Meet me tonight in Atlantic City, Part Two

"And each time I feel like this inside,
There's one thing I wanna know:
What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?"

Anyone that knows me, even a LITTLE bit, knows how much I love Elvis Costello (aka Declan McManus).  I love him so much that I have the above mentioned song as a ringtone.  On my cell phone.  Which also doubles as my alarm clock.

I have issues.

If you have to be woken up at o'dark hundred, it might as well be to something that tickles your fancy.  Or, in this case, eardrums.

That is what roused me from my inadequate slumber at 5:30 on marathon morning.  Not that I was really asleep anyway; but I was pretty comfortable laying there all the same.  

I sat up in bed and looked around.  Both of my roommates were still sound asleep (or they were doing a really good job of faking it).  I got myself up, dressed and fed before either one of them stirred.  Part of me thought about banging around the room, making some noise in the hopes that I could wipe the contented, peaceful looks off of their faces but, truly, I was too tired to be spiteful.  

Hard to believe, I know.

Besides, I knew Ted would be up soon.  He was chomping at the bit to race.  Me?  It was all I could do just to chomp on my bagel.  It's no secret that I was a little ambivalent going into this marathon.  My training didn't go exactly as I had planned.  I just didn't feel ready.  However, no one seemed the least bit concerned about my ability to perform.  Not my Coach.  Not my husband.  Certainly not Ted.

But I was concerned.  And truly, my opinion was the only one that mattered.  What I mean is, people can tell you how wonderful and fit you are until they are blue in the face.  It's no substitute for believing in YOURSELF.  I had taken such care in mentally preparing myself for Vermont City and the proof was in the pudding:  I ran a PR.  However, there IS something to be said about physical confidence breeding mental confidence.  When I trained for Vermont, I was at the top of my game, physically and emotionally.  That wasn't the case this time around, at least in my estimation.

As I went through the mental gymnastics, the guys woke up.  After seeing and talking with me for a few seconds,  they could tell I wasn't in the best frame of mind (I don't hide my feelings very well).  I said to both of them, "I don't want to DO this."  Ted and Michael did their best to reassure me, which I appreciated, but they couldn't make me feel better about my preparation, or lack thereof.  That was my job.  Maybe I couldn't replicate my positive mental outlook from Vermont that red hot minute, but there was something I COULD do.

I could make peace with what is.  

In other words, I am where I am.  Good, bad, or indifferent, I trained for a 26.2 mile race.  Maybe it didn't exactly go the way I thought it should have, or the way I wanted it to, but the work was done.  And, not to sound cocky, but I wasn't exactly a newbie runner anymore.  Covering the marathon distance itself was no longer "the unknown".  It was just a question of how fast.  The only way I could really see what I was capable of was to start.  I just had to show up.  

And let the chips fall where they may.

Once the guys were ready, we left the hotel room and headed to the start.  It was a chilly, but clear morning.  The sky was bright and blue.  You could feel a certain electricity in the air, which I always notice on the day of a big race.  I am sure I wasn't the only one in the crowd questioning themselves.  I took comfort in the fact that I was surrounded by other runners who were going on that 26.2 mile journey with me.  And I had Ted until the start, which made me feel calmer.  He told me to keep repeating to myself this simple phrase:  I am here.  

I AM HERE.

All we have is now.  This moment.  Nothing else matters.  

Okay, Ted.  I am here.

Michael wished us both well and went off to find Michelle and Dan.  After Ted and I hugged and exchanged good wishes, the gun went off and we started running.  We headed down the boardwalk on a beautiful fall day.  

At this point, let me say that if you're expecting a detailed, mile by mile, play by play breakdown of this marathon, you are going to be very disappointed.  My powers of observation and attention to detail are just not that sharp.  But, I'll do my best to outline the finer points.  

And now, back to our story.

After a few minutes, I found myself running with these two older gentlemen who were conversing with each other.  By the sounds of it, they were probably going to run the time I was hoping for, so I decided to stay with them for a while.  Eventually, the three of us started chatting, which made the first couple of miles go by fairly quickly.  One of them shot off ahead, hoping to run a faster time.  The other one stayed behind, so I introduced myself.  He told me his name was Gene and he was running this race as a training run for the Philadelphia Marathon, which was next month.  We talked off and on for the next couple of miles.  After exiting the boardwalk, he decided to try and pick up the pace for a little while, so I wished him well and turned on the iPod.  

The wind really started picking up around Mile 6.  At this point, Gene and I had reconnected and we both remarked how we weren't expecting a headwind like this today.  The wind had been pretty intense the past couple of days in Atlantic City, but all of the forecasts were calling for a much calmer day.

So much for forecasts.

As I ran through Mile 7, we were assaulted by a gust of wind so powerful, it blew my lucky visor completely off of my head.  Thankfully, some nice runner saw it fly off and chased it down for me.  Shortly after that, we got back on the boardwalk and started running in the opposite direction.  Right around Mile 9, I saw Michelle on the sidelines spectating.  She flashed a huge smile and snapped a picture of me.  I was very happy to see her.  At this point, I was also very happy to notice that the wind seemed to be calmer.  

That is, until we got off the boardwalk again.

From Mile 13 to about Mile 18 or 19, it just kept gusting and gusting.  I allowed it to wear me down.  My only solace during this time was seeing Ted run by a couple of times, due to the out and back portion of this section of the course.  It was nice to see a friendly face.  Plus, he could see for himself that I didn't bail.  I don't think he expected me to quit, but at least he could see with his own two eyes that I was still running.

Right around mile 21 or so, I made the decision to allow myself walk breaks, but ONLY at water stops.  I had gotten pretty good at drinking out of those paper cups on the run, so I didn't NEED to walk and drink.  However, I had to make some kind of bargain with myself in order to keep going.  I had abandoned my quest for a PR at this point, but wanted to finish this race as strong as I could.  Each water stop I hit from that point on to the finish, I consumed a cup of water and a cup of gatorade.  Once I finished the second cup of fluid, I resumed running.  I kept the promise to myself and continued to run until the next stop came into view.

After re-hydrating at mile 25, I knew it was only a matter of time.  I had a mere 1.2 miles left to travel.  I stopped looking at my GPS watch a while ago.  Hitting "my splits" wasn't the priority, here.  It wasn't about keeping a certain pace anymore.  Instead, it was just about putting one foot in front of the other over and over and over again.

And I did just that.  Right to the finish line.  

Shortly after I crossed, I found Michael and Ted.  I was also reunited with my new friend, Gene, who had come in about four minutes before me.  I had seen him go by between mile 20 and 21, but I didn't have it in me to chase him down.  We all congratulated each other on finishing the marathon and commiserated over the unexpected wind.  It affected all of us, even Ted.  He had hoped to run a 3:10, but ended up turning in a 3:12:xx, which, don't misunderstand, is STILL a stellar time.  But, even he didn't get what he wanted out of that race, and he was feeling much more excited and confident than I was going in.  Gene guessed he came in around 3:44 or so.  I think we all expected a little more from ourselves but, yet, we were pleased with the accomplishment of finishing another one.

We made our way to the food and drink area.  As luck would have it, they already had preliminary race results posted.  Once the crowd thinned out, we went over to have a look.  My new pal, Gene, ran a spectacular 3:43:55.  Not bad for a "training run", eh?  Did I MENTION that he is 62 years young???  Pretty awesome.  Ted was 30th overall and had a chip time of 3:12:21.  Equally awesome.  I scrolled down until I found my name.  

3:48:56

Okay, so it wasn't a PR.  It wasn't the 3:40 that I arbitrarily decided to train for when I got the notion to do this race.  But, it was my third fastest time out of six completed marathons.  Based on the unexpected windy conditions, lack of sleep and my state of well-being going into this race, it might as well have been.  I have always said that I learn something every time I race.  This time was no exception:

** A sub 3:50 is very attainable for me now, even when I walk at a few water stops.

** I can average an 8:45 pace at a marathon.

** I was able to smile and thank the volunteers and spectators when I saw them, tired or not.

** I'm already qualified for Boston because of the 3:43:30 I ran in Vermont this past May.  I didn't "NEED" this.

** I'll be 40 (gasp) in 2012 and am age grouping up.  If I decide to run Boston again, 3:48:56 qualifies me.++

I trained.  I started.  I persevered.  I finished.

Sometimes, that's all you have in you.  Oh sure, it's human nature to play Monday morning quarterback and go through the "woulda coulda's", but the fact of the matter is, you can't go back.  But, you can take what you learned and carry it into the next training cycle.  You can use it to make you better, stronger, faster and smarter.

