Philly Marathon: Go Team Go!

I never thought a marathon was a team event. Until I ran one with Abby.

Leading up to the Philadelphia Marathon I had no goals. I knew I had the endurance to finish, thanks to a year of trail runs and adventure races. I knew, though, that I didn't have the speed to come close to a PR, let alone the new and improved BQ times.

Leaving me with what to shoot for? I was as aimless as humanly possible when it came to a goal. Prior to Philly, I'd run five other marathons -- Philadelphia in 2001, Steamtown in 2002 (at the time I had the goal of running a marathon a year, I failed), Columbus in 2009, Boston and New York in 2010. Goals were clear-cut to me (finish, finish faster than at Philly, qualify for Boston, have a shit-ton of fun at Boston, beat my Boston time at New York, respectively).

Abby was in it to enjoy it, and that didn't sound like too bad of a plan. We decided to cross the start line together and I had 3:45:00 in my head as a number to shoot for just to keep me moving forward -- a bit better than my average marathon time so I couldn't just mosey along but obtainable without feeling like hell, hopefully.

I didn't even hit snooze on race morning. I was up by 5, on my second cup of coffee by 5:15, decided against a third, stuffed an Eggo with peanut butter into my face, properly lubed, dressed, deoderized and was actually ready to go when Abby and her crew rolled by to pick me up at 5:40.

By 6:20 we were at the race site and were in the longest portapotty line in the history of the universe. Actually, the line itself wasn't too long -- the people in front of us were apparently giving birth and/or performing minor surgeries in there and were taking forever and ever. Finally I gave up, got out of line and peed between a rock and a tree while pretending no one could see me -- the start was getting close.

Abby and I parted ways with her people and headed to the start together. The plan? Run together until we didn't. Have a good time. And, for me, don't do anything stupid in the first half -- all my other marathons came with positive second-half splits of 7 to 15 minutes. Terrible. F.

We crossed the start about 7 minutes after the gun and dodged our way over, under, around and through other runners and walkers for the first mile -- hit the marker at right around 9 minutes. A little slower than I would have liked but, eh. The weather was great, the company was great, I was happy, the road was flat.

Just before mile 2 I had a cheerleader -- an old coworker from an old job out bright and early to push along the runners. I was amused and surprised to see her, so yay.

And then, another familiar face -- Abby's husband Brent. "Look, there he is," Abby basically whispered to me. Among the footfalls of a zillion runners on a packed course, he, oddly, did not hear her whisper.  "BREEENNNNT!," I yelled and then pointed at him and jumped up and down a bit. It worked -- he saw us.

Friends of friends who managed to recognize me and a drumline (my favorite thing during races) made the next few miles tick by. Abby and I chatted about nothing in particular as we weaved around more runners and held a comfortable 8:35 pace.

As we hit mile five, a thought popped into my brain. Should I share it? "Dare I say it?," I said to Abby. "I think I am actually having fun."

"I wasn't going to say it out loud," she said, "but I am, too."

As we approached mile 5, there was Brent again. This time he saw us and started snapping away with his camera.

I sort of love this picture -- we both look thrilled

to be running!

The crowd (that had already been pretty solid) grew thicker and louder. I knew that about mile 6, where I set up shop last year for my first cheering spot, would be the first likely mile where Bill would be on his bike. And sure enough, there he was.

"Bill! Bill! Bill! BILL! BILLLL!," I screamed (apparently I get very excited when I see people I know while running marathons). He saw us and waved. He knows better than to ignore my big mouth but we were so damn fast he wasn't able to get any pictures.

Motivated by the unexpectedly loud and large crowds, the next several miles flew by. We chatted about whatever -- mostly adventure racing, I think, and before we knew it we were smelling the Philadelphia Zoo. Barf. I don't do stink while running and the smell of caged elephants and monkeys and lions and tigers and bears and lemurs and aardvarks and whatever made me a bit gaggy but I kept that to myself. Plus, I had more important things to think about -- the only significant hill of the course was right in front of us.

Abby and I didn't increase our effort as we steadily climbed the hill. Some runners around us started to struggle but we'd run this part of the course twice on two of our longer runs. We knew it wasn't that long, or that steep and that we'd be met at the top by about a mile of flat followed by a short, steep downhill so we kept things in control.

"Man, I can't believe we've already run what, like 8 miles?," I commented. I hadn't been paying close attention to mile markers and would check in only occasionally with Abby and her Garmin about our pace. "Try 10 miles," she said.

Yep, the miles were flying by. We were running solidly and comfortably and were right on pace for a 3:45 finish.

As the course dropped us along the Schuylkill River, Bill found us again. This time he was ready with the camera.

We also saw something crazy -- people dressed like bacon, grilled cheese and pizza dancing around. Silly! Soon signs were directing people running the full in one direction, the half in the other. I couldn't believe we were almost at the 13.1-mark. As we peeled in one direction and the half runners peeled into the other, we hit the middle at about 1:52 and some change.

At the mile 14 water stop I was bolstered by two friends handing out cups. Damn, they were loud. Just past them a dude dressed like Batman was playing the theme song to Rocky on a trombone. Abby was absolutely thrilled by this. I, however, have never seen Rocky despite living in Philly for more than 15 years so I didn't know what was happening.

As we chugged along on the out-and-back I realized Abby was in for a huge PR unless something unhappy happened. I tried to be extra-careful to knock her down, trip or kick her or punch her -- didn't want to ruin her day.

Outward bound. Can you spot us?

Next up was a detour from the main out-and-back -- about a mile across a bridge, down a hill, around a cone, back up the hill and back over the bridge. I'd been mentally dreading this part all morning -- not sure why, but I was. Just as we were about to reach the bridge a friend of Abby's let us know that Brent was waiting for us at the turnaround cone. Yay! Something to look forward to. I zoomed down the hill and was eager to see another familiar face.

I don't remember feeling as dead serious as

I look in the top picture. 

As we spun around the cone I was elated. "I was dreading that part! And now it's over!," I must have repeated enough times to make Abby want to sprint far, far away from me. Mostly I was just happy that both brain and body were still into the race.

We both started to get a bit bored about a mile or so later. "Talk to me about something," Abby requested. Do you know how hard it is to think of things to talk about when someone asks you to say words? Uhhhhh...

All I could think about was racing. I peppered Abby with questions about the race she was most scared of at the start line, her favorite race, her first race, her last race, her thoughts on race relations, race race race.

As we slogged into Manayunk the crowds grew louder and drunker. And we started to pass a lot of runners. People were starting to struggle. I felt a bit bad too, but, surprisingly, only a bit -- Abby started to pick up the pace and I was happy to tuck behind her. Then we passed a group of people handing out little cups o' beer and I dry-heaved. I like beer as much as (ok, probably more than) the next person, but not at mile 21.5 of a marathon.

"Oh, God, there's beer, I am going to puke," I said, as I darted as far away from the beer as I could. Fortunately, I didn't actually barf.

The course dumped us back alongside the river and I realized we only had four miles to go. Four miles? That's a prologue in an adventure race, a distance I can manage on a treadmill, 32 minutes and some change until the finish, depending on how well I was able to keep it together.

Let's go! I was feeling better than I ever had at mile 22 of a marathon. Usually at mile 22 I am wanting to cry and contemplating burning all running shoes/shorts/shirts/tights/hats/gloves/gus/water bottles/etc. and never running again.

This time ,though, was different.

I started to run a bit harder, not so much that it hurt yet but enough that I knew that it would before I crossed the finish line. Gradually, Abby and I began to pull apart. I peeked over my shoulder a few times -- she was still right back there but I decided I wanted to be done and I knew she would finish with a nastyhuge PR with or without me so I dropped my pace into the high 7s/low 8s, hoping to hold that for the duration.

Bill found me again. I wasn't smiling quite as big as I had been -- slowly but surely I was starting to hurt but I really thought I could hang on. I was actually passing people and the fact that I didn't seem to be hurting as much as many of the runners around me gave me a bit of motivation -- I apparently wasn't going to shit the bed with only three miles to go.

I passed my buddies at the water stop again -- they seemed to be having the most fun of all. Bill rode on the path just off the course and snapped a few more pictures.

 So many spectators!

I have no idea who I am smiling at in this picture.

I wasn't sure what to do -- most of the people around me were grumpy and many were walking. A few were crying and a few were saying "fuck" a lot. I needed someone ungrumpy and unhurting to motivate me. I scanned the runners around me and settled in on Purple Shirt. She looked like she'd been at mile 24 of a marathoon before, and looked like she wanted to finish strong. I made myself promise to myself that I wouldn't let her get more than 15 feet in front of me.

And then she picked up the pace a bit. Purple Shirt, were you trying to kill me? I hung on, barely, and managed to convince myself that I could hang on for the 18 or so minutes of running still ahead of me.

Thank you Purple Shirt, whomever you are.

