My arrival in New York to run my first marathon was like a fairy tale. But this was no ride in a pumpkin carriage, being more akin to Jack facing the giant at the end of the bean stalk. Sometimes you have to outsmart something that is big and brutal rather than rely on pixie dust.
My journey started last December during a social gathering of ‘rogue runners’when a friend turned to me and flatly stated – “You know what you have to do – stop running."
I could tell by how quickly tears came to my eyes that she was right. If I wanted to run, I had to stop. We had just finished a Christmas fun run at a casual pace but even that low-key effort resulted in a familiar pain biting my right leg like a wolverine that smelt gravy.
Running at my age, with my body, was never pretty but the thought of not being able to run to ease stress, entertain myself with new music and podcast interviews plus the ability to efficiently burn through wine and triple-cream brie was not pleasant.
So I did stop, but didn't give up.
I got reacquainted with Jaymie, my heroine-physio who built me a treatment and strengthening plan to address muscular weakness and imbalances. I forged a new relationship with Iain, a massage therapist experienced in rehabilitation. I searched the Internet for advice and watched too many bad videos of wanna-be coaches doing strengthening exercises.
I endured early morning spin classes, the mind-numbing repetition of elliptical machine workouts that made the clock seemingly run in slow-motion and learned to sort of appreciate walking.
The tentative first kilometre of running in the spring was as joyful as the first time I ran 10 minutes without stopping in a TC 10K learn-to-run clinic years ago. I quietly registered for my first marathon (having deferred my entry from the NY race last year due to injuries) and committed to the Jeff Galloway marathon training program of regular walk breaks.
I didn't know if I would get to New York or complete the race, but as I told people I would train for it, come what may. I don't have a bucket list, but this fulfills a cocktail-napkin pledge I made with friends two years ago.
I signed up for the Frontrunners marathon clinic and got great support but most often did the long runs of two to five hours on my own. My buddies in an informal running group of java addicts –The Rogues – welcomed me when I showed up for runs with them. I stole time from family, holidays and friends.
I know that scores of people have trained harder, with more mileage and speed work. They have run faster, endured more pain and adversity. They run for a charitable cause, to redeem themselves or settle a score,
But here’s the thing about running. Ultimately it's just you. Even when you’re running in an event with 50,000 people. You get out what you put in. It's your race, your best on that day. For me, I wanted to - as Iain would say to me - run happy and be able to walk the next day.
People endured the cold temperatures in the starters' village with sleeping bags, multiple coats and hats before shedding a few layers on the way to the start line.
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With wings henna-tattooed on my ankles, I shuffled to the start line on the Verazzano Bridge on Staten Island with thousands of other runners, bundled in hoodies, sweat pants, plastic garbage bags, tuques and gloves to thwart the temperatures hovering around 3C thanks to 31kmh winds gusting to 70kmh.
With Frank Sinatra’s New York New York blaring over loud speakers at the start line, the adrenalin of a race can rob a runner of energy best conserved for later kilometres. I did my best to go out slow but it's hard to watch streams of people pass you.
They say the New York crowds make this race unforgettable, and despite the weather and the fact that thousands of runners had preceded our wave by almost two hours, they were still there in droves.
Their energy was infectious. During one section in historic Brooklyn, loudspeakers delivered the Village People’s YMCA prompting the runners to throw their arms into the air with the alphabet gestures without breaking stride. It was like a mobile wedding reception dance floor.
More than one stoop and balcony were filled with partiers, with one woman holding a sign that read: “Thank you for running, so we can day drink.”
Along the edges of the street, I high-fived policemen, firefighters, toddlers, army officers and stopped long enough to bust a few dance moves in front of the bands at the cheering sections.
Thousands of runners had preceded our wave that started at 10:55 am
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After the 30K mark, spectators stretched out their arms to offer licorice Twizzlers, pretzels, tissues, candies and bananas.
Midway through the course, pain did arrive as I expected but hoped that it wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t be a marathon without discomfort. That’s what those long training runs are for –to work on the mental game as much as the physical.
As the day wore on, the race entered Manhattan where the skyscrapers created cold canyons of shade
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And then it seemed like the kilometres were evaporating and I was on Fifth Avenue and while many people were fated to walk to the finish, I actually sped up for the last four or five kilometres at my fastest pace of the day. Besides, shouldn’t there be medical staff nearby if I crashed in a painful heap?
Entering Central Park - pain, what pain?
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Running through the canyon of cheering people in Central Park is an experience I will never forget. I knew I had to keep running – not away from a mythical giant - but toward the finish line and the rewards of perseverance. It was all over in 5:17:28.
It’s been a week and I’m still smiling.
P.S. Runners - you're not done yet.
Finishers wrapped in heat-trapping sheets get their goodie bags from volunteers so they can quickly consume liquids and carbohydrates including an apple. Get it?
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Runners still have 40 to 60 minutes of walking from the finish line to the 'family reunion area.' Those who chose not to check baggage at the start line get a fleece lined cape for warmth and a quicker exit from the finishing area.
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Ice for the legs and a cold beer are part of a well-executed recovery plan.
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