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.
---------------------------------
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment