While my hat blew off of my head these people were already at the 8.5 mile mark:
|Lead women's pack, including a tucked-away Shalane Flanagan |
zooming toward a second-place finish in her marathon debut.
|A gnocchi maker makes an excellent hammer.|
|Here come the boys.|
I decided I wanted to get the hell off of that bridge and took off. Or at least I thought I did – I hit the one-mile mark and peeked at my watch which indicated a first mile at a blistering 10:02. Uh, WTF? I was out of breath and working hard for a 10:02? I didn’t really have a goal time for this race aside from running faster than I had at Boston, just to keep me moving. My Boston time wasn't exactly the speed of light so I know my arbitrary goal was within reach, but a 10:02 wasn’t going to cut it. Demoralizing, but after I crested the peak of the bridge I picked it up on the downhill and felt some feeling coming back to my feet.
And then the crowds started. From the bridge we headed into Brooklyn. Holy mother, was it loud. People were yelling from overpasses, swinging from trees, playing tubas, beating on pots with hammers and screaming their heads off.
I made a deal with myself that even if I felt terrible I would suck it up and run the entire race. No walking through water stops, no bathroom breaks, no whining, no crying, no stopping for an oil change. New Yorkers apparently take their marathon watching very seriously and I didn’t wanna disrespect by walking.
With that decided, the first 7 or so miles flew by. My pace was where I wanted it to be (a bit too fast, actually, and I knew I would pay for it later). The crowds were at least three people deep and the course was relatively flat. I felt good but also felt I wouldn’t be holding that pace for too long or PRing. I could tell I didn’t have enough in the tank and I also wanted to enjoy the ride as much as possible.
The police along this part of course were particularly awesome and looked happy to be there– high-fiving, taking pictures with runners, cowbelling it up, getting all dancypants to the random musicians sprinkled along the course. Good times.
My peeps were waiting for me at mile 8.5, rocking the “Go Edison & Laurie (and everybody else)” signs Kate (who also took all the pictures here) made. Right where I thought they would be, there they were. Bill, Kate, her husband Steve and some of their friends were under a tree where they’d nailed the signs using a gnocchi maker as a hammer (apparently hammers aren't allowed in Brooklyn). I yelled something, apparently made some weird faces (see below) and was on my way.
|What am I yelling? What is the dude|
in the orange shirt doing with his hands?
Mysteries of life.
|Looks like I am missing some teeth here.|
Don't worry Mom, I still have all my chompers.
Laurie's running tip of the week: Don’t trip or twist your ankles while running a marathon.
The 13.1 mark was on the Pulaski Bridge, a steep but short climb before a steep downhill and a jumbotron broadcasting the runners under it. Fun, except a few mofos decided that coming to a complete stop and taking pictures of themselves waving on screen was a brilliant plan. HONK HONK! Dudes, I know I am not moving at the speed of sound but get out of my way.
Halftime. Intermission. Midway.