Goodbye Old Me, Hello, Round 2,

At the Runner's expo before the New York Marathon last fall ( yes, I ran it!) there was a giant pink poster that said: Hello, New York, Goodbye Old Me. As a first time marathoner, nothing could have encapsulated my experience of training and running more than that. Even in the worst, darkest and most horrible parts of the race, I kept telling myself: "You have never had to push this hard ever in your life; you have never worked so hard for anything in your life; when this is all over, you will be new.

And it was true.

I was new and exhausted. But I would run every wonderful and agonizing minute of the marathon all over again. Every mile brought one more struggle that I knew I could handle or one more glorious reward. I will never forget:

1) I found Michele, my beloved running partner in the start village and we huddles together int the mud.

2) In the starting corral, I ditched my Emerson shirt and screamed: F-U MFA! Even now that I have finished my thesis, the marathon is more important to me.

3) When the gun went off, I thought: This is for me! I'm about to run New York!

4) I cried as I raced over the start mats at the foot of the bridge. The signs above blinked " Toll Paid"

5) On the high crest of the Verazzano. runners shouted " God, what a beautiful day!" and " Look out NEW YORK!" as the clouds drifted to reveal the skyline in the distance.

5.5) Some dude ran the entire race with the Eiffel Tower on his back. I LOVE Paris, but he was nuts.

6) As we blasted into Brooklyn, the Rocky theme blared from stereos on both sides of the street. YOUUUU CANNNN DOOO ITTTT! Everyone shouted. Runners broke their strides to dance.

7) At Miles 4 and 6 I found my dearest friends and family holding big orange signs and screaming my name. Nobody had ever made a sign for me before. It was better than seeing my name in lights...

8) Rounding the beautiful tree-lined streets of Brooklyn, I thought: " I'm almost to Queens..."

9) My IT band blew out at mile 7. I screamed and ran for the next two miles. This was one of those dark times.

10) At the halfway mark, just over the Pulaski Bridge, I pulled it together and told myself: YOU ARE NOT GIVING UP NOW. And I didn't.

11) The lower deck of the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan was silent, save the soft patter of tired runners' feet. I loved listening to the sound of my steady breath as we pushed through the darkness.

12) When we reached Manhattan, I told myself: it's almost over. But the hard part was ahead of me.

13) Climbing First Ave, I was in PAIN but I didn't want to stop or walk or head to the med tent. I just kept pushing. (I got slower and slower but I pushed)

14) Ashley spotted me at mile 19. "I'm hurting really bad." I said. "I gotta go!"

15) The bridge to the Bronx was under-construction and runners kept slipping and falling on the soft orange felt. I stopped to help a guy wearing yellow shoes.

16) Miles 20-21 (in the Bronx) I kept thinking: Get me the hell back to Manhattan and everything will be fine.

17) In Manhattan, it was fine. I can run six miles on any day. I knew I could do it at the end of the race.

18) In Harlem, people and runners were dancing in the streets. it was running through a jazz concert.

19) Fifth Avenue felt long and wide. Runners were tired. I was tired too but felt better than I had for the last ten miles.

20) Near the Park, my brother and cousin jumped INTO the race to hug me. Joey ( my brother) was wearing a lobster hat. I would five marathons to see him in that hat again. "I'll see you in two!" I told them.

21) As we rounded the curve into Central Park, the whole world was screaming. I smiled for the first time in 15 miles.

22) You look Beautiful! my friend, V screamed. She wasn't lying.

23) My feet knew that the park was full of rolling hills, that the elevation under me kept challenging each weary muscle, but I knew that I was close to the finish.

24) As we exited the Park and re-entered for the last mile, the spectators became a sea of orange and blue.

25) The last 800M, I kept telling myself to just make it once more around the track and then to smile for the camera at the finish. The whole world was sunny.

26) I crossed the finish with my head held high and became someone--a marathoner.

26.1) With the medal dangling around my neck, I sought my bag and then needed to crouch down for a little while--not sit--to bring myself back to the earth.

26.2) That night, as I hobbled through the streets of New York, strangers whistled and cheered. I promised myself I would do it again.

And now, I am.

