I've always loved that song, but it will now represent one of the most amazing days of my life. It was my Superbowl, my World Series Game 7 following four months of preparation, full of ups and downs. It all came down to this one day, and I won.
***
It was pitch black in Jamaica, NY as Mat escorted me to the subway to grab the F train into Manhattan. Chilly, a little breezy, but nothing unexpected for an early November morning at 4:45 AM. I was feeling really good, despite that fact that I'd slept only a few hours, waking often with either excitement or paranoia that the alarm wouldn't go off and I'd miss the race altogether. I'd been checking the weather frequently the day before, worrying about the expected cold and wind, but this didn't feel bad, and I know I had a little spring in my step as we made our way down the stairs to the platform. Mat asked me if I was sure where to get the bus and if I had some money, like he was sending me off to my first day of school, and he stayed with me until the train arrived, waving as the train pulled away. He's just the best. He didn't have to walk me there at ridiculous o' clock in the morning. We'd practiced the day before so I'd know where to go, but he insisted, because he rocks.
I spent the train ride listening to this amazing You Tube video called Rise and Shine, as I'd done every morning this week, and it put me in a great mindset as the train headed to 57h Street. As soon as I stepped out of the station and onto 6th Avenue, the wind took my breath away and I found it difficult to even walk toward the buses, just a couple blocks away. Decorative planters in front of hotel lobbies were toppled over, and flags were out straight like they'd been starched. My heart was in my throat and my stomach churned, but I found my way to the bus and into a warm seat. All around me, runners were talking about the conditions and how hard the race would be. I tried to tune it out, but fear started creeping in, and I started to panic. I stared out the window, hoping the runner next to me wouldn't catch sight of the tears rolling down my cheeks. I can't do this, not in this weather.
The bus ride was a long one to the start, and as the sun was rising and the city brightened, I started feeling better, but the wind whipped as we were let off the bus and the optimism faded. I found the BCH tent and sat down to try and eat something, trying to get my head back in the game, but my feet were freezing, and I had no appetite, and I started to doubt if I'd worn the right clothing for the weather. I started calling on some of my biggest supporters, people that have boosted me up, and they came through big time. I'd say I'm a strong person 95% of the time, and I hate asking for help that other 5%, but it is priceless having trusted friends to lean on when I need it.
As I began to regain my confidence and resolve to do my best, I thought about a conversation I had with Chad on the way down to NYC. He'd reminded me of the energy and spirit that I'd had all week, and he encouraged me to use that energy to help someone before race, insisting that I'd find someone who could use a little of that. Sure enough, as I walked around Charity Village a little to warm up, I happened upon a 20-something girl waiting in line for the bathroom, and she was crying. Barely noticeable, but I picked up on it, and I approached her and asked if she was okay. She fell apart, sobbing, and I offered to sit and chat for a bit. This was her first marathon, and I asked her about her training and how she'd felt the day before. I asked about her charity and why she was running. I shared with her my story, my ups and downs, and the wisdom I've gathered during my down times. I gave her a big hug, and she thanked me for taking the time to help her. I don't even know her name, but I knew would do well. I could see it in her eyes.
With that, it was time to head to my corral, and you could feel the energy all around as we approached the starting line. Frank Sinatra started serenading us, the gun went off, and it was go time. The start of the race is on a bridge, and in the distance you can see Manhattan, our destination. It was gorgeous, and I took it all in with a huge smile. One we entered Brooklyn, I started wishing for my feet to thaw out. They felt solid from being out in the cold, and I needed them to settle in and feel more flexible. It took around three miles for them to feel like feet again, and around that time I shed my last starting line layer to run the rest of the race proudly representing BCH and carrying my little buddy on my back.
26.2 miles is a long distance, so here are some highlights:
- Just past the 5K mark, I felt a really sharp pain on the top of my left pinky toe. Sharp enough to make me stop and take off my shoe, fearing something terrible. Just a rock in my shoe. Weird, but an easy fix!
- Bright sunshine and mild wind for much of the first half, likely sent from some special angels to help me ease into my rhythm with confidence.
- The crowds were amazing, cheering and holding signs. Some of the best signs: I trained for months to hold this sign and Smile if you peed your pants a little. They brought immense energy with them and passed it along to the runners.
- Natalie, at miles 6 and somewhere in the 20's, holding a Kelly sign and cheering like I knew she would! You cannot imagine the value of seeing loved ones on the course.
- Crossing mile 15 on the Queensboro Bridge, waving to Coach in Massachusetts, knowing he was following me from afar, yet still with me for every step.
- The wind for the second half was much stronger, and it actually blew me sideways a few times, but also came from behind a few times. I can't recall a head wind at all, so I either powered through it, or it just didn't happen.
- The spectator around mile 23 who poorly chose to dart across the course right in front of me, almost causing me to fall. I stiff-armed her like a football player and kept going.
- I had two significant rough patches. Somewhere in the upper teens, and then around mile 22. My legs were tired, and aches were showing up in unexpected places. I pushed through those by placing my hand over my mile dedication bracelet to gain strength from some of my favorite people. I focused on my form, remembered my training, and reminded myself to have fun and enjoy the experience.
- Crossing the 25 mile point and suddenly having the power to sprint as fast as my legs could go, weaving around runners, beaming with such a feeling of accomplishment. I bet it came from my family, who saw me at mile 25. I didn't see them, there were so many people, but I bet that energy came from them.
- The finish line, with a time I never expected to pull off in this kind of weather. I'd hoped to better my Boston time by an hour. I beat it by an hour and eighteen minutes.
- Making my way, slowly and gingerly, to the family meet-up area and bursting into tears when I found Mat and the kids. Happy, heartfelt, appreciative tears because they are my foundation.
I think I'm supposed to have post-marathon blues, but I don't. No even a little. I feel grateful and appreciative, confident and accomplished. I feel driven and energized, and ready to plan for my next one. These legs will run for as long as they can, because this is a part of me that makes the rest of me better.
I love this!
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