems like it has been ages since then. 

Now, with my wife, Gloria, about to run her first marathon in less than two weeks, it feels even more appropriate to share these thoughts, with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, she will share hers.


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Nov. 18, 2007

When 5:30 a.m. came around, I had been awake for some time, but now I had to get out and report to the Philadelphia Marathon starting line at 6:30. I splashed some water on my face, got dressed and kissed my sleepy girlfriend on the forehead. She wished me luck then took a picture of me. Man, I looked nervous.

Out the door and down the road, in the dark, to the area in front of the art museum, the 15-minute walk felt good as I ate my banana and protein bar. My teeth were chattering because of...the cold? Or was I just that nervous? I sang "Freedom of '76" (a song by Ween about Philly) out loud to entertain myself and keep calm. I left my jacket, gloves and other items in the designated spot (one of an array of school buses, labeled by bib number) and found a spot on the grass to stretch.

It was almost 6:30, so I made my way to the multitude of port-a-johns on the lawn. While waiting in line, I told the guy next to me that it was my first marathon. He said to me, "Don't ever forget the feeling. You only get one first marathon. Always remember that feeling of crossing that finish line."
"I just hope to make it there," I said.

"You will," he replied. With those two words, a total stranger boosted my confidence and helped turn my nervousness into excitement. At the starting line, the first thing I learned about marathon runners was that they're not shy about bodily fluids. Behind me, a woman told another that she had to pee, but it was too late to get to the port-a-sans, so the other said, "Just do it right here."

I dared not turn around to offer my two cents in the matter and instead looked down and watched a little stream flow past my feet.

Barely audible announcements were being made over the loudspeakers (probably more for the benefit of the spectators), while we stood and waited the cold, damp dawn. I couldn't wait to start running, if not only to warm up. I was getting nervous again and started wondering if I really belonged at this particular area near the starting line. Maybe my goal was too lofty for a first timer.

Finally, well after the planned 7 a.m. start time, it was time to run...or, rather, walk. With so many thousands of people cramped on one street, it was a good minute's walk just to get to the actual starting line. Thank goodness for timing chip technology, which starts timing each runner at the line, not when the horn blows. Once I was able to get going, I knew I was going out too quickly, even as the words of Ashley's friend ("Don't start out too fast!") kept ringing in my ears. But the delay of walking to the starting line psyched me out and, because we were about 10 minutes behind schedule, I started to fear that my parents would miss me at the suggested spots I mapped out the evening before. ("I should be passing by the corner of Chestnut and 13th at 7:45...")

So I plowed through the first five miles with gusto, smiling as the spectators cheered us on through downtown Center City. When I neared the six mile marker, I spotted my mom and dad. "MOM!!! DAD!!!!" I shouted, and my mom fired off the camera with the speed and accuracy of an expert gunslinger. Shortly thereafter, I saw Karen waving from the sidewalk. I was so happy my girlfriend was there to share in the excitement, I couldn't help myself - I ran right up to her and planted a big kiss on her lips without even stopping. As everyone around us went, "Awwwwwww..." I felt like I was probably the happiest guy on the course.

But I was only six miles in and there was much work ahead. Recognizing that I was about 45 seconds ahead of my planned pace, I pulled back a bit, now that I felt like I caught up to the clock. Crossing the bridge and heading up 34th Street toward the Philadelphia Zoo, that whole bodily fluid thing was noticeable again as I saw male runners stop on the side of the road to relieve themselves. I sure was glad I went before we started. Twice.

I was having other problems at around Mile 8 - some chafing on two tender spots of my upper body. I was wearing my "technical" polyester T-shirt from the Long Branch Half Marathon, but the culprit was cotton long-sleeve shirt on top. As dawn gave way to morning, it got warm enough to shed the outer layer, so at the next water station, I threw the cotton shirt near one of the tables where they were collecting discarded clothes for donation. Good deed done for the day, I was finally able to enjoy my breatheable shirt and beautiful Fairmount Park, with no more chafing issues, and I made it through the park section with ease.

Crossing back over the Schuykill River, the half-marathoners broke away to head toward the finish line while those of us going the full distance hooked north on Kelly Drive. There was something peaceful and serene about this stretch, so even though there weren't many spectators in miles 15 through 17 it was enjoyable. I watched as the elite runners ran toward me, already on their 24th mile, knowing I'd be on my way back soon enough.

As volunteers waved me through a highway interchange, one was yawning. "Tiring, isn't it?" I joked as I passed and in minutes I was entering a little town called Manayunk. The next four miles led runners up and down its Main Street. There was a giant sign, greeters and then a tavern on the right, outside of which patrons were handing runners cups of...beer???

