And yet I'm already planning my next marathon. Actually, my next two marathons (NYC 2013, Boston 2014, maybe??). This anti-marathoner has been converted, despite the horror of the last seven miles, and despite the somewhat worrying after-effects. Here's why.
I barely slept Saturday night. I wasn't even obsessing about the race, my body just seemed to be pumping with adrenaline, despite relaxation strategies (i.e Real Housewives marathon with Nancy). My two days in San Francisco had me pumped up: Union Square was overtaken by the giant race expo tent, the streets were full of women already decked out in official marathon gear, and I'd been to a couple different Team in Training events with inspiring speeches by leukemia survivors running in the event.
Along with the adrenaline, I had the three-hour time difference working in my favour - the 4:45am wake-up call felt more like 7:45am. So I was wired and ready to move by 5:30, and poor Nancy, who got up with me, was forced to deal with my heaps of nervous energy. I obsessed over where to keep my gels, what to wear to the start-line, how much water to drink, when to eat, whether to wear a hat ... and then almost walked out the door without my contacts in.
I made my way to the startline with the help of Teresa, one of the Ontario Team in Training coaches. God bless Teresa. In the horde of 25,000 runners, she managed to get me up to the front - something I'm not sure I would have managed on my own. She had me weaving through crowds, ducking under barriers, and at one point, convincing race volunteers that we were VIPs entitled to cut across a restricted area. So I made it up to the fastest corral, where there was lots of room to move around and stretch. Quite a luxury, considering the runners in the corral behind us were stuffed together like sardines.
Within that front area, I noticed a girl holding a 3:10 pace sign. There hadn't been anything in the race information about pace bunnies, so I was excited by the prospect of a group to run with. I went up to talk to her, and she told me the plan was to run the first few miles faster than 3:10 pace, to allow for some slower miles once the big hills came up at mile 6. So, my whole plan to run even splits went out the window about five minutes before the start. Typical.
Another fun surprise was the announcement that Kara Goucher and Shalane Flanagan (Team USA 2012 Olympic marathoners) would be running the half-marathon. They waved to the crowd, and then parked themselves right in front of me on the start line. And the legend herself, Joan Benoit-Samuelson, whom I'd met at the Team in Training top fundraisers reception Friday night, was right up there with them. While the national anthem was being sung, I looked around to see my running idols ahead of me and a horde of 25,000 faces (about 90% female) behind me, all standing there waiting to run through the darkened San Francisco streets. It gave me shivers.
The gun went off, and after all these months of anticipation, it began. The first 19 miles were honestly awesome. There were certainly tough moments, but they would pass as soon as I hit the next water station, took a gel, or reached a downhill. The uphills were challenging, but I was grateful that the first one was the steepest, and that the downhills were as numerous as the ups. I was also so grateful for the unexpected pacing team. For most of the race, it was just myself and one other girl running with the pacer. We chatted a lot early on, which kept me relaxed and distracted. I never did notice the Golden Gate Bridge, possibly because it was too foggy, and possibly because I was too preoccupied with the pavement. But I did manage to appreciate some of the San Francisco sights, most memorably the sun rising over the Pacific with Alcatraz off in the distance.
Running this marathon as a Team in Training member was also a treat. There were about 3500 Team in Training participants in the race, and there seemed to be an endless number of coaches, staff members and supporters from all over North America along the course. I was wearing my tell-tale purple singlet with my name and Canadian flag prominently displayed, so I got loud, enthusiastic, personalized cheers all along the course. And that was in addition to all the cheerleaders, breakdancers, choirs, bands, and sound systems pumping out Journey and Katy Perry anthems.
Most excitingly, at one point Shalane, Kara and Joan took porta-potty breaks and just happened to jump back onto the course as I was going by. I ended up running alongside all three of them and chatting for a few minutes. They soon darted ahead (and by "darted" I mean they meandered by at their easy run paces), but it was still such a thrill for me.