Which is exactly what I'm going to do.

But, until then...

I am here.

GPS Data for Atlantic City Marathon:

10/17/2010 8:03:56 AM

Total Distance

26.34 mi

Total Time

3:48:56

Avg Pace

8:41/mi

Avg Speed

6.9 mph

Max Speed

11.9 mph

Total Ascent

3335 ft

Total Descent

3350 ft

Lap 01 -- 8:42

Lap 02 -- 8:35

Lap 03 -- 8:37

Lap 04 -- 8:32

Lap 05 -- 8:29

Lap 06 -- 8:44

Lap 07 -- 8:32

Lap 08 -- 8:40

Lap 09 -- 8:29

Lap 10 -- 8:28

Lap 11 -- 8:32

Lap 12 -- 8:33

Lap 13 -- 8:35 ** this is where the wind really began to present itself as a challenge ** 

Lap 14 -- 8:37 

Lap 15 -- 8:44 

Lap 16 -- 8:37 

Lap 17 -- 8:38 

Lap 18 -- 8:37 

Lap 19 -- 8:50 

Lap 20 -- 8:38 ** this is where I decided to stop at walk ONLY when getting water/gatorade at water stops ** 

Lap 21 -- 9:23 

Lap 22 -- 8:43 

Lap 23 -- 9:09 

Lap 24 -- 8:48 

Lap 25 -- 9:18 

Lap 26 -- 8:32 

Lap 27 -- 0.35 mi in 2:42 (7:46/mi)

++ That last point MIGHT be up for debate if the BAA (Boston Athletic Association) opts to tighten up the qualifying times after the 2011 race, which they very well may do after registration opened and closed in eight short hours.

Meet me tonight in Atlantic City, Part One

Atlantic City, NJ.  The chosen site of my 2010 fall marathon.

This will be my sixth attempt in covering the 26.2 distance.  Well, seven if you count that start in Hartford...

I say let's not.  And since this is my blog, I get to do whatever I want.  Na na, Na na, NAAA NAAAA.

My dear friend and excellent Vermont pacer, Ted, decided to get in on the fun as well.  He registered for this marathon too.  This time, though, he was running for himself...as he should.  His marathon PR was 3:19 and he was looking to shatter it on this relatively flat course.  Not only would I have company getting to the line, but I had company on the trip!  My husband and our friends, Michelle and Dan, decided a weekend in Atlantic City might be fun.  Of course, the running held no interest for them whatsoever, but the slot machines and boardwalk did.  So, we booked our airfare and a hotel near the start/finish area.  All the plans were in place.  I just had to show up.

Oh, and run.  That's a very important detail.

We flew out of Boston on 10/15.  Ted wouldn't be flying in until Saturday morning, so it was just the four of us.  From the time you take off until the time you land, it's a whopping 70 minutes.  Not too shabby, eh?  Spirit Air had ridiculously cheap fares, so we nixed the car and took to flying the friendly skies.  Of course, it was AFTER the fact we realized that you had to pay for checked AND carry-on bags that didn't fit under the seat in front of you.  Not so friendly, as it turns out.  All in all, it was still short  money and was much more time efficient than driving.

We landed in AC on schedule, got our luggage and took a taxi to Bally's Hotel.  After waiting in a very long line to check in, we made our way to our respective hotel rooms and plotted where to have dinner.  We decided to go here:

http://www.ballysac.com/casinos/ballys-atlantic-city/restaurants-dining/6ix-detail.html

I opted to have my carb heavy meal on Friday night, as opposed to the night before.  In the book "Marathoning Start to Finish" by Patti and Warren Finke, the authors recommend "a carbohydrate load for three days before the event accompanied by a period of reduced exercise.  The first day of loading is the most important.  That would be the day for the traditional pasta dinner."  So, technically, I was still 24 hours late.  "The plan is to taper off bulk and switch to more simple carbs as the days progress.  The last major meal should be 12-15 hours before the race and should not include too much bulk.  If you carb load effectively, you'll notice a 2-5 lb. weight gain over this time.  As carbs are stored, water is also stored in the muscle leading to the weight gain."

Good thing the scale and I broke up long ago or else I might find this a tad bothersome.

I had the spaghetti and meatballs, which was frickin' awesome.  Say what you want about New Jersey, but they have good food.  After a nightcap, we said goodbye to our friends and retired for the evening.  Traveling, not to mention standing in line for an exorbitant period of time, can make one weary, so it was off to la la land.
I had a 25-30 minute run with 5-6 10 second strides to do the next morning and wanted it as close to 8 a.m. as possible, since that would be the time we'd be racing on Sunday.

After a fitful sleep session (I don't get R.E.M. easily in hotels), I got up and dressed for a run.  However, I knew this wasn't going to fly without my two favorite c's:  caffeine and carbs.  We met Michelle and Dan at the coffee/doughnut place in the hotel for a quick snack and beverage.  Feeling somewhat energized, I waded through the smell of cigarette smoke and desperation via the casino to get to the boardwalk for my run.  My pit crew opted to sightsee while I ran.  To my surprise, I found running on the planks quite enjoyable.  It sort of eradicated part of the unknown for Sunday's race, which was less than 24 hours away.  As it normally does, the run just made me feel better, inside and out.  I was ready for breakfast and a shower, in that order.

For the rest of the morning, we wandered about the boardwalk, indulging in some hardcore people watching. I was with two of the best watchers in the business, after all.  Michelle and Dan have made an art form of this.  They will fixate on a person or persons and, within mere minutes, have a clever backstory crafted as to who they are, where they come from and whether they're married, gay or straight.  It's quite amazing.  So, I enjoyed watching them weave tales of all the passersby they chose to single out.

We decided to have lunch in the Pickle Deli (hellooooo?  New Jersey??) while we waited for Ted to arrive.  He was arriving in AC, early afternoon.  In addition, my cousin, his wife, and their two little ones were making the trip from North Jersey to hang out with us while we were in the Garden State.  My inner Jew applauded as I noticed they had Matzoh Ball Soup on the menu.  Lechayim!!!  And it was yummy.  Early in our lunch, I received a message that Ted had arrived.  He was already in the hotel, so I told him to come and have lunch with us.  (I think his inner Jew applauded too when he saw the soup).  We decided to head off to packet pickup on the 6th floor together, after lunch, leaving the three non-runners to scope out more sights.  No need to subject them to any of that annoying runner stuff.

The packet pickup area had two incredibly long lines.  And about four people working the registration table.  D'oh.  This was going to take a while.  Thankfully, we had cell phones and a nice woman behind us with a cute baby, which always serves as a welcome distraction.  Eventually, we found ourselves at the front of the line.  I was bib #519 and Ted was #507 which, we couldn't figure out, because we could have SWORN I registered first (the little things that boggle a runner's brain).  There was no "EXPO" to speak of; only an adjacent booth where race shirts were being distributed.  It would have been nice to have one, but we were probably better off, since we had other people to consider.  They were such good sports to make the trip with us in the first place.  I didn't want to get so caught up in the running aspect of the trip that I neglected to spend time with my friends and family who weren't toeing the line Sunday morning.

What can I say?  I'm a humanitarian.

Ted and I dropped our race paraphernalia off in the hotel room and made our way back through the aforementioned cigarette smoke and desperation to the boardwalk.  We reconnected with our posse and started to plot dinner.  There was a complimentary pre-race dinner in the hotel for registered runners.  Guests were also welcome provided you make a donation.  It was a nice thought, but I figured a more neutral location would satisfy the masses.

Besides, they had long lines too.

We ended up making a reservation at The Reserve for seven adults and two children.

Alright, they get a plug as well:  http://www.ballysac.com/casinos/ballys-atlantic-city/restaurants-dining/the-reserve-detail.html

Michelle and Dan waved the white flag and bowed out shortly before dinner, claiming they were still full from lunch.  So, down two, we headed up to the restaurant.  This place was nice....very nice...but probably not the most practical place we could have chosen.  For one thing, it was pretty fancy.  For another, they had NO kids menu.  You can imagine the challenge that my cousin and his wife had in ordering food appropriate for a three year old.  The trials and tribulations of parenthood, I suppose.

