LI 1/2 Marathon
Waking up at 5:30am is never fun for me. BUT this was the morning of the LI half marathon. I've been running on a treadmill at a 12° incline just so I can handle the hills for weeks and weeks, today is it.
I eat my peanut butter on whole wheat, banana and drink my water. I drive to Uniondale. I am meeting Rachael at Eisenhower Park.
We say, "meet in the parking lot at say 7ish."
I don't own a cell so we are winging it. After I get there I realize that Eisenhower Park has MULTIPLE parking lots and there is no way I am going to find her. I have her race number and chip and she is going to be s#!t out of luck if she doesn't find me. I pull right in front of a bathroom and low-and-behold she's already on line. We both can not believe we found each other, cause we both didn't follow the official race directions. We both parked in the Aquatic Center lot instead of the lot at the finish line. Coincidence or sisterly ESP, you decide.
We walk to the start and miraculously we find Jen. She's just hanging out at the start and we literally walk into each other. Coincidence or best-friend ESP—either way Rachael is creeping me out.
We stretch. It is still grey and a nice temp for a run. The bane of my existence, helicopters, (I live en route between NYC and the Southampton Heliport) are flying overhead. The American flag as big as my house is being held between two fire trucks—I'm not focused on the race, I'm taking notes for the tri I'm chairing!
The gun sounds. I think, "Did they get a helicopter? Damn, maybe next time."
We're off down Charles Lindbergh Blvd. Rachael is nice enough to stay with me for, oh lets say, .0125 of a mile, then she leaves me in the dust.
I'm running a nice pace. Not so hard that I shoot my—you know what. Not so slow that I can do cartwheels at the finish. My heart rate says 85%... perfect. Mile 1, 11 min mile on the dot.
I think, "That's to fast, there is no way I'll be able to do that the whole way."
Then of course, I have to pee. "Come on! Mile 2, are you kidding me? I've been doing super kegals since like January!"
Luckily there is a bathroom right by the Coliseum. I stop, look for a bathroom with toilet paper. Of course there isn't one. Luckily this woman (spectator) sees me and gives me a Kleenex. Bless her.
All I keep thinking is, "I swear, if I get swine flu from a Porto Potty at the LI Marathon someone is gonna get b!t¢h slapped."
I get some Purell and I'm off... Then the rain starts. Sweet.
I run over the Meadowbrook Pkwy and run up beside the park —mmmm the sweet smell of AmerRefuel in the distance. This should be good for my lungs.
I'm doing well, passing people. I'm enjoying the scenery of Eisenhower Park to my right. Don't look left, nothing but chain restaurants as far as the eye can see. I realize I haven't been in these parts in like... I dunno, 20 years. We turn the corner around the park and there is Holy Rood Cemetery
Ohhhh I've been here, in 1995 when Grandpa died, "Hi Grandpa, Hi Grandma, Hi Lenore Joan, give me strength to finish this race." I run by thinking, "It really is a pretty cemetery to bad they get to look at a KFC." I'm very happy with my decision to be cremated. The things I think of running. No wonder it's my therapy.
We turn the corner 10K to the right, Marathon and 1/2 marathon to the left. Last chance to wuss out... I go left. Alright, I'm in this for the whole she-bang. We run up into Westbury on Post Road. Wow this place has really had a face-lift. New signage, New lamps. Maybe there is hope for Neighborhood Road. We go over the Northern State Parkway. I decide there, that I will run every hill no matter what. I am passing people left and right. Nice.
We turn right onto Jericho Turnpike even though the whole road is closed, I feel the need to run on the white line. I am passing the 10K point. Just as far forward as back, really at the point of no return. Still feeling good even though, at this point, it is raining so hard that my baseball cap is dripping into my line of sight and annoying me.
All of a sudden my left IT band is like, "HELLO! ENOUGH! I'VE HAD IT WITH THE COLD THE RAIN THE RUNNING I'M DONE." I stop suddenly and stretch. Holy crap that hurt.
I explain to the muscle that, "We are past the halfway point and we just have to keep going."
It laughs at me.
So I resort to bribery. "I promise, two days off and a massage."
IT band says,"two massages and three days off, then just swimming for a week." We shake on it. I'm running again. Gingerly.