I am not going to lie -- mile 24.5 to about mile 25.5 sucked. My lungs were unhappy, my legs were tired and my brain was starting to go. But then the crowd got huger and louder and I started smiling like a bobo. Suddenly I was so happy again. I didn't notice the last little incline as I rounded a bend to find the finish line staring me in the face. I ran as hard as I could for the last 100 meters or so, and that was that.

Chip time: 3:43:46. Fine by me. I worked my way to the gear check truck, threw on some warms (although the day was actually sunny and quite warm for Philly in mid-November) and met up with Bill, Abby, Brent and Abby's family before slogging about a mile to brunch/beer/breakfast/coffee.

Abby had a 9-minute PR. Nine minutes. NINE MINUTES. I would sell my soul for a PR like that. And she seemed to have fun while doing it, too. My big achievement for the day was a negative split -- only by a few seconds, but I fianlly didn't crash and burn in the second half of a marathon.

A nice little Sunday.

THE END

The Aftermath and Cheering

After the race I attempted my first ice bath. Ginormous tubs were set up at the finish line and I decided to dive in. Or, gradually lower myself in. Holy moley, coldness! Excruciating, especially for all the parts of my person from the calf muscles down.The North Face people, while well-organized and gifted at coordinating endurance challenges, can't draw an ice bath to save their collective souls.

While, as an ice bath newbie, I am not exactly qualified to comment, I am pretty sure that there should be some water in the ice. I had to break through a layer of ice with my shoe just to get in. I lasted for literally 12 seconds before I was almost screaming in pain.

I felt like I was James Caan in Misery.
 
It was sort of the worst and I, after 12 seconds in an ice bath, have decided that they are over-rated and, like, chilly.
 
I chugged some chocolate milk (recovery nutrition I truly believe in) and tried to convince my Mom and Dad to take me out for food. But they thought I was stinky and made me take a shower back at the hotel before refueling me with noodles and curry. Here's a tip: curry is delicious, but your guts will probably hate it after running a race and continue to do so for some time.
 
The Mom and Dad fled back to their home and then I met up again with Genny so I could continue to stuff my face with more food.
 
She was running the half-marathon on Sunday morning so we crashed early and, for the second day in a row, I hopped out of bed before the sun did. I was excited that I hopped -- my legs actually felt totally fine. I thought I would be limping around for at least a few days so this was exciting to me.
 
I chugged a cup of coffee and a diet blue Mountain Dew -- Genny had cheered like a pro and I wanted to make sure that I had the energy to do the same.
 
We got to the start about an hour before the start. The morning was as gorgeous as the morning before and I was sort of jealous of those who had shown up to race.


I made Genny a sign. It was my own idea and I did it all myself.



Genny seemed happy to race but nervous that she hadn't trained enough. I've known her since the dawn of time and knew that she would finish happy. We hung out, stood around, stared at the grass and got our picture taken.

 

 

Just after 8 a.m., they were off, followed about an hour later by the 5k and 10k runners. The 13.1 course was an out-and back and I obviously wasn't going to outrun the runners so I had some time to hang out before Genny finished. I took a nap on a picnic table and woke to a dog the size of a small squirrel laying next to me.

Genny at the .00001-mile mark.

 

'He thinks you are my girlfriend," the dude holding the dog's leash said. "He gets anxious when she isn't around so he is just pretending that you are her."

 

Uh, pets are weird. Or, in this case, maybe the owner is weird.

 

I sampled some free wine and topped off the tank with some free chocolate milk. Before I knew it it was time to start looking for Genny. Her time goal was approaching and then, with two minute to spare, she came around the final turn, neck and neck with a guy who looked just as intent on crossing the line before her as she did of him. I knew she'd pull it off -- I played soccer with her for years and, well, I knew that no one gets in her way without risk of an ambulance ride.

 

 

Who ya got?

We ate some chips after she finished and I began the long, traffic-filled drive back home. I want to run 50ks every day. I had a great weekend and loved the race. Plus recovery has been going fine so I hope to finish the ride Bill and I are registered to do. I've spent a total of 14 miles on my road bike since a duathlon in March so a century in what looks like will be stormy weather might be interesting. There's an option to drop to the 75-mile route at about the 55-mile mark -- after that you either give up and buy a house to live in wherever you stop or you are on board for the full deal. Could be quite the time.

I Should Be Sleeping Right Now

I need to find races that start at midnight -- I am terrible at going to bed early. It's about 11:15 right now and the 50k starts in 8 hours. I am wide awake. Twenty minutes ago I was tired but now that its actually time to sleep, not so much.