Ted had a challenging time selecting what to order.  The more he runs, the less he eats, the finicky bugger (J/K Ted...I know you're reading this).  I was not quite sure what the best dietary course of action would be either.  I just knew it wouldn't be pasta.  Finally, I decided on salmon with asparagus and baby potatoes.  There were some carbs, but nothing too bulky.  I enjoyed a glass of red wine with dinner.  Ted opted to stick with water.  My Vermont party animal had turned into a monk in less than five months, dammit.  In all seriousness,  I was okay with him abstaining.  We all have to prepare as we see fit.

I'm just having a little fun at his expense (he can take it).  

I did exercise some self-control, however, and passed on the second glass that was offered.  I REALLY didn't feel like running 26.2 miles with a blinding hangover.  And, I figured one would be enough.  It might even help me sleep.  Now THAT would be nice.

After dinner, we all parted company.  Ted opted to go back to the boardwalk in the hopes of finding out where the race started/ended.  Michael and I said our goodbyes to my cousin and his crew.  We stopped at the Blue Martini for a nightcap.  Well, my nightcap was club soda...although I did sneak a few sips of his Absolut Martini (shhhh, don't tell anyone).  There was a woman next to me at the bar that was splitting her time between dancing and drinking.  Judging by her condition, I would say that she spent a lot more time doing the latter than the former.  All of a sudden, she leans into us and starts talking to me.  It was like trying to understand Ozzy Osbourne without subtitles.  I had NO idea what she was saying.  She was LOADED.  Pie eyed.  Blitzed.  Polluted.

Needless to say, that gave us an excuse to pay the bill and call it a night.  We caught up with Ted back in the hotel room.  When we booked this trip, I made sure to get a room with two beds in it so he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor again.

I'm a humanitarian, remember?

We chatted for a few moments and then declared lights out.  I put my head down on the pillow, closed my eyes and waited for sleep to come.

And waited.  And waited.  And waited.

Sleep wasn't coming.

I tried deep breathing, positive affirmations and counting sheep.  Nothing.  Wide freaking awake.

I looked at the clock.  12:06 a.m.

Wide awake.  But, so tired.  And so fried.

Hearing the peaceful, sleepy breathing of my two roommates didn't exactly help either.

I got out of bed, walked over to the bathroom and sobbed.  I was channeling my Arizona trip all over again with the sleep deprivation and the crankiness.  This time, I didn't have to wear a pretty dress and hold a bouquet of flowers, however.

I had to run a MARATHON.

Not sleeping the night before a big race isn't a big deal.  It's much more important that you get good sleep two nights before.

BUT, I DIDN'T SLEEP WELL THEN EITHER!!!!!!

Once I ran out of tears, I shuffled my way back to bed, hoping that the energy I expended sniffling and weeping would finally transport me to lala land.  There was nothing else I could do.  There was nothing else TO do.

8 a.m. was coming whether I liked it or not.

And when it did, I had to be race ready.







 

It's a dry heat, part three

"Goin' to the chapel and we're...gonna get ma-a-arried..."

As the matron of honor, I have certain responsibilities, some of which I couldn't really fulfill.  For example, I wasn't really involved with the planning of the ceremony since I live on the other side of the country.  I also wasn't about to "throw a bachelorette party" for my 67 year old mother.  Can you imagine taking her and her social security eligible friends to see male strippers???  I  mean, really.

But, there was something I could do:  make sure my mother didn't step on her dress on the way to the church.  This proved to be no small task.  Mom was acclimating to her crazy dress and shoes too and isn't the most graceful creature on the planet to boot.  Getting her in the car and to the chapel was fairly uneventful, thank God.  My brother drove her car and she rode shotgun.  I stretched out in the back seat, counting the minutes to when I could change back into normal clothes.   

Since my brother and I couldn't fly to Arizona any earlier than we had, the happy couple decided to have an abbreviated "rehearsal" before all the guests were to arrive for the ceremony.  Most folks taking the plunge for the first time usually have the rehearsal dinner 1-2 days before the wedding, so I'm no stranger to this tradition.  However, this was the third time for both of them down the aisle.  Shouldn't you just kind of KNOW how to do it by now?  

Do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband?  Do you take her to be your lawfully wedding wife??

Kiss kiss.  You're married.

I'm half-kidding here but, remember, I eloped, so I didn't deal with any of this stuff.  Moreover, I didn't understand the need for the fancy wedding.  I reminded myself for the millionth time that I didn't NEED to understand it.  It wasn't about me.  This was her day.  All I had to do was carry out her wishes by being present and involved in the festivities.

Once we arrived, I greeted my "stepfather to be", Glen, who I had only met once before.  He and my mother took a trip out our way over Memorial Day weekend.  I was introduced to his eldest son, Chuck, who was also his best man.  They both seemed nice enough, but, of course, I barely knew Glen, let alone his offspring.  Technically, these people were going to be "my new family" at the end of the day.  So, you put the game face on and do the best that you can, even if it's a little awkward.

It's not about me...it's not about me...it's not about me...

We made our way out of the heat and inside the church, which I was told was air conditioned.  It seemed a little on the warm side to me, but I figured they must have just turned it on.  Maybe it takes a while to cool down.  Mom introduced bro and me to the photographers, who were a male/female team.  The photo lady smiled, took my hand and said, "so you are Eileen's daughter?  The matron of honor?"  I acknowledged that yes, I was.  Then, she asked, "does your mother have a bustle and, if so, do you know how to fix it?"

I looked at her blankly for a moment and replied, "I don't know what a bustle is, so I'm guessing no."

She half-chuckled and assured me that she would help me out.

First the hair appointment and now the bustle.  This left me wondering what other "surprises" were lurking.  I was starting to feel SO not prepared for this.  Right about this time, I decided to appreciate the tradition of the "rehearsal".  Maybe Mom and Glen didn't need the walk through, but it was becoming pretty clear that I did.  

The pastor arrived shortly after we did, so it was time to practice.  As we were milling about, I noticed Glen near the podium with a microphone.  He was warming up to sing.  He was going to sing to my mother.  And he was going to serenade her with "Lady" by Kenny Rogers.  In the middle of the ceremony.  Obviously, he was crazy about her to engage in such a public display of devotion.

Or maybe he was just crazy, period.

We practiced our entrances into the church.  Glen and Chuck were standing next to the pastor.  I had a bouquet of flowers to hold and walked down the aisle before my mother and brother.  They followed shortly afterwards.  She made her way up to the podium and handed me her bouquet.  My stepsister, Jen, (the daughter of Mom's second husband, just in case you're a bit confused) instructed me to bend down and "shake out your mother's train" so it looked pretty all splayed out.

Take flowers.  Shake out train.  Roger that.

Once we were satisfied that we knew our parts, we headed into a room off the hallway to wait for our musical cue.  It was right around this time that I noticed my shoes kept slipping off my heels.  I had worn these  at my brother-in-law's wedding less than one year ago and thought they fit fine.  I knew my feet couldn't have shrunk.  Maybe they always fit this way, but I never had to "walk down an aisle" with them on.  They sort of made this "clop clop...clop clop" sound.  So, I made a mental note to sort of "heel/toe" my way down the aisle without looking too dorky.  Who knew this was going to be so complicated???

The guests had filed in.  It was 4 o'clock.  Time to get married.

The music started and photo lady came to fetch me.  I hid behind the door and waited for her signal.  She gave it and I made my way down:  clop/clop-heel/toe...clop/clop-heel/toe.  I couldn't wait to get there.  I had to hold myself back from taking off my shoes and just running there.  But, I made it.  I took my place to the left of the pastor and waited for Mom and bro to make their grand entrance.

As they walked down the aisle, I noticed that it really hadn't gotten much cooler.  In fact, I think it was getting warmer.  I'm sure standing under the lights didn't help much.  I tried to distract myself from the beads of perspiration I could feel forming on the back of my neck.  Once they made it to the front row, the pastor asked, "who gives this woman to be married?"  My brother says, "I do" and promptly sits down.  His work was done.

Lucky.

Mom made her way up the three steps and handed me her bouquet.  She stood to face her groom as I bent down to shake out the train, per Jen's instructions, who happened to be sitting in the front row.  I must not have done it right, because she got up out of her chair to do it herself.  I contemplated feeling insulted for a moment and then realized it just wasn't worth the effort.  Obviously, I had no idea what I was doing and Jen really meant well.  She just wanted to help.

The pastor began the ceremony with his little marriage monologue.  He talked about them both as individuals and a couple.  I stood there as he spoke, fiddling with both of the bouquets, doing my best to smile.  Did I mention it was getting warmer?

