This past fall, I decided that I had already conquered sprint-distance triathlons. I needed to set the bar higher to motivate myself to keep moving. I needed to run at least a half marathon and possibly a marathon. I told Jami of my plans, and she decided to join me for the half.
All winter we trained. We joined
Runner's Edge. We started with three-mile runs, and over the course of three months, we worked our way up to 12-mile runs. We ran in snow, we ran in rain, we ran in hail.
On Friday, we headed for St. Louis. The purpose of the weekend was to run the
Go! St. Louis half marathon, but Jami's birthday was Saturday, so her family joined us there (parents, brother, sister-in-law, nieces and nephew). Erin, one of her best friends since childhood, was also running the half, so she came with us as well.
The weather was beautiful, the company was good and there was so much to do. We shopped for Jami's wedding dress, we shopped for things we did not need, we visited the
City Museum, we ate great food, we watched the children run in the
fun runs, we visited the race expo, we gave Jami her birthday presents, we ate more great food, and we fell into bed Saturday night as early as we could, determined to get a good night's sleep.
Not that there were no hiccups through the weekend. There was the guy I went out with last week who called about a date we did not have and then hung up when he realized that he called the wrong woman (apparently, they don't teach good manners at Harvard). There was the woman selling skin-care products at the expo who said she had something perfect for me in her pregnancy line ("You're not pregnant, are you?" she said, realizing her error as she looked at my stunned face. "Are you going to shoot me?"). There was the fact that I misplaced my phone (just as I realized I did not have it, they called my name over the loudspeaker - phew!). And there was Jami's poor little niece, who projectile vomited on me at the nice Italian restaurant where we went for dinner.
So there was a part of me that was grateful to have a good, long run ahead of me to shrug off my cares.
Sunday morning, we woke up at 5 a.m. (ouch) and put on the clothes we set out the night before, race numbers pinned on. We tied our shoes, timing chips attached. And we went downstairs for breakfast, thanks to the hotel staff who arrived early to prepare for all the runners.
Walking the three blocks to the starting line, we could see the sun rising behind the Arch, which framed a gigantic American flag held up by firetruck ladders. We stood in the porta-potty line and fretted when it took so long we feared we'd miss the 7 a.m. start. We need not have feared. There were 15,500 people out there, so it took almost 10 minutes for the crowd around us to start moving forward after the elite runners at the front took off.
At the start, we ran together, although Erin is much faster than we are, and Jami is actually faster than I am. They tried to run slow, both so we could all run together and because it helps you warm up and have a good race if you start out at a slower pace. Unfortunately, slow for them was fast for me, so I went out a little faster than the Runner's Edge coach and my running books recommended.
The first few miles were flat, and after Erin took off with her other, faster friends, Jami and I settled into a slower pace, running past the arch and through the brewery. We admired the adorable, old Soulard neighborhood.
Using Jami's Garmin to track our mileage and time, we carefully walked for one minute of each mile, refreshing ourselves as recommended. Partly because of the fast start, my calves were stiff and took two miles to warm up.
After about three miles, I was feeling good and enjoying the nice weather, although I remembered that our coach warned us that the nice weather would be a problem because we had trained in such cold weather. We took off our sweatshirts and tied them around our waists.
Periodically throughout the course, St. Louis residents lined up on the sidewalks, cheering on the runners. By the time I got to them, they were a little tired of cheering, so I always thanked the ones who yelled for us. My favorites were the children who stuck out their hands for high-fives.
Just before the seven-mile marker, a group of priests stood along the road, flinging holy water on the runners as we ran by. Jami was thrilled and energized by this, and she picked this time to take off ahead to run her own, faster pace as we had agreed. I was sorry to see her go and kept her in my sights as long as possible, but I was also glad to go my own pace.
