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May 30, 2006

marathons are like having babies

...in that your mind conveniently forgets just how agonizing the process is, and so you stupidly DO IT AGAIN, because you somehow cannot remember HOW MUCH IT HURTS.

If it is any consolation, this one did not hurt as bad as the first, simply because we were able to properly train. This time we had 2 20-milers under our belts, which I think made a big difference for me both mentally and physically.

Deb and I left on a lovely overcast Saturday afternoon, blessed with an EZ Pass we ganked from my Brian and Deb's huge bag full o' snizzacks. There are many funny funny FUNNY things that we shared with one another in the car, both on the way there and on the way back, that I sadly cannot recount publicly. Suffice it to say that I was nearly crying and crashing the car on the thruway because of a story she told about a down pillow leaking its feathers. SHE IS SO FUNNY.

We got to Buffalo without a problem--but the hotel was pretty crappy. I mean, it was a Hyatt and all, but we stood in line for damn ever to check in, and then our room was wrong, and then they f*cked up nearly every single other thing that we requested, etc. And ESPN was stuck on that commercial with Frank and Marie (or those respective actors) from _Raymond_. Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed (probably complaining), but the screen was skipping and blipping making Frank's hand flop and flip in his lap, making it look like he was working hard to go blind.

Race morning Deb and I woke (withOUT our requested wake-up call, the Hyattsuxthankyouverymuch) and began immediately to hop and do jumping jacks around the room to encourage some movement from our intestines. We were both soon successful, but both wary of the rebellious nature of our bowels so we Immodium-ed up anyway. I changed my shirt a couple of times, going back and forth between a tank top and a T-shirt. I settled on the T shirt, for reasons that I forget now.

The start/finish lines were right out the front door of the hotel, so we made our way to the middle of the pack. Deb and Runningburro compared their pacing bracelets with another nice runner, who had fashioned her own. Deb had made and laminated one for me, but I was NOT going to set myself up for that kind of failure. Just out to finish, that's me.

Once the gun went off, Rb and I lost Deb almost immediately. I kept an eye on her for maybe a mile, but then she was gone. The first 5 or so miles of the race was lovely--we ran through a park and alongside the lake and past a marina. The breeze was cool and the views were neat. Rb and I made some small talk, but mostly I bugged her about what our pace was (Rb has the nifty and highly-coveted-by-me GPS), which varied between a slow 9 and a fast 10.

We Gu-ed at about mile 7. Rb was pretty grossed out by hers (I think she did a berry-flavored one) and said it nearly came right back up. Urp. We took them strategically right before a water stop so we could wash their thick ick down. I was doing chocolate, which I contend is not bad if you imagine you are sucking up chocolate frosting.

The best part of the run was miles 9-thru-someting (maybe 12 or 13), where we meandered through a large wooded cemetary. It was during this leg that I talked Rb to death, telling her stories about my family and singing songs. Gah--she probably wanted to shove me into the bushes. But I felt *really* good, really solid and rhythmic. At one point as we left the cemetary Rb stopped to pee and I waited outside and helped a volunteer at a waterstop pick up cups. It felt good to squat and lean down. The only discomfort I had was a slight chafe under my arms from my (poorly-selected) shirt.

The next section took us up a large divided highway and into a city park, which was pretty gross. Aside from the stench of dogshit hanging in the humid air, there wasn't a leaved tree to be found. Plus I remember the road being sloped severely, which I try to avoid because of my dumb IT band.

Then we trekked across town through some residential neighborhoods--probably through mile 17 or 18. There were some shady lanes and some friendly faces giving out licorice and pretzels (the licorice was pretty good--but I just looked at the young girl offering pretzels and thought, "WHAT? I'm going to eat a DRY nasty pretzel NOW?? I don't think so." And I smiled told her thanks anyway). Lots of people sat out in their front yards with their water hoses which was sooooo nice.

Somewhere, though, between miles 15 and 17, my right knee blew out. Completely. As in, holy crap my leg isn't really doing what my brain is telling it to do, and when it DOES what I tell it to do it HURTS!! Rb was kind and we did a little walking, but I knew that an under-5 race was now completely out of the question for me. Stooopid IT band.