The time came for Glen to sing to his beloved.  He turned to face the congregation.  I thought it odd that he was looking at them instead of my mother, but then I realized why:  the lyrics to the song he was going to sing were being projected on the wall of the sound booth, karaoke style.

Here, let me share the words with you, so you can sing along:

Lady, I'm your knight in shining armor and I love you
You have made me what I am and I am yours
My love, there's so many ways I want to say I love you
Let me hold you in my arms forever more

You have gone and made me such a fool
I'm so lost in your love
And oh, we belong together
Won't you believe in my song?

Lady, for so many years I thought I'd never find you
You have come into my life and made me whole
Forever let me wake to see you each and every morning
Let me hear you whisper softly in my ear

In my eyes I see no one else but you
There's no other love like our love
And yes, oh yes, I'll always want you near me
I've waited for you for so long

Lady, your love's the only love I need
And beside me is where I want you to be
'Cause, my love, there's somethin' I want you to know
You're the love of my life, you're my lady!

Ahhhhhh.  This was going to be interesting.

He gets about one third of his way through the song when all of a sudden, the music stopped.  It just...stopped.  So, Glen...stopped.  He looks up at the guy in the sound booth quizzically, wondering what the problem is.  Mr. Mixmaster was able to get the music back on but, by this time, Glen was a little off with his timing.  I only know this because I grew up in a house with Kenny Rogers loving parents and I had heard this song more times than I care to remember.  He started right back where he thought he left off but, unfortunately, it wasn't where the music left off.

I was right.  It was interesting.

God Bless him, the man just kept on going.  Apparently he didn't care if he was singing "In my eyes I see no one else but you" to the musical part of "I've waited for you for so long".  As I watched him stumble his way through the song, I made a concerted effort NOT to look at my brother, who I could barely see out of my peripheral vision.  I knew that if I made eye contact with him, I was going to utterly and completely lose it.  By this time, the beads of perspiration that were forming on the back of my neck began to stream down my spine.  I could feel it.  Nervously, I bit my lip, and kept flipping the bouquets in my hands, trying to wiggle so the sweat didn't go through my dress.  Just when I thought I couldn't get any more uncomfortable, I began to feel a cramp in my foot.  Of course.  This caused me to shift my weight from one foot to other in the hopes of working it out.

It went something like this:  flip, flip...wiggle, wiggle...shift, shift.

Flip, flip...wiggle, wiggle...shift, shift.

"You're the love of my life...."

Translation:  the song is almost over.

Finally, he puts the microphone down.  The pastor resumes his spiel, they exchange vows and rings.  They kiss and, voila, they're married.  Eventually, we all filed out of the church and took our spots in the entryway so we could greet everyone.  As we were walking, I overheard my mother say to her new husband, "you sort of got a little turned around with that song, there."  Gee, I had hardly noticed.  

Chuck made his way over to where I was and said, "apparently, I'm supposed to be standing next to you."  I kind of laughed, realizing that he was just as lost as I was.  We commiserated over how bleeping warm it was in the church.  I started to relax a little more once I heard how he was virtually sweating bullets too.  We smiled and shook hands with all of the people that came, thanking them for being here, so nice to meet you, blah, blah, blah.  After everyone left, we made our way back in the sauna for photos.  More smiling, more posing, more standing under those lights.  After the pics, Chuck and I witnessed the signing of the marriage license and then it was official:  the wedding was over.

We wrapped up our Arizona weekend with the reception and brunch the next morning with our new "family" and then it was time to head home.  We said our goodbyes to the newly wedded couple and made our way to the airport.  May they live happily ever after.  Because, I gotta tell you, I can't imagine doing this again.

As they say in baseball:  three strikes, you're out!

The End.

It's a dry heat, part two

I woke up, later during that "tomorrow", not feeling much different than I did when I went to bed.  It felt like someone twisted my head off and kicked it down the street.  But, I knew myself well enough by now to know what I needed.

Food.  Oh, and something caffeinated on the side would be ever so nice.

If I couldn't be back in my own bed, then I might as well raid my mother's refrigerator.

I stumbled out of the guest room and said good morning to my family, all of whom were already up.  I can only imagine how I must have looked because practically the first words out of my brother's mouth were, "Cyn, let me make you some eggs.  You need to eat something."

Be still my heart.

While he fired up the stove, I begged my mother to show me where she kept the coffee.  I figured that could only help my head to feel somewhat normal again.  My nephews had a huge bowl of fruit salad in front of them, so I weaseled my way in between and proceeded to stuff my face.  Pretty soon, I had a big mug of coffee and a plate of eggs and toast to contend with.

This day was starting to shape up nicely.

My mother presented my brother and me with gifts for participating in the ceremony:  a watch for him and a necklace for me which "should match your dress beautifully", she commented.  I interpreted that to mean she wanted me to wear it during the wedding.  Duly noted, Mom.

As I ate, I chatted with my stepsister, Jen, and my mother.  Well, truthfully, they did most of the chatting.  That suited me just fine since I didn't have much to say between bites of breakfast and sips of coffee.  I have become a morning person by necessity due to my work schedule (I start at 6 a.m. 3-4 days a week).  But, just because I'm up at o'dark hundred doesn't mean that I want to talk to anyone right away.  You gotta work up to these things.

All of a sudden, my mother checks the time and says, "Well, we better get ready."

It was 10 a.m.

The "rehearsal" was at 3 p.m. and the ceremony was an hour later.

Color me confused.

I say, "for what?"

She replies, "we're getting our hair done at 11."

Either my mother had a mouse in her pocket, or she was talking to Jen and me.

She was, in fact, talking to us.  This was news to Cyndi Lou.  

Maybe she wanted to surprise us.  Or, maybe, she just plain forgot to mention it.  In any event, we've never had stellar communication.  But, since she was going to be saying "I Do" in a mere six hours, I decided to cut her some slack.  Pre-wedding jitters is enough to make anyone a bit loopy.

I got myself showered and ready to get beautified.  We arrived at the salon and I met my stylist, whose name escapes me.  She takes one look at my thick, naturally curly hair and decides that it needs to be blown out straight for the wedding.  This isn't the first time a hairdresser has wanted to give me this particular look, so I decided to just roll with it.  As I was in the chair getting transformed, I shot a sideways glance over to my mom, who was receiving the finishing touches on her do.  It was at this time that I noticed the tiara.

Yup.  Tiara.  She was going all Princess Di on us.

After we left the salon, we stopped to have lunch before heading back to the house.  Mom took us to her friendly, neighborhood Chili's where she was received like the royalty she was dressing as.  This was one of her hang outs.  Everyone seemed to know her, particularly our server, who ended up paying the tab as a wedding gift.  Apparently, there IS such a thing as a free lunch.

We got back to the house with just enough time to get ourselves and my mother dressed and ready.  Getting ourselves ready was a breeze.  Mom was going to take a little more time.  Jen and I did our best to get her all buttoned, zippered and buckled.  This dress should have come with instructions, but we did a pretty good job nonetheless.  You can imagine how grateful I was to have Jen there helping with all of this.  She had a fancy schmancy dress at her own wedding, so she had a little experience with this stuff.

Me?  The "matron of honor"?

I eloped.

Plus, I got my dress at the mall for under $100.

My brother and I do not seem to share my mother's sense of the ornate.  I suspect neither one of us were really looking forward to dressing up.  But, bro cleans up pretty well.  He was all decked out in black pants, black jacket, white shirt and red tie. He looked really good.

By now, you may be wondering what the matron of honor had on.

I was wearing a red/cranberry sleeveless dress with black nylons and black shoes.  Why I decided to wear nylons for a wedding in Arizona, I do not know.  I don't like wearing them EVER, never mind in 90+ degree temps.  My friend, Sarah, couldn't believe that I had them on either.  She thought I was nuts.  I was inclined to agree with her.  But, I couldn't exactly change my mind now.

It was time to go to the church.

You can't make this stuff up

Got in my car yesterday, started her up, and noticed this particular number on my odometer.

Talk about a Kodak moment, eh???

Bring on October 17th.

It's a dry heat, part one

How about you and I hop in the not-so-way back machine for a little rambling and ranting?

Let me tell you about my trip to Arizona for mom's wedding.

But first, a little background.

