The Race

There's no excuse for how late this update is. But I wouldn't be me if I didn't try to offer an appetizer platter of rationalizations, right?

1) my dog ate my update
2) it's taken this long for my fists to unclench
3) I was arrested and thrown in jail for being such a half-marathon BADASS.

Which one are you choosing?

Anyway.

Friday night, June 11th, 2010:
Bags are packed. Astroglide, iPod arm case, bandannas, race singlet - check check check check. I have all my race documentation. My sneakers are roped through my backpack loops.


And I am nervous. Have I prepared enough? Maybe I'm kidding myself and I'll collapse on mile 10. That's way out in the woods. Will I die? Will I get eaten by a bear? If I do, will Werner Herzog narrate a documentary about it in that devastatingly sexy Bavarian accent of his? Oh God I hope so.

But I digress.

I study my race map. I have a degree in Geography & Urban Planning. I know how to read a map. This one makes my eyes go all swimmy:


I decide to put everything out of my sight and go to bed at 7pm.

Saturday, June 12th, 2010:
I'm up by 5am. I shower, pace, putter, pace, fiddle with things until it's time to take the dog to the kennel at 8am. I return home at 9am, whereupon I resume the putter-pace regimen until it's time to leave for Lake Placid at noon.

The drive is as gloomy as I am apprehensive.

It alternately spits rain and gloams over. We leave the interstate and take the small mountain road to into the heart of the High Peaks of the Adirondacks. I am struck by the immense gloomy beauty of these behemoth peaks.

Have I said gloomy enough?

We arrive in Lake Placid, pick up race bibs and head to the hotel. Which is stunning, with stunning views of the lake and stunning views of Whiteface. Stunning (at least it's not gloomy). Here's the view from our balcony:

That's Mirror Lake in the background. I am suddenly struck by the thought that I have to run around that lake, ALL THE WAY AROUND THAT LAKE, at 8am the following morning. I sit down on the edge of the bed and stare at my feet. I look out the window again. The lake looks bigger. I close the drapes.

We call Dina and wait for her before we amble over to the Golden Something hotel for the LLS Pre-race Inspirational dinner. And boy was it inspirational. The featured speaker was a young woman who was diagnosed with lymphoma shortly after giving birth to her first child. Both she and her husband were running the race. I cried a few times.

We had a team meeting with Meg, our fantastic coach (& got AWESOME temporary tattoos in the shape of the TNT logo!). Then it was back to our hotel. I feel bad, because I wasn't much company (I tend to go really quiet when I'm scared shitless), and Dina had traveled so far to support me. We watched a little bit of TV, Darryl gave me a pep talk and I set my alarm for 5am. Sleep never came easier for me than it did that night. I don't sleep at ALL before big events, but something or someone (I bet it was Frank) graced me with a fabulous night's sleep.

Sunday, June 13th, 2010:

....a day that will live....in INFAMY.

Kidding.

Race day dawned cool (cool enough for a fleece), and overcast. Morning temps were in the high 40's. I showered, dressed in my singlet, trusty lycra leggings, sneaks, and tucked Lisa's good luck token into my zipper pocket. My bright yellow bandanna goes around my head. We head down to the lobby to meet with the team. I don't think I've ever hugged so many people. Time for team photo!


Then it's a half mile walk to the starting line.

spot the camera whore!

And we were off:

click the little "play" button on the lower left.

When people ask me to describe the race, words like "ideal" "perfect" "ignorant" and "bliss" come to mind.

The first 3.5 miles were around picturesque Mirror Lake. I don't even remember that part, it flew by so fast - so much for my anxiety the night before. When we completed the loop and were about to head out of town on Route 73, I checked my watch. 38:30. I was doing an 11 minute mile! Hot dang!

After the loop around the lake, the course takes a straight shot down Route 73 to the 1980 Olympic Ski Jumps, with bathrooms and aid stations at the Horse Jumping grounds. I took a quick pit stop, and checked my watch again - STILL ON AN 11 MINUTE MILE PACE!! Super stoked.


The Ski Jumps

After the Jumps, the course heads back into the woods, and partially follows the Ausable River on the appropriately named River Rd. Mile 6 flew by. Mile 7 waved as I slapped it's ass. Mile 8 gave me the thumbs up.

Mile 9 had a different idea.

Mile 9 was when I felt an unpleasant popping sensation in my right thigh, behind my knee, accompanied by an equally unpleasant sharp jabbing pain. I slowed down. No effect. I walked. Better.

Mile 9 and Mile 10 were my injury miles. The course came back down River Rd, and as soon as I saw those Ski Jumps again, something weird happened. I started to run again, ignoring the pain. The pain was there, but there was something bigger pushing me to run. I don't know what it was, all I knew was that if I kept running, I'd finish strong and be proud of myself.

I turned back up Route 73. Mile 11. Only 2 more miles to go - ALL UPHILL. The bridge over the Ausable was a bit of a torture, but TNT people and volunteers were lining it, shouting encouragement, like "You OWN this bridge!".

Yeah, I did own it.

I have to say, had I REALLY understood how many hills were in this half marathon, I might not have signed up. Because those hills, all at mile 10 and beyond, were a bit brutal. This race really proved the adage "ignorance is bliss".

The last half mile up McLenahan Ave was a heartbreak. I say "up" because it really was up. You reach the turn off, look almost straight up into the sky, and see the Olympic Oval and finish line WAY UP THERE. Almost straight up. You plod. You hurt. It's switchback after switchback to get up this hill. Most people were walking it. I was too.

Meg, our amazing coach, must have jogged up and down that hill thousands of times that day, bringing in the TNT runners. She's my hero. Here she is, bringing me in:


Once the top of the hill was gained, there was only one lap around the Olympic Oval where Eric Heiden won his 5 billion medals, and the race was done. I finished in 3:19.


Dina and I hug it out

I got a medal and a pin for finishing. I think that's pretty cool.

But the part that melts my heart is all the support, love and compassion you have shown for blood cancer patients through your generous donations. I didn't really do anything. I waddled along like a duck for 3 hours. It's the patients that do the hard things. It's the patients that endure the therapies, the fragile hope, the unknown. They're the heroes.

What YOU did is - you gave them some peace. Your dollars are going to fund research to find a cure. Your donations will fund programs that help patients and families keep the fear at bay. For that reason, I bow to you. You are the reason hope exists.

THANK YOU for everything. I really wish I could express the depth of my gratitude. Words won't suffice.