Without her Garmin to count for me, I did my one-minute walks after each mile marker, counting out loud to sixty. My quiet counting was nothing compared to the woman in the 50-marathons-in-50-states shirt, who was singing inspirational songs loudly as she passed. Apparently, there was also a guy who juggled the whole way, although I never saw him. I did see lots of great signs from spectators: "Kick some asphalt," "If it was easy, I would do it," and the one that made me choke on my Gatorade, "Don't poop your pants."
Around nine miles in, the marathoners split off from the half marathoners and headed toward Forest Park. Those of us doing a measly 13.1 turned around and headed back down Market Street. Occasionally, a cry would go up from the runners around me, and I would see an elite marathoner sailing past us, having already run most of the longer course in the time it took me to run half the distance. Their marathon pace would be a full-out sprint for me. Different strokes for different folks!
As I headed into the last three miles, I thought, "this is a flat course??" Later, I found that this year's changes to the course made it hillier, so the reports of a flat course from previous years were not evil fabrications after all. Other than one particularly steep hill, I continued to run. This made me proud, because there were lots of folks around me walking.
My legs and feet started to protest loudly, and I wondered why 13.1 miles on a beautiful day was turning out to be so much harder than the 12-mile long run I did in training during a snow storm. I realized that the experts were indeed experts - the warm weather was difficult because I was not acclimated to it, and I should have started slow instead of trying to hang with Erin and Jami.
But I kept plugging away.
As I passed our hotel, I saw Jami's parents, Tom and Mary. They cheered when they saw me, and Mary took my picture. It was uplifting to get that support along the way, especially since my dad and my stepmom wanted to be there but couldn't. After I passed them, I regretted not giving them my sweatshirt.
The last mile had another hill, which just seemed cruel. But there was a troupe of teenage girls dancing to "Hair," so I focused on them as I passed by.
As I approached the finish line, I could hear the announcer calling out runner's names as they finished. I gathered up the last of my energy and starting hammering toward the end. The announcer started calling out the fast marathoner who was charging by, yelling, "Under three hours! Under three hours! Under three hours!" I crossed the finish line just after Mr. Under-Three-Hours. I found out later that my time was two hours, 45 minutes and 40 seconds (he started at the front of the pack, and I started near the back).
The runners around me slowed to a walk, and I approached the nearest volunteer handing out medals.
"You did it," he told me as he put the medal around my neck.
A wave of emotion flooded over me at his words, and I burst into sobs. I don't usually cry unless I'm tired. I suppose 13.1 miles will do that to you.
We were herded past water bottles, bananas, mylar blankets and granola bars to the reunion area, where I found Jami stretching. We hugged and celebrated, and I cried a little more.
We located Erin, and took a few pictures with my phone. I stretched out a little but started stiffening up right away. On the walk back to the hotel, some muscle along the back of my left leg spasmed, causing me to yell out in pain and start stretching right where I was on an overpass bridge.
I took a nice soak in the tub and then a hot shower, and curled up in bed for a little nap before catching lunch with Jami's family. I could barely walk, and Jami's brother joked about how funny it was to watch me waddle. I admit it was pretty funny-looking, but I was amazed how much it hurt.
That evening, we went to
Ted Drewes for frozen custard and returned to Soulard for dinner at
Molly's. Yum! And I earned every calorie.
I was so thankful that we decided to stay over through Monday, because sitting in a car for four hours after that race would have made me so stiff I'm convinced I might not have been able to stand upright. Jami's fiance, a med student, recommended she take ibuprofin before bed, and I decided to follow suit.
In the morning, with the sun shining and a good night's sleep under my belt, I only had a little bit of that "good sore" that you get after a good workout - no more stiff and painful.
Next step? I'm signed up for the
Broadway Bridge Run (10K), the
Trolley Run (four miles) and the
Hospital Hill Run (another half marathon).
But the big news is that I won the lottery to get into the
New York City Marathon. Oh yes. I'm going to be running 26.2 miles on November 7 in the best marathon in the country. I'm still wrapping my brain around it.