My mother announced her engagement to Bachelor #3 shortly after I ran the Philadelphia Marathon last November.  She and her new beau started dating sometime in September.  While that may seem like a very short courtship, bear in mind that she is 67 years old.  Not exactly one foot in, mind you, but the timetable gets a little different when you're a senior citizen.  In fact, when she told me about her engagement, she assured me that "they weren't going to rush into anything" and the wedding "wouldn't be for at least a year".  Not only were my brother and I invited to the festivities, we had PARTS.  I was the matron of honor and he was giving her away.

Whatever makes you happy, Mom.

Turns out, I inherited my not so MIT like math skills from my mother.  They set a wedding date of 8/14/10.  Last time I checked, that was only nine months.  If I didn't know better, I would think she was "a woman in trouble".  Of course, I did know better.  But, who am I to quibble?

Whatever makes you happy, Mom.

Bro and I had mixed feelings about going to Arizona.  Mind you, it wasn't that we approved or disapproved of her decision to marry again.  First of all, this was her third wedding, so we didn't quite understand the need for all the "pomp and circumstance".  Secondly, she didn't exactly live down the street.  Airline tickets were running $350-400 per person/round trip.  Finally, and perhaps the most important reason of all, WHO WANTS TO GO TO ARIZONA IN AUGUST???  Seriously.  I mean, I know she lives there year round, but that's her choice.  However, she carried us in her womb for nine months and sacrificed many times over for our health and well-being through the years.  Is taking a trip across the country too much to ask?

Whatever makes you happy, Mom.

After procrastinating for a respectable period of time, we decided to book our trip.  We would be departing Manchester Airport on Friday, 8/13 at 4:03 p.m. and leaving Arizona on Sunday, 8/15 at 2:06 p.m.  Our significant others weren't going to be accompanying us to the blessed event, so it would just be the two of us.  I happen to really like my brother as well as love him, so the opportunity to spend time together sort of took the sting out of our crazy weekend of travel.

The morning of the 13th, I squeezed in an 18 mile run, thinking it'd be next to impossible to take the time to run while I was there.  We figured out that we'd only PHYSICALLY be in the state of Arizona 39 hours, and that included two sleeps plus the wedding.  It was going to be one of THOSE weekends.

After my run, I got myself together, met my brother, and headed to the airport.  We flew to Newark on schedule and scoped out a place to have dinner.  We found this place called Ruby's Diner and had cheeseburgers, fries and chocolate shakes (don't you judge us).  It's very challenging to stay on a good meal schedule when you are traveling, particularly since the airline wants no part in feeding you unless you pay them a small fortune.  So, we did our best to "load up" while the getting was good.

Finally, the time came to board the plane to Phoenix.  The plane was completely full.  I had a window seat and my brother was in the middle.  For the next 4-5 hours, I attempted to read, listen to music, and possibly sleep.  Let me just say that I don't recommend running 18 miles and then sitting on an airplane for an extended period of time.  My legs were a little perturbed.  It was practically an impossibility to get comfortable wedged between the window and my sibling.  But, hey, we were all in the same boat (plane), weren't we?  Time to put the big girl pants on and stop whining.

By the time we landed in Arizona, it was almost 11 p.m.  It also happened to be 104 degrees.  104.  At 11 p.m.  However, to my body, it was REALLY 2 a.m., which is about 5 hours past my bedtime.  After waiting for all the folks in front of us to remove their luggage from the overhead compartment, we made our way off the plane.  I checked a small suitcase, so it was off to baggage claim.  My stepsister, Jen, was coming from San Diego to attend the festivities and offered to pick us up at the airport on the way to my mother's house.  Once we got my bag, we stepped outside to wait for Jen.

Holy HAND GRENADE Batman.  It was like someone immediately jumped in front of you and shoved a hair dryer in your face.  It was bleeping hot.  Now, I know what you're thinking:  but it's Arizona.  It's the desert.  At least it's a dry heat.

Well, for the record, my oven is a dry heat too, but I'm not about to stick my head in it.  Sorry, but I'm not buying it.  104 is 104.  Period.

The good thing is, we only had to bake in it for a few minutes.  Jen pulled up, hugged us and helped us get our bags in the car.  Once we found our way out of the airport (see? Other people get lost too), we were off to Payson, AZ.

Did I happen to mention that my mother lives about 90 miles outside of Phoenix?  Well, she does.  There isn't a whole lot between Phoenix and Payson, except for cactus and coyotes.  Basically, you get on I-87 and keep going.  I put my head back and closed my eyes, hoping to doze off, but I happened to be sharing the backseat with my two young nephews who were a little too punchy for their own good.  At least if I make it LOOK like I'm sleeping, I thought, no one will try to talk to me.

This is what happens to me when I'm deprived of food and sleep.  I'm pretty miserable to be around.

We pulled in to my mother's driveway at 12:30 a.m.  I had now been awake for almost 24 hours and hadn't eaten since Newark.  Just the mere act of talking reduced me to tears.  It was just too much effort.  I was so ready to just curl up in a ball. I mumbled a barely intelligible greeting to my mother who was just a little TOO happy at this late hour, and begged to be shown to my room.  My head was pounding.  I didn't know whether I needed sleep more than food, but chose the former.  Maybe things would look a little brighter once I got some rest.

After all, tomorrow was the big day.  Oh snap, it was already tomorrow...


 

Is It Ever Gonna Be Enough?

Have you heard that song "Gold Guns Girls" by Metric?  Well, in case you haven't, I've copied a youtube link for your enjoyment.

So, why am I sharing this with you?

Well, first of all, it's a GREAT song (I've done many a 400 meter repeat to this upbeat tune).  But, second of all, it's for this one line in the song that gets repeated multiple times:

Is it ever gonna be enough?

Have you ever asked yourself that question?

I would be soon asking myself.

After qualifying for Boston at the Vermont City Marathon, I called my Coach.  As I'm sure you can imagine both he and I were very happy with the outcome.  I was about three hours removed from crossing the finish line when I heard this come out of my mouth:

"So, I figured I could sign up for the Mohawk Hudson Marathon in October and see if I can get my time down even more.  Then, I could be seeded higher at Boston and move up in the pack!"

My Coach didn't encourage or discourage this.  He gently suggested that, yes, we run a fall marathon, do Boston and then, perhaps, take the rest of 2011 off from marathoning and work on the short stuff.  He congratulated me once again on the marathon and told me to keep him posted on my recovery.

I bounced back pretty well from the marathon; in fact it was the least amount of soreness I've ever had post-race.  Perhaps it was the consistent training this time around?  Or maybe it was that I kept moving and didn't sit still for too long?  In any event, it was easy to put another 26.2'er on the calendar since I seemed primed and ready to go.

About six weeks after Vermont, I went to register online for Mohawk Hudson and, to my surprise, it was FULL!!!  An October race was already sold out in July.  What IS this world coming to???  I really wanted to run this one because I had heard it was a flat and fast course with an elevation drop of over 300 ft.  If that doesn't scream PR, well, then, I don't know what does.

(PR = Personal Record.  Educating the non-running public one blog post at a time...)

Thankfully, I had already chosen a backup race, just in case:  The Atlantic City Marathon on October 17th.  This one made sense because it was a doable distance to travel.  Plus, I was born in the great state of New Jersey.  In a way, it would be like going home again.  And, my Jersey cousins could come.

I told my Coach the news about Mohawk as well as my plan B.  We agreed to design our training for this race and had a plan in place (hey, that rhymes).  I started to train.

As my training got underway, lots of life events happened, particularly in the month of August.  First of all, I took a certified running coach course through the RRCA (Road Runners Club of America), which took up an entire weekend.  Secondly, I had to hop on a germy plane with my brother to Arizona for my mother's third wedding.  (That in and of itself deserves it's own blog post which, perhaps, I'll post at a later date.)  Then, there was the Red Sox game at Fenway.  And...and...and...

All of a sudden, I didn't feel so well.

Between life in general, my social activities/obligations and, oh yeah, training for a MARATHON, my body screamed, "oh no she didn't!".  I was grounded with walking pneumonia.

Turns out I'm a very healthy "sick" person as I never ran a fever and was still running through all this stuff.  Once we had a clear idea as to what was going on, Coach said not to run for at least three days.  My only job during this time was to rest, medicate and let my body heal.

A funny thing happened during this time.  I didn't panic.  Here I was, in the middle of a marathon training cycle, with pneumonia, not running, and it was okay somehow.  I had slowly regained my perspective.  It was then that I first asked myself that question:

Is It Ever Gonna Be Enough???