Laughing, I took one. And yes, it was indeed beer! At a marathon! I couldn't get over it.

Main Street was packed with spectators, cheering enthusiastically. I was near another guy named Dan (with a shirt bearing his name), so as people shouted, "Go Dan!" I pretended they were shouting for me. In front of me was a woman whom I believe was Amy Palmiero-Winters. She had one leg and one amazing prosthesis, specifically designed for running. As the crowd cheered her on, I basked in the good vibes all around.

When I hit the turn-around point, shortly after the 20th mile marker, I was well aware of the fact that I was now running my farthest distance ever. Passing the slower runners in their 15th through 17th mile, just as the elites did with me less than an hour before, the only thing left to do was focus on the clocks. I sucked down a packet of Gu and began the final 10K.

With each mile clock, I calculated my current pace and what to expect to see on the next clock. It was at the 22-mile marker that I stopped counting up and began counting down: Only four more miles to go. I wouldn't say I hit "the wall" that I've heard so much about, but I definitely started feeling the wear and tear on my body. At 23 miles, I told myself what I always say when there are three miles to go, no matter the length of the course: It's just a piece-of-cake 5K from here.

More and more spectators lined the roads, the closer I got to the finish line. With only one mile to go, I knew I'd done it. I thought about my hard work in training, how I was set to beat my goal by several minutes and how this was probably the best day of my life. The sides of the road were packed with people as I neared the art museum and the end of my journey. As they cheered for regular folks like me, I remembered that guy at the port-o-lets from hours before: "Don't ever forget the feeling," he had said, and now I knew I wouldn't. My eyes welled up as I yelled out, "Thank you, Philadelphia! This is my first marathon! Thank you for making it so special!"

At that, the lovely people of Philly found it in their hearts to applaud the sentimental guy with the New Jersey shirt and the teary eyes. I pushed into the best sprint I could muster and crossed the finish line a full eight minutes ahead of my goal time. I barely remember getting my finisher's medal because the shock of stopping after hours of running was enough to make me delirious. But I do remember the first familiar face I saw. It was Karen, as she stood behind the barricade and called to me. I hugged her so tightly over the railing and cried, "I did it! I really did it!"

She then presented me with another medal - a large custom-made one with an inscription that echoed the same sentiment from the stranger at the port-a-whatevers, "Remember the feeling...always."

I definitely will.

Friday, November 17, 2017

Ten years later: My first half-marathon

Tomorrow is the 10-year anniversary my first marathon, an event that changed my life in so many amazing ways.  I will post my race report from that race tomorrow, but first, as a lead-up to it, here is the report from my first half-marathon - the Long Branch Half Marathon in April of 2007, as it was published at the time in my old blog, Heart and Soles:

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April 29, 2007

The race experience is quite different when you're with a group of friends. As the alarms sounded at five-something in the morning, I accepted Jean's and Ashley's invitations to go next door to their room and enjoy a bagel breakfast before packing up and heading out. With the gang all together, we drove to the event site in Long Branch, near the Ocean Place Resort

With thousands of participants, it was no surprise that it was tough to find parking, but we eventually settled in and picked up our race packets. All four of us were pretty nervous. I was lucky to have Karen there to pep talk me and give me one last squeeze of my bothersome right-side trapezius muscle.

It was almost time. I had trained well; I was ready. No iPod, no water bottle, this was the real thing. I had set two goals - an "idealistic" one and a "realistic" one. If I finished within a seven-minute range of the realistic one, I told Karen, I would be happy. If I was able to out-pace that and hit my idealistic target, I'd be very happy.

Lining up at the start, I saw the marathon pacers about whom Carolina had told me eariler (the New Jersey Marathon was a simultaneous event, with the marathoners doing the loop twice). I found a guy with an orange flag that displayed a time that was about eight seconds per mile faster than my idealistic goal. If I could keep up with him for at least some of the time, I'd be on the right track and then able to settle into my own groove. It occurred to me: Wow, I'm kind of in the front of the pack here. Is this where I really belong?

I must have tied and re-tied my shoes a dozen times before the starting gun. Too tight...no, too loose...argh! I'm so nervous!

Finally, the race began. After passing the cheering crowds (and a lot of them) in the first half mile, I kept my focus on the pacer. How many marathons does this guy run a year? How does he deal with holding that orange flag for 26.2 miles? How experienced does someone have to be able to pick a pace and run it with little or no fluctuation?

Somewhere in the second mile, another thought crept in; a scary, yet exciting one: I want to run faster. I tried to tell myself to hold my horses, that it was too early to push my limits, that I probably wouldn't feel like this in the tenth mile. But I also knew that this was a flat course, so there would be no hills throwing off my pace or making me work harder. If I set my own pace, I could stick with it. Worst case scenario - I pull back and meet up with Orange Flag Guy again.