At the next water station I stop and drink Gatorade. I lost my Gu and I need carbs or I'll be cramping in more places. The Gatorade helps. I run again. I'm feeling really good. Really good. I'm running to the Black Eyed Peas having fun. Goofing around, seeing if I can run between the yellow lines, waving to spectators. As I begin the ramp onto the Wantagh. Then... (Please stop reading if you are squeamish—seriously go to the next paragraph. I'll leave a marker where you can begin again. I'm serious. Dude serious—like a heart-attack. Can't say I didn't warn you.)
All of a sudden I have to poo. I mean, I REALLY have to poo. I have to walk or I'm gonna $#!t my pants. Fu¢k!ng Gatorade. I don't have a change of clothes so that ride home would be HORRIBLE. I walk up the ramp completely prairie-dogging. Thank the lord and all the angels above, clearly I haven't pissed them off this week—there is a Porto John behind some construction trucks. I open the door. OH MY GOD. If I didn't get swine flu at the last one I'm certainly going to get it here. But again, heaven smiles upon me, there is toilet paper. A few pounds lighter, I'm off again.
OK, YOU CAN READ AGAIN
I run on the Wantagh. It's completely flat and smooth. I am really enjoying myself again. Then I see it. The hill. Lapdance by N.E.R.D. simultaneously comes on my iPod. I squint my eyes and say to myself. "I'm gonna make this hill my b!t¢h."
I run up this bugger. Everyone is walking. I am trouncing them. My adrenaline surges and I dig in deeper and run faster. By the end, I'm sprinting to the top of this hill like there is a wildfire behind me and If I don't make it I'm toast.
"Take that you sorry excuse for a hill WOOOOOOOO!!!!! go mo-o, you ruu-le, it's like your birthday" I cabbage-patched in my mind the whole downhill.
The second turn-off 1/2 marathon goes right, marathon left, awesome! Next water station nothing but a 5k left. Piece of cake right? HAHAHAHA no.
Here's where I start to feel uncomfortable. Like I'm in my 9th month of pregnancy and the baby just flipped into position. Not enough to stop me from running but certainly enough to get ALL OF MY ATTENTION.
I am running with a small group of women so of course I blurt out, "Does anyone one else feel like they are pregnant right now?"
This chick in a red tee says, "Oh my god yes! I though there was something seriously wrong with me!"
Chick in the black tank says, "It's like two days before the baby comes that pressure..."
We bond.
2 miles to go. This woman in a Team in Training tank with a pink tee underneath passes me. She's my mark. I've been passing her, she's been passing me, since the start back and forth. She was the one I picked to race in the final stretch. I say good-bye to the mommy pack and chase her down. We start running together. She runs a bit faster, so I have to. I run a bit faster, so she does too. We get to chatting through quick breaths It's nice to have some company. My hips are now screaming at me. Then the knees start in. Her coach comes out to see her. He gives her a pep talk. It was nice.
We are coming into the final 3/4 mile, I see Rachael. I wave ask how she did, she tells me to finish. I realize I am not running fast enough if I can hold this conversation. I step it up. At the 1/4 mile mark this old lady passes us.
"HOLY CRAP I passed her at mile 3 and figured I dusted her. She never passed me where the hell did she come from?" I must have been her mark.
All three of us are sprinting to the finish. The old lady is winning. WTF! I have no more to give. The hips give me the finger and say, "push us harder and we'll make you fall." We finish one, two, three, I thought I was second, but turns out I was third by 1 one-hundredth of a second. I hate that.
I get my swag and go find Rachael. It's miserable out. Cold, raining, muddy I don't have the usual post-race euphoria. I hurt and I just want to get the hell out of there. On our way out I see the Purple Tent that I told Mac I'd drop in to say hi. We stop for a second. Seriously, we say "Hi mac, how'd you do? Talk on Facebook, bye. (Sorry so quick Mac... but hypothermia, you understand)
Rachael and I realize we have NO IDEA where our cars are. Since we don't read directions, we weren't at the parking lot at the finish-line. We ask some cops where Hempstead Turnpike and Merrick Road connect since that's where we parked—kinda. Each cop we ask send us in another vague direction. We wander around the park for a good 20 minutes before we find our cars. We get to the lot and Rach gives me a tee since I have no clothes to change into. I swear, everyday it surprises me that I have lived to 36. There is never a plan and everything always works out just fine. Maybe that's cause everyone I know is a boy-scout—always prepared—even my sister.
We say our good-byes and I drive all the way from Uniondale to Mastic Beach in the pouring rain with lycra pants sauseeged into Rachael's size 1 tee. I turn down Neighborhood road and pass Mommylou's Cheesecake I momentarily think "Is it illegal to walk into my neighborhood cake store in this outfit?" Mind you I was gonna wear the medal and mylar blanket they gave us.