I had set my sights on qualifying for Boston well over two years ago.  This was a dream I had been chasing for quite a while.  The dream manifested into my "now" reality, which is what I'd been wanting.  I thought that if I could just get this, then I'd be happy.  Was I?  Well, yes, I was.  But, instead of "milking it", I immediately made plans to achieve another goal.  I wondered if I was really enjoying the process or whether all of this goal setting was becoming a means to an end.  When you set a goal, your life tends to move towards that.  You become focused on what it is you want to go after, and life does too.  In effect, you sort of get tunnel vision.

As I've said before, it's impossible to go through life without new desires being born within you and, of course, it's our natural inclination to expand.  But, like most things, there is a happy medium.  Somewhere between my exaltation of qualifying and lying on the couch watching reruns of the original "Hawaii Five-O" series, I realized I went off my beam a little bit.  And that's okay.  That's awareness.  

It was then that I decided that this moment was enough.  It had to be.  Maybe I'd shatter my marathon PR on October 17th.  Maybe it'll be the most fun that I've ever had running a race.  Who knows?  All I know is I don't have to do it TODAY.

One day at a time.  That's enough.

Vermont, naturally

Rise and shine, Cyndi Lou.

Time to wake up.

You have a little run to do.

I'm reminded of the Seinfeld episode entitled "The Hot Tub". Elaine is having a marathon runner named Jean-Paul stay at her apartment. He is in town to run the NYC marathon. He had stayed there once before and missed a race, so Jerry is panic stricken that it'll happen again. He takes him to a motel room, but offends the wake-up guy, so they go back to Jerry's apartment. Kramer, his neighbor across the hall, ends up having issues with his hot tub and causes a power outage which makes Jean-Paul late for his race.

I have set three alarms on my cell phone, four minutes apart and am in a room with two other pre-registered runners.

Ain't no WAY I'm missing this race. I couldn't oversleep if I TRIED.

Once we were all awake, Ted and I went down for a pre-race breakfast. The hotel had a complimentary continental breakfast, which was very convenient. We had pre-marathon friendly food that did not include eggs, bacon, sausage or "make your own belgian waffle" (although, I was SO going to try that Monday morning before we went home). Once we were all dressed, nourished and race ready, we headed out to catch our shuttle to the start.

They had been going back and forth about the weather forecast all week long. At one point, they anticipated temperatures to be in the 80's. Great for spectators. Not so much for racers. Mother Nature did her best to fake us out, but ended up with a compromise: overcast skies and a temperature of 61 degrees. It's about ten degrees warmer than optimal marathon weather, but beggars can't be choosers. We'll take it.

I have to say, lining up for the start of the marathon, I was pretty calm. I was with my friends, which probably served as a wonderful distraction from the task at hand. As we were making our way to the line, we were all talking about the goal of the race. We all had times we wanted to come in by (me, 3:45 or better), but the universal one was voiced ever so eloquently by my buddy, John:

To finish and remain continent while doing so.

Works for me.

After much preparation, the moment had finally come. All the work was over. It was time to reap the reward of weeks and weeks of training and affirming. If training for a marathon can be likened to pregnancy, then the carrying out of the 26.2 mile journey might as well be the birthing process.

Let the contractions commence.

We were off and running. Not only did Ted agree to be my pacer, but he was also my pack mule. He had all of my gu packets in his possession. The only thing I had to be responsible for carrying was my desire to qualify for Boston.

Oh yeah, and those handy cups of water they give you every mile or so.

Remember my blog post "Champions Train Alone"? That was the first time I really PRACTICED drinking out of those disposable paper cups that you get at races WHILE I continued to run. Thank you, Sheryl. Having done it in training, I knew I could do it while I ran.

I didn't have to walk and drink. Once.

Oh, don't misunderstand me, here. There were a few occasions that I thought about walking. But, it wasn't because I couldn't hydrate in motion. It was just the mind and body doing the dance.

I am running sub 3:45 marathons with ease.
I am running sub 3:45 marathons with ease.
I am running sub 3:45...marathons...with...EASE, dammit!!!

Ted was great. Of course he was faster than I was, so this run wasn't the be all/end all super duper physical challenge for him, but he knew that going in. And, because of that, he was able to stay focused on me and what I needed. Whenever I voiced my concern about the pace being too fast, he said, "you're doing just fine. Everything is okay." Even if I didn't always feel that, he knew it and could keep reminding me when I had forgotten. And, when I became a little too obsessed with checking the GPS watch, he let me know that as well.

So, there was some back and forth. I had moments of happiness. I had moments of anxiety. I had moments of confusion (try doing math at mile 20 to see how your pace per mile is and what you have to do in order to make it to the finish on time). I even had a moment of out and out PANIC on the bike path, which was actually the home stretch. Ted had been staying 10-15 feet ahead of me most of the race. And I was okay with it. Until....

Right around mile 22 or so.

At that point, I paused my iPod and yelled, "TED!!!!"

He turns and jogs back to me. I pleaded, "can you PLEASE slow down and just RUN with me????"

Instantly, he reverted to his reassuring mode, "We're doing great. We have plenty of time. We can afford to take this mile easy."

And so it went. Mile 22 led to miles 23, 24 and 25.

Only 1.2 miles to go.

Soon we would be exiting the bike path and heading towards the glorious finish line. We hit mile 26 and Ted says, "let's sprint to the finish line". At this point, I'm sure I violently objected to his annoying idea with whatever energy I had left. But, I didn't stop running.

We ran out of real estate. We crossed the finish line. As we ran through, I looked at the clock time:

3:44:10

And for the first time since 8 a.m., I slowed to a walk.

My job was over. Ted hugged me and said, "you did it! You qualified for Boston!!!" I hugged him back and was relieved. My primary emotion was relief. I wasn't ecstatically happy. I wasn't overcome with tears. I was just...relieved. And I was satisfied. I had talked about this and visualized this. I had already affirmed that I was running sub 3:45 marathons with ease. And I let it go.

After realizing that it was over and we got what we came here for, I made a beeline over to a table that had -- shudder -- cans of...SODA!!! Yes, my finicky fitness friends...SODA!!! The real stuff with the high fructose corn syrup and caramel color and phosphoric ACID....ah, bliss!!!!! I haven't been a soda drinker in a very long time, but there is something about sucking it down after having run for over 3.5 hours. All that time, the only thing to cross my lips was water, gu and gatorade. I was SO ready to taste something else.

Ted and I stayed close to the finish line waiting for our buddy, John. We had passed him on the bike path. He was having some discomfort, but he was moving and we knew he'd make it. He ended up coming in about 7 or 8 minutes after I did. When I saw him, I hugged him. He hugs me back and says, "please tell me you got this mother f**ker." I told him that yes, I had indeed "gotten that mother f**ker". He was very happy. We all were, really.

We went off in search of more soda, more water and post-run carbs. The best part about that marathon, aside from qualifying (of course), was the fact that it was in Vermont.

And you wanna know what else is in Vermont???

Ben and Jerry's.

Of course.

They were well represented at the Keybank Vermont City Marathon and we took full advantage. Eventually, I was reunited with my new friends that I had met at dinner the night before. We all shared in the joy of each other's accomplishments and recounted the most vivid moments of our experience out on the course.

And then, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, we all realized...

THERE...IS...A...Beer Tent.

Sniff, sniff. It was so...beautiful.

We stood inside enjoying the complimentary beverage that all registered runners were entitled to. As we sipped, we could still see some runners coming around to the finish...and these folks had full sun at this point. It didn't make an appearance for us in the race, but around 12:30, it had come out in full force.

And that concludes my search for the ever elusive BQ. It never really was elusive; I just had to figure that out. And I did. It took about two years, but who cares? It was coming. I just had to believe it would.

Here is the official coolrunning.com result of my marathon:

630 24/219 F3539 1:24:48 1:51:29 2:51:00 3:43:30 8:32 3:44:10 Cynthia Springford 38 F 2707 Plaistow NH

I was #630 overall, 24 out of 219 in my division (F3539), my 10 mile split was 1:24:48, 1/2 marathon split 1:51:29, 20 mile split 2:51 and my net time which, is the OFFICIAL time, was 3:43:30.

And here I was just hoping for a 3:45:58.

Expect the unexpected. Expect success always. Revel in the accomplishment. Don't chase your dreams for the sake of obtaining something. Move in the direction of your dreams because every step along the way feels good. Because desire is life force. That's what it's all about. That is why we are here.