I stepped up my pace, and that was the last I saw of the orange flag. Increasing to a comfortable but competitive pace, I felt a rush of excitement as I passed more cheering spectators ("Go Daniel!" they'd say, making me realize why it was extremely beneficial to have your name on your bib) and clocks showing my pace getting faster with each passing mile. By the end of the fifth mile, I was about two minutes ahead of my idealistic goal! 

Passing by the large group of spectators in the sixth mile, I scanned the crowd for Karen. Seeing her, I shouted, "I AM VERY HAPPY!" Only she knew what I really meant by that, but it garnered a few chuckles from the crowd.

Somehow, I continued the pace through the tenth mile. The cheering spectators, the live musicians (I even sang out loud with "Back In Black"), the folks dressed in hula skirts who gave me a lei, the flat course, and excellent weather conditions, all made me feel so full of energy and positivity that I never once felt tired. No fatigue, no pain, all joy. This was a perfect race.

Running along Ocean Avenue for the beginning of the end - the last three miles - I knew that no matter what happened from this point, the outcome was going to be a good one. I can even slow down and STILL finish with a favorable time. But instead of slowing down, I sped up. None of what transpired in the past 10 miles mattered anymore, this was now merely just some piece-of-cake 5K. I can bang this out in less than 20 minutes.

I probably started pushing it too fast, too soon, because when I passed the sign that read, "One mile to go!" I was pretty much in full-on sprint mode. This is going to hurt, but what's the point of slowing down now? It did, there wasn't, so I didn't.

I was on the boardwalk, the finish line wasn't yet in view, but there were now throngs of spectators to my left, all cheering me on. Me! Little ol' me. Little ol' never-been-an-athlete, can't-play-a-sport-worth-a-damn, could've-easily-failed-gym-class, ME! They're calling me by name! The lei, flapping on my neck, had people laughing and saying, "Aloha!" (I don't think spectators are used to goofballs like me being in the top 10%.) 

My legs were chugging as fast as they could go, my heart was pounding and my head was practically spinning. Tears were streaming down my face and I was grinning like a fool. As I zoomed by, I heard someone say, "Is he laughing or crying?"

I heard the reply, "I think a little bit of both."

The time on the clock at the finish line was four full minutes faster than my idealistic goal! I don't quite remember what I did or said when I crossed the line. I remember huffing and puffing and wanting very badly to keep moving as the nice volunteer and I struggled to remove the timing chip from my ankle. After a big hug from Karen and a desperate search for water, I walked for a while to cool down. I drank the water a little too fast and thought it was going to come right back up, but thankfully, it didn't.

For the next hour I cheered the rest of the runners in, calling as many as I could by name as they pushed to the finish line. I gave big shout-outs to Carolina, Jean, Ashley and my friend Elaine, as they ran the final stretch on the boardwalk. Once the gang was back together, we went inside where they were serving a fantastic array of food. On my way in, I noticed they were posting the results. With almost 3000 participants, it seemed logical to start looking around 200th place on the list since I'm no big athlete but I usually squeak by into the top 10 percent. I scanned up, up, up... 

100th...50th...40th...No way!!! 30th place? Out of 2700? I'll say it again...I am VERY happy!

This was exciting news, but I was also incredibly hungry, so I grabbed whatever I could - a bagel! Vegetarian chili! Cereal! Pretzels! Anything! Just give it to me and let me shove it down my gullet! We went to Red Bank to have a proper lunch, proudly displaying our medals, and spent some time at the stores in the town.

We capped the day by treating ourselves to some dessert at the ice cream shop; and we did it without any guilt. We deserved it.

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The next day, I sent an email to Jean, Ashley and Carolina, the fellow runners with whom I trained and traveled for the race:

Gals,
I want to tell you how proud I am of all of us. We signed up for the race, trained hard and reached our goals – all within a matter of months. We didn’t let the number of miles intimidate us; we stuck to our guns and trained through the winter; and we crossed that finish line, head held high.
This was the longest and farthest I’ve ever run and, if I remember correctly, the same goes for you, too. Personally, I would’ve never dreamed of this a year and a half ago.
We really did it...and we should feel super-good about ourselves. I’m glad we experienced the whole thing, from training to pre-race dinner to post race celebration, together
.

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This pic is from a race we ran five months earlier, but all the gals from the gang are in it.  Clockwise from top left are me; my running guru, Tim Norris; Ashley; our co-worker, Harry; a guy who I think was Ashley's boyfriend at the time; Carolina; and Jean.