My Mom and Dad and my friend Genny who I have basically known since the dawn of time (or, the first day of 5th grade) are nice people and are thus coming to cheer me on and throw Pringles and Stinger Waffles in my general direction. Genny is doing the half that is part of the race series on Sunday so of course I am going to stick around and return the favor, so its two nights at the scenic Hampton Inn in Dulles, Virginia, for me.

Genny ran my first-ever half-marathon with me almost 10 years ago. The race was the Philadelphia Distance Run (which was unfortunately sold to the Rock and Roll franchise a year or two ago meaning that a fun local race that used to cost $40 is now a giant monstrosity that costs $110 and features a Poison cover band at the finish line). That race was the Sunday after September 11, 2001. More than a handful of runners who registered for the race died that Tuesday ands what I remember most about the start was that, instead of a starting gun, the mayor of the city read the names of those runners.

Anyway, we finished a bit under two hours and I loved every step. A few days later, inspired by Genny and prodded by Bill, I registered for the Philadelphia Marathon, my first.

And it only took me 9 1/2 years to up the distance again. I wonder how it is going to go. I have no idea how long it is going to take, what the crowd will be like, how I will hold up. I'd like to finish in less than 7:12, the average finishing time from last year, but I have no hard goals other than to, hopefully, cross the finish line.

I think my parents know what to expect even less than me -- three of the aid stations are crewed so I've packed a bit of stuff for my parents to haul around for me.

"Are you going to want to talk to us?" asked my Mom.
"Uh, I don't know," I responded.
"Will you just run by real fast and grab stuff?"
"No, I think I will probably stop and eat a bit, I guess. I really don't know."
"I don't know either."

My Mom, not a morning person, seemed a little less horrified about the prospect of waking up at 4:50 in the morning when I told her that I'd likely slow down enough to actually say hello and that I'd actually be easy to find as the distance is capped at about 300 runners. Not the usual "Where's Waldo" that my parents have become used to when spectating at some of the more massive road races I've done.

Ok, time to sleep now. Or time to watch "Say Yes To the Dress." I love hotels, they have cable. We get five stations at home.

That is all.

I Like to Watch

Today was the Philadelphia Marathon, my favorite race that I never do. Philly was my first marathon in 2001 and I haven’t done it since. Haven’t even considered it and I am not sure why.

Because it starts three feet from my face though, I usually go watch and cheer until I sound like a couple of frogs have shacked up in my throat.



Best worst picture of me ever.
Danny is ignoring me.

I was up before the alarm went off this morning, quickly threw on the bike clothes I sat out the night before and pedaled to 19th and Chestnut to meet up with my friend April. Usually this part of the course is occupied by runners and the chirping of crickets, but this year it was sort of packed with screaming fans doing their best impression of 1st Avenue in New York. Good times!

Bill rolled along, and then his bro Danny. I was rocking the cowbell and rocking my big mouth like a pro.

After about 71 hours, none of the people we were expecting to see had gone by yet. We saw the usual people dressed like Mickey and Minnie Mouse, turkeys, a man running in only a flannel shirt and a “No Parking” cardboard sign. Philadelphia Marathon, when did you get so weird and fun?

We waited some more, and then – Claire! A familiar face! My sister-in-law seemed extra happy to see us and for a moment I thought she was actually going to hang out for a bit and grab a cup of coffee and a scone before continuing on her way in the half.

Danny went back to bed, Bill went to work and April and I rode over to the 14-mile mark. I was having a great time – mostly because I like playing cheerleader but also because I was glad I wasn’t running. Usually spectating makes me a bit jealous. This time I was thrilled to be on the sidelines with no marathon to train for any time soon.

April is good at clapping.

I made up a dance (bang cowbell against hand while jumping in circles around April) and gained a makeshift bullhorn. I yelled until I was dizzy.


Cones make good bullhorns. And I am upholding my vow
to wear a helmet even while standing still.

This morning, I don’t know who impressed me more – the winner who ran a 2:21 or the people who were plugging along at mile 14 four hours into the race.

The first time I ever watched a marathon it was by mistake. I was in college, visiting my parents who at the time lived in a land far, far away. We were going on a boat tour and didn’t know that there was a marathon that went near the docks. While we were waiting for the boat, the race leaders went by. I remember thinking that they looked like they were flying. “They must be running 8-minute miles,” I said to myself. I had no idea how fast people could actually go.

We got on the boat, went on a three-hour tour and, when we docked, I couldn’t believe that there were still people running.

I have to do that one day, I said to my mom. Four years later I ran my first marathon.

Anyway, April and I stuck around until the 5-hour pace group finished. We never saw anyone else we were stalking but sometimes cheering for rando strangers can be almost as fun.

Turkey!