And here, for my stat lovers, is the official Garmin Forerunner 205 data:

5/30/2010 8:03:41 AM

Total Distance
26.46 mi

Total Time
3:44:03 (didn't turn my watch off right away)

Avg Pace
8?27/mi

Avg Speed
7.1 mph

Max Speed
10.2 mph

Total Ascent
3093 ft

Total Descent
4138 ft

Lap 01 -- 8:48 (Max Speed 8.0 mph)
Lap 02 -- 7:57 (Max Speed 9.9 mph)
Lap 03 -- 8:17 (Max Speed 10.2 mph)
Lap 04 -- 8:11 (Max Speed 9.2 mph)
Lap 05 -- 8:24 (Max Speed 7.9 mph)
Lap 06 -- 8:28 (Max Speed 8.6 mph)
Lap 07 -- 8:20 (Max Speed 8.7 mph)
Lap 08 -- 8:32 (Max speed 8.0 mph)
Lap 09 -- 8:34 (Max Speed 8.1 mph)
Lap 10 -- 8:16 (Max Speed 8.8 mph)
Lap 11 -- 8:35 (Max Speed 8.3 mph)
Lap 12 -- 8:33 (Max Speed 8.4 mph)
Lap 13 -- 8:23 (Max Speed 9.4 mph)
Lap 14 -- 8:23 (Max Speed 10.1 mph)
Lap 15 -- 8:36 (Max Speed 8.9 mph)
Lap 16 -- 8:56 (Max Speed 8.6 mph)
Lap 17 -- 8:33 (Max Speed 8.3 mph)
Lap 18 -- 8:29 (Max Speed 8.1 mph)
Lap 19 -- 8:38 (Max Speed 8.0 mph)
Lap 20 -- 8:29 (Max Speed 9.2 mph)
Lap 21 -- 8:24 (Max Speed 8.4 mph)
Lap 22 -- 8:25 (Max Speed 9.2 mph)
Lap 23 -- 8:52 (Max Speed 8.0 mph)
Lap 24 -- 8:26 (Max Speed 8.3 mph)
Lap 25 -- 8:10 (Max Speed 8.6 mph)
Lap 26 -- 8:16 (Max Speed 8.4 mph)
Lap 27 -- 3:58 (Avg Pace 8:34/mi, Max Speed 8.8 mph)

And now, we celebrate. We enjoy this one for a while. We SAVOR it. And then, it's on to the next.

Naturally.

(in pre-race pic from l-r: Meghan, Bethann, John, Ted, Cyndi Lou and Christina.)

Marathon Eve

Where does the time go?

When I decided to register for the Vermont City Marathon, it was just a date on a calendar. Sure, I had a schedule and did the training runs/workouts, but it seemed so far off. It felt like the day would never get here.

And now, it's TOMORROW.

I'm a mixture of excited, anxious and impatient. Now that it's almost here, can we just get on with it? PLEASE??

I woke up on Marathon Eve, ready to do my last run before packing up and heading out to meet John and Ted. Coach gave me a 25-30 minute run to do with 5-6 10 second strides at the end of the run. I've always liked running 2-3 miles the day before a marathon. I'm not sure if the benefits are more mental or physical, but it seems to work for me. And, as they say, if it ain't broke...

After my run (which felt great), I got myself cleaned up and ready to go. I was meeting the guys in Windham, NH at 10 a.m. Ted offered to take his car for the three hour trek to Vermont, so the three of us could keep each other company.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part: this weekend, it was all about me.

Sing it with me: me, me, me, me, meeeeeeee...

This was my personal quest for the Holy Grail which, for me, was a BQ (Boston Qualifier for those who haven't been paying attention). And, I had two men fighting over who was going to pace me for it (okay, maybe they weren't "fighting", but they were both willing to step in and be "that guy" for me). Cyndi Lou was the princess this weekend and she was going to take FULL advantage. Even the marathon eve dinner reservations were all about me:

________________________________________
From: fircrakr
To: cyndi; ted
Subject:
Date: Wed, 26 May 2010 14:57:39 -0400

Cool! I sent a message back to Christina to add the three of us to the reservation and told her that you were the one that found the restaurant. It's all about Cyndi! :-)

________________________________________
From: cyndilou
To: fircrakr; ted
Date: Wed, 26 May 2010 14:35:01 -0400
Subject:
Works for me. I would say 6.

Cyndi

From: Fircrakr
Sent: Wednesday, May 26, 2010 2:38 PM
To: Cyndi; Ted
Subject:

Hey guys,

I think I mentioned that there are other friends of mine who are staying at the same hotel as us and are running the marathon. They would like to know if we can all do dinner together at the Italian restaurant that Cyndi found on Saturday. Is this okay?
If so, time suggestions as we would want to make a reservation.

Thanks,
John

_______________________________________

See? I told you. I even had the email thread to prove it.

My husband offered to drive me there so I didn't have to leave my car unattended for two days. We arrived first, because I accidentally told John and Ted to turn right off of the exit instead of left (not only do I have issues with FOLLOWING directions, it appears I also have a challenge GIVING them too). I said my goodbyes to Michael, camped out in the backseat and off we went.

It was such a nice day for a drive and the scenery is just beautiful. We listened to music and chatted about our plans for the weekend. Once we checked in and got settled, we planned on driving the route before meeting our running friends for dinner. They had a course map and description on the webpage, which is nice and all, but sometimes, you just have to see it for yourself.

About 2 hours into our drive, we started plotting lunch. We ended up finding a good thai restaurant in downtown Montpelier, which is one of my favorite types of cuisine (remember, it was all about me). After lunch, we walked the long way around back to the car, taking in the sights and checking out the little shops. Having the longest part of our journey behind us felt good. But, we weren't there yet.

Back in the car, we cruised up to Burlington. We ended up booking our hotel later than anticipated and lots of the hotels were already booked. John totally came through and found us the last room at a hotel 8 miles from the start of the marathon. And, the best news of all: there was actually a shuttle that would pick us up and drop us off at the start.

Score!!!

If memory serves me correctly, I believe we went to the Marathon EXPO in Burlington BEFORE going to our hotel, so we could pick up our race packets. I also wanted to get a Keybank Vermont City Marathon 26.2 sticker for my car. We also came upon free Green Mountain Coffee there, which John and I found particularly enjoyable. Ted found...peanut butter. If I never mentioned it before, I'll mention it now: Ted is addicted to peanut butter. He loves the stuff. He loves it so much that he doesn't allow himself to have it on a regular basis. He will only indulge post-race.

Hey, we all have our vices. Some people have internet porn. Ted has peanut butter.

Once we had our fill of exhibits, coffee and peanut butter, we headed to Colchester, where our hotel was. Check-in was a breeze. We went off to our room.

Yes, you heard me correctly: our room, which had 2 beds. Yes, we were all going to stay in the same room. Yes, my husband knew about it and, yes, he was okay with it.

Feel better now?

Ted brought his own sleeping bag and insisted that he slept very well on the floor. Since it was all about me, I didn't argue. :-) And besides, I couldn't have come up with two better roommates. Real friendships come from the heart anyway, no matter what your gender may be.

We all unpacked our stuff and decided to rest up for a bit before heading out to drive the course. We talked a bit about race strategy but, mostly, we just enjoyed each other's company and had some laughs. I could feel myself starting to relax more and think less about the impending race, which is always a good thing. We can think ourselves into insanity sometimes. Lord knows I had made an art form of that in the past. Besides, the race was still a good 16 hours away.

Driving the course was a challenging task. In the early miles, you run through the pedestrian marketplace which, obviously, is no place for a car. And, the last 4.5 miles were on the Burlington Bike path. Again, no go. But, we were able to drive around and get a good feel for what most of the course would be like. Plus, the website described the path as "flat to slightly downhill terrain". There is only one phrase I like better than flat when describing a marathon and that is "slightly downhill".

Satisfied with our exploration, it was off to dinner. The restaurant was across the parking lot from our hotel. Not only was it convenient, but it was good too! Here, I'll give them a plug:

http://juniorsvt.com/franke.html

I got to meet a few of John's friends from another running group that were also in town for the marathon. As predicted, they were very nice people and lots of fun to be around. I've always maintained that runners were the friendliest athletes. You can call me biased if you want. Maybe I am, but I really believe it. We ate, drank (well, some of us did) and talked about tomorrow. A few of them were doing their very first marathon, which made John, Ted and I veterans (VCM would the 2nd, 3rd and 5th marathons for us, respectively).