I eat my peanut butter on whole wheat, banana and drink my water. I drive to Uniondale. I am meeting Rachael at Eisenhower Park.
We say, "meet in the parking lot at say 7ish."
I don't own a cell so we are winging it. After I get there I realize that Eisenhower Park has MULTIPLE parking lots and there is no way I am going to find her. I have her race number and chip and she is going to be s#!t out of luck if she doesn't find me. I pull right in front of a bathroom and low-and-behold she's already on line. We both can not believe we found each other, cause we both didn't follow the official race directions. We both parked in the Aquatic Center lot instead of the lot at the finish line. Coincidence or sisterly ESP, you decide.
We walk to the start and miraculously we find Jen. She's just hanging out at the start and we literally walk into each other. Coincidence or best-friend ESP—either way Rachael is creeping me out.
We stretch. It is still grey and a nice temp for a run. The bane of my existence, helicopters, (I live en route between NYC and the Southampton Heliport) are flying overhead. The American flag as big as my house is being held between two fire trucks—I'm not focused on the race, I'm taking notes for the tri I'm chairing!
The gun sounds. I think, "Did they get a helicopter? Damn, maybe next time."
We're off down Charles Lindbergh Blvd. Rachael is nice enough to stay with me for, oh lets say, .0125 of a mile, then she leaves me in the dust.
I'm running a nice pace. Not so hard that I shoot my—you know what. Not so slow that I can do cartwheels at the finish. My heart rate says 85%... perfect. Mile 1, 11 min mile on the dot.
I think, "That's to fast, there is no way I'll be able to do that the whole way."
Then of course, I have to pee. "Come on! Mile 2, are you kidding me? I've been doing super kegals since like January!"
Luckily there is a bathroom right by the Coliseum. I stop, look for a bathroom with toilet paper. Of course there isn't one. Luckily this woman (spectator) sees me and gives me a Kleenex. Bless her.
All I keep thinking is, "I swear, if I get swine flu from a Porto Potty at the LI Marathon someone is gonna get b!t¢h slapped."
I get some Purell and I'm off... Then the rain starts. Sweet.
I run over the Meadowbrook Pkwy and run up beside the park —mmmm the sweet smell of AmerRefuel in the distance. This should be good for my lungs.
I'm doing well, passing people. I'm enjoying the scenery of Eisenhower Park to my right. Don't look left, nothing but chain restaurants as far as the eye can see. I realize I haven't been in these parts in like... I dunno, 20 years. We turn the corner around the park and there is Holy Rood Cemetery
Ohhhh I've been here, in 1995 when Grandpa died, "Hi Grandpa, Hi Grandma, Hi Lenore Joan, give me strength to finish this race." I run by thinking, "It really is a pretty cemetery to bad they get to look at a KFC." I'm very happy with my decision to be cremated. The things I think of running. No wonder it's my therapy.
We turn the corner 10K to the right, Marathon and 1/2 marathon to the left. Last chance to wuss out... I go left. Alright, I'm in this for the whole she-bang. We run up into Westbury on Post Road. Wow this place has really had a face-lift. New signage, New lamps. Maybe there is hope for Neighborhood Road. We go over the Northern State Parkway. I decide there, that I will run every hill no matter what. I am passing people left and right. Nice.
We turn right onto Jericho Turnpike even though the whole road is closed, I feel the need to run on the white line. I am passing the 10K point. Just as far forward as back, really at the point of no return. Still feeling good even though, at this point, it is raining so hard that my baseball cap is dripping into my line of sight and annoying me.
All of a sudden my left IT band is like, "HELLO! ENOUGH! I'VE HAD IT WITH THE COLD THE RAIN THE RUNNING I'M DONE." I stop suddenly and stretch. Holy crap that hurt.
I explain to the muscle that, "We are past the halfway point and we just have to keep going."
It laughs at me.
So I resort to bribery. "I promise, two days off and a massage."
IT band says,"two massages and three days off, then just swimming for a week." We shake on it. I'm running again. Gingerly.
At the next water station I stop and drink Gatorade. I lost my Gu and I need carbs or I'll be cramping in more places. The Gatorade helps. I run again. I'm feeling really good. Really good. I'm running to the Black Eyed Peas having fun. Goofing around, seeing if I can run between the yellow lines, waving to spectators. As I begin the ramp onto the Wantagh. Then... (Please stop reading if you are squeamish—seriously go to the next paragraph. I'll leave a marker where you can begin again. I'm serious. Dude serious—like a heart-attack. Can't say I didn't warn you.)