I need to find new motivation to start training for Chicago 2010. In my heart, I know it's worth it. My body knows it too. But I'm tired (still) and I don't want to start slow; I want to start back at a 15 mile run. I want to be faster and better than before. I know I can't be. I also know I have until October to be at the tippy top of my game.

For now, I'm just back. On the road and online.

So, I bought new shoes and a new training log and I'm heading out for an easy run. I'll do it to feel the sun on my skin and to rev up my dreams of the next finish line.

Here's to Chicago!

Beyond the Wall

When I began this blog,  I never imagined I'd run a marathon. In fact, I distinctly remember telling my dear friend V that: " I don't know why anyone would want to do that to their body!" I'm sure that she she laughed and told me just to " stick to the half" a running distance that she knows and loves, even after her first two marathons. So, I agreed (see the opening post for the story!) and consequently began this blog as an experiment to see how many people would read it and how often I could push myself to write as I tried to tackle a half-marathon. (I am in serious need of discipline, here!) 

Then, suddenly, I became a FIRST-MARATHONER (in training) and a charity runner (more on that ASAP) and this blog became the chronicle of my adventure for anyone who wants to read/ support and advise. Sometimes, I feel as though blogging is entirely self indulgent and won't matter to people other than my parents ( Hi guys, I know you read this!) and other times, I feel the weight of the running and non running world as I write and I'm suddenly embarrassed.  Last week was a rough week in training, both physically and mentally and while everything's looking up it has been really hard to write about. 

I don't like to get behind or fail or struggle. 

Nothing tragic happened last week; I'm not injured or otherwise prevented from running the great race. It was just full of little hoops and stop gaps that have left me tired and achy, scared for what's to come. After a good, hard speed workout Monday night, my coach, Brian asked about my training and I told him that I wanted to update my weekly log with nothing but the words: I hate running!  He said it was better just to record my times and move on. He also, incidentally reminded me "not to worry that Michele (my wonderful running partner) is faster".  Trust me: she is and I'm not. This seems like shaky advice, but coming from Brian, it was just what I needed.

"Marathons are hard," my coach said by way of encouragement. "They take a lot of strength, but they're not impossible. Over 400,000 people ran a marathon last year; they're not impossible."  Since training began, I've forcibly shut out the impossibility of my quest and just focused on the  progress. I am getting stronger; I can feel my endurance building and the miles getting shorter and faster. I will never be the fastest girl in the race and that's okay, I just want to be successful, to be able to note the tangible results of my labour, and last week felt like like giant mess, a total wash.

First there was a bad 10K--slow, achy, sick miserable. I was just too stressed to run and couldn't get my mind to push past or work with my body.

And then there was the NYC Marathon Lottery. 

As a  life-long student and teacher, "The Lottery" resounds in my brain, not as a chance to make a million or to be one of a million randomly selected participants in a race. Rather, I think of Shirley Jackson's  short story (of the same name) in which the members of a tiny town ritualistically stone one of their members to death each year. ( I have now succeeded in spoiling the plot and too-tightly condensing a beautifully written and highly nuanced story about the power of ritual and crowd mentality, alas.) In Jackson's story, the town sacrifices, not the weakest link, but the one with ( one might suppose) the weakest luck. Poor unsuspecting Tessie falls victim to the tradition and momentum of the crowd.

So, too, I fell victim to the NYC Marathon Lottery Gods.

In preparation for the results, I ran my terrible 6-miler and sat for two rounds of cocktails with Michele. I prayed. I drank. Still, no luck.

So, what's a girl to do? Run for Charity. I was planning to run the marathon in this spirit anyways, but now, it too is the guarantor of my spot in the race. I just got confirmation TODAY from Fred's Team and am more than proud to run in support of their efforts. But last week, while I was running poorly and feeling bad for myself, they too were uncooperative nemeses, telling me I'd been waitlisted. I had to wait  to see if there would be room for me in the race.

They had to let me in, I thought because there's no way that I can be training this hard and not be able to run a marathon.

They did. I'm in!

And now that I know it, I feel both burdened and free. I can't wait to run with a community of committed athletes and servants; I can't wait to BE ONE.

Here's to the week beyond the wall; may it be better than the last.