I sat with Ted to my left and John to my right. Ted and I opted to enjoy some red wine with our food. Some people have reservations about having alcohol the night before a race, let alone a marathon. And that's fine. I had tried both strategies and found, for me, the action was much less important than the intention. What I mean by that is, you can decide to abstain from a glass or two of wine the day or two before a big race and still be a big, hot mess of nerves. That's pretty much what happened in Hartford. In my coach's words: "you had built so much emotion, energy and some level of anxiety building to the event that relaxation and confidence didn't have a chance to work itself into the execution of the race". It's not so much about what you eat or drink as it is about how you feel about what you are doing. Your body is pretty good at asking for what it needs while using whatever you give it to perform at its highest level. We just need to learn how to listen.

We finished our delicious meal, said our goodbyes and went back to the hotel. Ted had picked up a bottle of dark rum at a liquor store in Montpelier, so he and John decided to have a nightcap. I decided to pass and it wasn't a matter of virtue, here. I just couldn't imagine red wine and dark rum coexisting peacefully in my stomach.

It had a been a long day. We were all ready to retire for the night. Ted was more ready than John and me; he practically fell asleep sitting up in the chair with the glass in his hand! We chuckled at his ability to sleep anywhere while agreeing that he was the best candidate to sleep on the floor. And, with that, decided to call it a night.

Before I drifted off to sleep, I thought about the race, but not with dread or trepidation. Besides, all the work was over. It was done. There was nothing left to do in preparation. Instead, I welcomed the opportunity to run a marathon with friends and decided to enjoy the experience as much as possible. This wasn't a training run, nor was this a "just finish" kind of undertaking. I knew this was going to be the race of my life.

I was ready.

Mayday! Mayday!

May 27th, 2010 marked the 21st and final day that I wrote my marathon affirmation. I suppose I could have continued to write it beyond the three week period, but, by that time, I had begun to occupy myself with thoughts of pre-marathon preparation: packing, planning and panicking.

Yes, you heard me. Panicking.

My training for Vermont City had gone extremely well. I nailed my workouts and was in a state of great physical health. I was strong, energetic and felt physically ready. However, remember this daunting statement: Running is 80% mental and 20% physical.

On this 27th day of May, I worked 6-1 and zoomed back home to cram in a 4 mile run and quick shower before my 3 p.m. massage appointment. Since I would be running 26.2 miles in less than 72 hours, this was just supposed to be an easy run to keep my legs loose and my mind focused. The taper can really mess with you, as I've discussed before.

I got myself wired for sound (GPS and iPod) and headed out the door.

The first couple of miles were pretty uneventful. I just kept chugging along, enjoying the day.

Then, around mile 3, I felt this wave of nearly overwhelming panic wash over me.

Oh
My
God

I'm running a MARATHON in three days! Omigod, omigod, omigod...

What if I can't do it???

What if I start off too fast like I did in Hartford???

What if I fail??? Everyone I KNOW knows I want to qualify for Boston at this race!!!!

Those and other equally unproductive thoughts continued to assault my consciousness with an unrelenting force. I nearly crumpled under the weight of negativity that I had allowed to creep in.

And I willingly went right along with it, bathing in self-pity and retreating to the proverbial fetal position. For a little while.

Then, all of a sudden, something inside of me shifted.

Japanese Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto is portrayed in the 2001 film Pearl Harbor, as saying after his attack on Pearl Harbor, "I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve."

That, my friends, is exactly what happened.

Remember that scene in the movie "A Christmas Story" when Ralphie reached his breaking point and goes postal on Scut Farkus? Well, my inner being proceeded to beat my chronic pattern of defeating thoughts into a bloody heap.

In other words, I had enough.

I was tired of doubting myself. I was fed up with not recognizing my worthiness. And I was SO done with this false modesty crap. When was I going to stand up and take notice of my indomitable spirit, character and ability?

Bob Harper, trainer from NBC's blockbuster reality show, "The Biggest Loser" is quoted as saying: Don't say 'I can't'. It really pisses me off. I work as a personal trainer/fitness instructor by trade, so I chuckled knowingly when I heard it. Truthfully, I would get frustrated with my clients and participants at times when they would shy away from going a little further or pushing a little harder. I would feel my blood boil when they uttered that paltry phrase.

I CAN'T.

And I would say to them, "you don't know if you can or you can't because you haven't tried. What you really mean to say is you don't want to. You're using your fear of failure as an excuse not to even try."

Wasn't I essentially doing the same thing here?

Dammit, it's just easier telling other people what to do. But, if you want to be true to yourself, you not only have to talk the talk.

You gotta walk the walk.

Or, in my case, run the run.

This time, I came to my own rescue. I heard the call of the frightened part of my personality that always feared she would never be enough. I decided, once and for all, it was time to choose me. It was time to believe in my ability to succeed, no matter what happens today, tomorrow or May 30th.

Of course, this was all happening internally as I ran that last mile home. Imagine all the motorists going by me, seeing me trot down Main Street. If only they knew about the transformation that was occurring in the heart and mind of the girl with the bouncing, blonde ponytail as she ran to, instead of away from, who she REALLY was.

The subsequent wave of relief that I felt after coming to terms with that was equivalent, in terms of intensity, to the shower of anxiety I was doused by just minutes before. But instead of being nearly overwhelmed, I was emancipated. Vindicated. Triumphant.

I'll say it again: I finally came to my own rescue. And it was high time I had.

This quote sums up that experience for me:

"Don't be afraid if things seem difficult in the beginning. That's only the initial impression. The important thing is not to retreat; you have to master yourself."

Olga Korbut
Gymnast - Four Time Olympic Gold Medalist

I'd say I earned that 90 minute massage, wouldn't you?

Crisis averted.

It's the...FI...NAL...COUNT...DOWN...

Nothing like a little 80's hair band ballad to start off my blog entry.

Bet you're going to have that song in your head all day now, aren't you???

Well, this IS the final countdown. The last big run for Vermont City is in the books and this is where training volume starts to reduce. May 8th was the last BIG long run. Nothing will be that big again until May 30th. The day after my rainy run, I did an easy 40 minute run outside to work out the kinks a bit more. I also had a massage scheduled on Monday, May 10th, which is always deliciously awesome.

But, there was something else I started to do right around the terrible taper time.

I decided to affirm.

Affirm what, you ask?

Well, I decided to create an affirmation.

What exactly IS an affirmation?

Here is wikipedia's definition:

Affirmation is a declaration that something is true.

Oh, okay.

Now, let me explain how this related to the marathon and why I thought it would be helpful.

My goal for VCM was to run a BQ which, for me, was 3:45:59 or better. So, that is how my coach had me train. All of my workouts and long runs were aimed toward running 26.2 miles in this time or faster. Great.

However, we cannot forget about the mental aspect of training. Don't quote me on this, but I read somewhere that running is 80% mental and 20% physical.

Yikes.

So, in other words, I've been running 22-23 mile long runs and doing double digit track workouts just so I am 20% of the way prepared???

Doesn't sound too comforting, now does it?

I didn't just need to train my body. I needed to train my brain.

Hence, the affirmation.

To be effective, an affirmation should be positive and in the present. In other words, act "as if" you are already doing it. After giving this some thought, I came up with this sentence:

I am running sub 3:45 marathons with ease.

There. It's positive (the "ease" part) and it's in the present (the "am running" part).

Now that I had created this powerful statement, what exactly was I supposed to do with it?

Well, I had to write it down. A lot. Like 21 times, three times a day; morning, afternoon and evening.

That's equivalent to repeating that sentence 63 times a day. And I committed to do this for 21 days.

Why 21 days?

It has been shown that it takes about that long to break, or make, a habit.

What is a habit?

A habit is something you do over and over and over again without thinking.

Bet you didn't think this post was going to be this educational, did you???

I had to declare that I was running sub 3:45 marathons with ease and I had to do it until it was something I believed. A belief is just a thought that you keep thinking. Once you plant the seed, you need to water it. My repetition of this affirmation was me watering the seed.

It just so happens that my seed was really, really, really well hydrated.

I began to establish my new pattern of thought on Friday, 5/7. I wrote out this "mantra" of mine 21 times in the morning, 21 times in the afternoon and 21 times in the evening.

And, I did this for 21 days in a row.

I affirmed that "I was running sub 3:45 marathons with ease" 1,323 times in a three week period.

I had my 20% part covered. And now, I'd be chipping away at that 80% part too. Giving it 100% of your energy and effort seems a lot simpler now once you know how it all works, doesn't it?

Will things ever be the same again?
It's the final countdown.