I ran many of those first 19 miles with a huge smile on my face, waving to the people yelling my name, giving thumbs up to the clever sign-bearers ("Congrats, you're way faster than Paul Ryan!", for example), and blowing kisses to Nancy and Meghan whom I was so happy to see at the mile 17 marker. I felt strong and surprisingly relaxed.
And then, mile 19 happened. I had pulled ahead of the pacing team on a downhill about a mile earlier, and had felt like I was flying through miles 17 and 18 ... but then my body rebelled. I wouldn't say I hit a wall, because it wasn't that distinct, but my legs started to seize up, my brain started to get a bit foggy, and all of a sudden the prospect of running seven more miles became utterly insane to me. But, the interesting thing is, I didn't have the "what if I just drop out" thought. As I wrote in an earlier post, that thought inevitably crosses my mind in every single race - from an 800 to a half marathon. At some point, I will fantasize about quitting and weigh the costs and benefits of doing so. Even though I've only actually done it a couple of times, I've thought about it EVERY time. Until now! The whole race, I knew I was going to get it done. With all the support I've had through this whole process, with the inspiration for my race at the forefront of my brain, it just wasn't an option, even hypothetically.
The pacer was amazingly helpful during those final miles. When she saw I was hurting, she just kept repeating things like, "just take it one mile at a time", "if it's unbearable, it will get better in a few minutes", and "we'll do it together." Half my brain was silently responding with "You're an evil, evil woman!" and "I'll slow down if I want to, you can't stop me, go away", but half of me was listening, taking it in, and pushing harder.
The last couple miles were pure pain, plain and simple. My delirious brain somehow convinced myself at 40.5 k that I would be done in 1k, and when I realized my error, I thought I was going to die of disappointment. But just a minute or so later, the finish line came into view. The pacer had pulled ahead a bit with the other girl, but she doubled back and helped me speed up for the last 200 metres. I had tears in my eyes and a massive smile on my face as I pumped my arms in the air and crossed the finish line.
My moment of euphoria was quickly replaced by the realization that I was in a rough state. A volunteer saw me stumbling and offered me some water and a wheelchair. I was still on my runner's high, so I told her I was fine - just a bit wobbly - and kept walking, wondering why she seemed so concerned. A few minutes later, I understood. I started to feel dizzy, a bit sick to my stomach, and even a tad claustrophobic as I shuffled through the finishing chute alongside the hundreds of half-marathoners who were finishing. I tried to keep smiling for the very attractive fireman (not shirtless, but in a spiffy tux) as he handed me my finisher's necklace, but he still had that same look of concern despite my best efforts. The tears of joy were turning into tears of panic as I kept feeling worse and couldn't find my way out of the crowd. I was immensely relieved to hear Nancy yell my name. She and Meghan looked a little frightened when they saw my blue lips and teary eyes, but they quickly helped me into warm clothes, found me some food and water, and kept me walking until I'd regained coherence. Nancy held on to me as I limped over to my shuttle back to the hotel, and after the most delicious shower, I started to feel like myself again.
In the end, I ran 3:11:45, finished 5th overall, 2nd in my age category, top Canadian and top Team in Training runner. I'm really thrilled with the result. Maybe a more conservative start could have allowed me to push harder at the end, but then maybe not. Anyway, 3:11 leaves me with a realistic goal for next time: break 3:10 and thereby beat my dad's Bonisteel marathon record!
And, for this marathon at least, what's a few minutes? When I made the decision to do this, Rachel wasn't sure what the future held. Now she's over 100 days out from her bone marrow transplant, and is getting stronger everyday. She is alive, she is healing. Rachel - I know you hate the idea of being called a "hero", so I won't, but you are certainly the embodiment of strength and courage to me. Running in your honour got me through.
And again, huge thanks to all of you who have been indulging me by reading this thing, who have donated, who have sent me countless messages of support, and who have tolerated my lameness as I trained. I love you, and will now leave you alone for awhile. Time to have some fun!!