The next few miles are a blur. I remember a waterstop somewhere as we entered the nasty park again, with a *very* rude spectator/volunteer yelling and clapping and telling the runners that there was only 90 minutes until the course closed down and that we should PICK IT UP. Like, he really DID say "pick it up," I was not simply having an aural hallucination (as I have in the past). I cursed him under my breath, and then as we approached him I cursed louder, hoping he would overhear my expletive-ridden diatribe in his honor.

Near mile 20 (though we missed that marker somehow, so I'm not certain where we were exactly), an ambulance and fire truck passed us, sirens ablaze. I was so out of it that I didn't even have the energy to rubber my neck around when we got to where they had stopped, and soon after I convinced Rb to go on without me. She stubbornly refused at first, but I managed to sneakily let her leave me by slowing my pace down to near-stopping.

The sun was hot, my knee hurt, and now my first toe on my left foot felt like the nail had dislodged itself and was getting jammed back into my nailbed. I imagined my toe, sticky with blood, nail-free and the nail floating around in my shoe. I got my iPod out and found some solace in a few angst-filled Live songs. After what seemed like not even a mile, the freeekin battery died. Stooopid iPod.

I walked/ran the last 4 or so miles, feeling a mix of anger and sorrow. Anger because really, I felt strong and good except for my gimpy knee and that I should be running and making good time. Sorrow because...I'm not sure. Probably because I felt alone (people kept passing me) and because I felt sorry for myself and my gimpy knee.

Near mile 25 the course funneled me back into down town and I began passing restaurants serving lunch. Oh, the smells were enough to get me back into a decent, if crooked, jog! I can only imagine what I must have looked like: my face red-purple with flush and covered in salt and sweat, my hair hanging out of my hat in a gnarled braid, sweat staining my shirt and shorts in all the gross places. People I passed either gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up, or cocked their heads and looked at me quizzically. I smiled largely at them all. I passed some men sitting in an outdoor cafe, eating their post-race feast, their medals shining around their necks. As I approached them, they clapped and told me I was almost there. I flashed my winning-est smile and said "Thanks!" Then one of them said, "Hey, you should come back and join us when you're done."

Um. Yeah, dude. Did you SEE me?? If I had the time or energy, I would have politely declined, explaining that Deb and I had an important date with a Ponderosa in Batavia which I could NOT BREAK. Instead I think emitted a horrible, nervous, high-pitched giggle and kept running.

I came into the final stretch, traced Niagara circle in front of city hall, and started back toward the Hyatt. A man called to me: "Hey, you have to run one more block south!!"

I laughed, thinking that he was making the most unfunny, unkind joke ever made. And then I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there were indeed cones indicating that I was supposed to run one more block south.

Fuck.

But hey. What's one more block when you've just covered a gazillion?

Back in the hotel, I discovered the extent of my chafe, and the UNextent of my toenail loss. Imagine my disappointment when I unpeeled my sock to find my toenail intact. I so wished to be able to tell the story of running until my toenail fell off and floated around in my shoe, but alas it isn't so. The toenail isn't even purple; it's just a kind of yellow-white (which is a decidedly different color than the rest of my toenails, but it just doesn't project the true nature of my toe pain).

The chafe, however, is a true battle scar. I had swaths of red road rash two inches wide sweeping both underarms. The chafe remains; now it's brown and scabby (and hurts far less in the shower than it did on Sunday).

So, here's my line from the results:

596 (overall place)
535 (bib)
5:37:49 (gun time)
MF30-34 (class)
35/35 (class place) -- [I was the last woman between the ages of 30 and 34 to finish]
172 (gender place)
12:53 (per mile pace)
5:37:29 (chip time)

Rb and I decided that we'll do the Presque Isle (in Erie, PA) next September (2007) as a celebration for finishing our dissertations.

I'll have forgotten how much it hurts by then.

Posted by mryonker at May 30, 2006 04:04 PM

Comments

Posted by: Mommyprof at May 31, 2006 08:41 PM

Posted by: Denise at May 31, 2006 09:45 PM

Posted by: madeline at May 31, 2006 10:02 PM

Posted by: KarenF. at June 2, 2006 05:09 PM

Posted by: runningburro at June 4, 2006 01:52 PM