All of a sudden I have to poo. I mean, I REALLY have to poo. I have to walk or I'm gonna $#!t my pants. Fu¢k!ng Gatorade. I don't have a change of clothes so that ride home would be HORRIBLE. I walk up the ramp completely prairie-dogging. Thank the lord and all the angels above, clearly I haven't pissed them off this week—there is a Porto John behind some construction trucks. I open the door. OH MY GOD. If I didn't get swine flu at the last one I'm certainly going to get it here. But again, heaven smiles upon me, there is toilet paper. A few pounds lighter, I'm off again.
OK, YOU CAN READ AGAIN
I run on the Wantagh. It's completely flat and smooth. I am really enjoying myself again. Then I see it. The hill. Lapdance by N.E.R.D. simultaneously comes on my iPod. I squint my eyes and say to myself. "I'm gonna make this hill my b!t¢h."
I run up this bugger. Everyone is walking. I am trouncing them. My adrenaline surges and I dig in deeper and run faster. By the end, I'm sprinting to the top of this hill like there is a wildfire behind me and If I don't make it I'm toast.
"Take that you sorry excuse for a hill WOOOOOOOO!!!!! go mo-o, you ruu-le, it's like your birthday" I cabbage-patched in my mind the whole downhill.
The second turn-off 1/2 marathon goes right, marathon left, awesome! Next water station nothing but a 5k left. Piece of cake right? HAHAHAHA no.
Here's where I start to feel uncomfortable. Like I'm in my 9th month of pregnancy and the baby just flipped into position. Not enough to stop me from running but certainly enough to get ALL OF MY ATTENTION.
I am running with a small group of women so of course I blurt out, "Does anyone one else feel like they are pregnant right now?"
This chick in a red tee says, "Oh my god yes! I though there was something seriously wrong with me!"
Chick in the black tank says, "It's like two days before the baby comes that pressure..."
We bond.
2 miles to go. This woman in a Team in Training tank with a pink tee underneath passes me. She's my mark. I've been passing her, she's been passing me, since the start back and forth. She was the one I picked to race in the final stretch. I say good-bye to the mommy pack and chase her down. We start running together. She runs a bit faster, so I have to. I run a bit faster, so she does too. We get to chatting through quick breaths It's nice to have some company. My hips are now screaming at me. Then the knees start in. Her coach comes out to see her. He gives her a pep talk. It was nice.
We are coming into the final 3/4 mile, I see Rachael. I wave ask how she did, she tells me to finish. I realize I am not running fast enough if I can hold this conversation. I step it up. At the 1/4 mile mark this old lady passes us.
"HOLY CRAP I passed her at mile 3 and figured I dusted her. She never passed me where the hell did she come from?" I must have been her mark.
All three of us are sprinting to the finish. The old lady is winning. WTF! I have no more to give. The hips give me the finger and say, "push us harder and we'll make you fall." We finish one, two, three, I thought I was second, but turns out I was third by 1 one-hundredth of a second. I hate that.
I get my swag and go find Rachael. It's miserable out. Cold, raining, muddy I don't have the usual post-race euphoria. I hurt and I just want to get the hell out of there. On our way out I see the Purple Tent that I told Mac I'd drop in to say hi. We stop for a second. Seriously, we say "Hi mac, how'd you do? Talk on Facebook, bye. (Sorry so quick Mac... but hypothermia, you understand)
Rachael and I realize we have NO IDEA where our cars are. Since we don't read directions, we weren't at the parking lot at the finish-line. We ask some cops where Hempstead Turnpike and Merrick Road connect since that's where we parked—kinda. Each cop we ask send us in another vague direction. We wander around the park for a good 20 minutes before we find our cars. We get to the lot and Rach gives me a tee since I have no clothes to change into. I swear, everyday it surprises me that I have lived to 36. There is never a plan and everything always works out just fine. Maybe that's cause everyone I know is a boy-scout—always prepared—even my sister.
We say our good-byes and I drive all the way from Uniondale to Mastic Beach in the pouring rain with lycra pants sauseeged into Rachael's size 1 tee. I turn down Neighborhood road and pass Mommylou's Cheesecake I momentarily think "Is it illegal to walk into my neighborhood cake store in this outfit?" Mind you I was gonna wear the medal and mylar blanket they gave us.
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