Race Report: 2017 Boston Marathon

It's very hard to believe it has been more than a month since I did the Boston Marathon. Most days it feels like 10 months ago, and others it seems like the whole thing was some weird dream.

Or maybe nightmare.

Immediately after the race, I started to write an entry. I didn't finish and when I logged in again and read it back, I ended up deleting the whole thing and starting again. I've done that three times now. The problem is that I still haven't quite been able to sort out my feelings about the race. I still haven't really, but the second problem is that I am already starting to forget things. I imagine that running marathons is a lot like child birth; afterwards, you forget all the details - especially the bad ones - so that you'll be able to trick yourself into doing it again some day.

What I'm going to try to knock out right now is the quick and dirty account of my spectacular, horrible, terrible first Boston Marathon.

Being in Boston was incredible. The energy in the city was amazing and it was awesome to be surrounded by so many other marathon runners. Picking up my bib number felt surreal. So did walking down Boylston and seeing the finish line as we made our way back to the hotel from the expo. Everywhere you looked there was a runner, a run-related slogan, good luck signs. All of the shops on Newbury and Boylston (and every where else) had athletic wear in their front windows; Boston blue and yellow were all over the place. The commercials on the local channels were dominated by Sketchers, with Meb and Kara schilling of course. All of the news reports had some marathon-focused story.

The news reports spent a lot of time talking about the weather. I had been having anxiety about it for about a week, watching as the temperature crept up degree by degree. On Sunday, as we sat at Fenway Park sweating in 85* heat, my panic about the weather continued to build. The BAA sent runners an email with a heat warning and advice as to how to adjust race day plans accordingly. I drank a Gatorade at the game and water for the rest of the day, trying to reach juuuuuust the right level of hydration. In my mind, I adjusted my goal for the day to something between a 3:45 and a 4:15. I told myself I would be fine if I took it easy, but my anxiety continued to grow.

On race morning, my stomach was in knots. It was 70* and sunny when I stepped out of the hotel lobby on to the sidewalk. I've never been as terrified of a marathon in my life. The dread in me was huge. I tried to put on my game face and pump myself up as I was getting ready, but as soon as I boarded the charter bus to Hopkinton, I got into my head and never quite got out again.

Walking into Athlete's Village

At Athelete's Village, I searched for a girl named Nicole, who I know from an online running group. We were assigned to the same wave and corral and were going to try to at least start the race together. The plan was to find each other at the Med tent in Athlete's Village, but it was impossible. I've run big races before - 30,000 person races - but it didn't prepare me for the complete chaos at Athlete's Village. I circled the med tent about a dozen times, taking a break to hit the portie potty one last time before they called us to start walking to our corral. Even as we did that, I stopped on the sidewalk and searched the sea of runners for Nicole's bright pink shorts and blonde hair. A woman came up to me with a huge Sharpie in her hand and asked if I would write her name on her arm for her. I wanted to be like "Are you kidding me? I'm obviously looking for someone right now!" but I didn't want to be rude, so I did it. I have no idea what her name was, by the way. I wasn't going to write my name on my arm but decided at that point to have her return the favor and she scrawled "KATHRYN" on my right arm.

During the walk to the corals, the goosebumps came and reality of what I was about to do set in. I teared up quite a few times and just kept saying to myself, "Oh my God, I'm about to run the Boston Marathon." I tried to ignore the fact that I was already sweating and we hadn't even started running yet. Instead, I tried to revel in the moment and soak it in. All around me, my fellow runners were strangely quiet. I had expected excitement and a lot of energy, but it seemed more like a death march, which didn't help my anxiety.

Being in coral 1 meant that I had the longest walk. As I finally found my gateway into my corral and started to work my way toward the front(ish) area, I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Stuart, the man who was my pacer at Wrightsville and who helped me get my BQ. I was so relieved to see a familiar face that I almost cried. How he found me in that press of people I will never know, but I'm so glad he did because something clicked in me and I suddenly felt more calm than I had for days.

Before I knew it, we were counting down. 5-4-3-2-BAM. We were off. Stuart had run Boston 8 times, so he was giving me course tips and strategies as we quickly made our way through the first 5k. It was hot, but I thought maybe it would be bearable. We were also hot, pace-wise. Everyone warns you to not get swept up in the downhill and adrenaline of the first few miles of this course. EVERYONE. I had told myself over and over that I couldn't allow that to happen and that I needed to try very hard to keep an 8:30/mile pace during those first 5 miles or so, but here I was, running happily next to Stuart at a sub 8:00.

"Stuart, we're going too fast," I warned. He assured me that we'd be ok and our pace would even out when we hit the first hills. I figured that he is a Boston vet, that he was an excellent pacer who got me to the race in the first place, and that I was safe with him. So I stuck by his side, cutting through people to get the best tangents and sailing for the first 10k. I was grateful for his company and knew that he wouldn't lead me astray. We stayed together through mile 7, when I knew that I needed to let him go if I was going to survive this race.

Mile 1 - 8:05
Mile 2 - 7:48
Mile 3 - 7:53
Mile 4 - 7:50
Mile 5 - 8:02
Mile 6 - 8:05
Mile 7 - 8:19

Having consumed an entire Gatorade and a bottle of water at Athlete's Village, I found that I really needed to go to the bathroom. Normally stopping at a portie potty during  a race is not something I would do; I'd just run through it until the feeling went away, which for me it inevitably does. But I knew this wasn't going to be a PR and I didn't see the point in making myself remain uncomfortable, so I stopped during mile 8. Honestly, I don't remember much about miles 9-12. I took a salt tab, probably sometime around 10. In an effort to avoid dehydration, I walked through each water stop to make sure that I actually consumed a full cup of water. I also dumped a cup on my head and neck. The walking started to show in my splits, but again, I knew this wasn't a PR and I was ok with doing everything that I could to have a decent race experience and prevent complete misery.

Faking it early, somewhere around mile 8

Mile 8 - 9:26
Mile 9 - 9:02
Mile 10 - 8:34
Mile 11 - 9:16
Mile 12 - 8:41


During training and in the days leading up to the race, as my anxiety about the weather reached a fevered pitch, I just kept telling Kit (and anyone else who would listen) that all I wanted to do in Boston was enjoy it and not get to the point where I just wanted it to be over. Walking through the aid stations was helping me keep my mental shit together, at least at first. If I walked, I could drink. If I drank enough, I wouldn't dehydrate. If I didn't dehydrate, I'd be ok.

Everyone always says that you hear the famous Wellesley Scream Tunnel before you get to it. I started listening for it during Mile 12 as we entered the town. Even before throwing my time goal out of the window due to the heat, I had planned on kissing at least one of the Wellesley girls. Now, having walked through aid stations and stopped to go to the bathroom, I decided I was going to kiss as many of them as I could.

And I did. So many that I lost count. Probably somewhere between 8-10. Maybe more. I kissed the ones who had funny signs, I kissed the one who had the sign that said she was from Maryland, I kissed the ones who looked like they weren't getting many takers, and the ones who were about to graduate.

I kissed that girl! The one with the Maryland sign.

I was running Boston, dammit, and I was going to do it right.

Despite these antics, I was still pretty much on pace for a 4:00 marathon at the half way mark. My time was 1:52:34 at this point, with an 8:35 average. Pretty much just where I had aimed to be.

But after the adrenaline rush or Wellesley, I completely crashed. In comparing battle stories after the race, it seems that a lot of other people also started to really feel the effects of the heat and sun between miles 13-15. A lot of others told me that they felt ok until that point and then BAM, it hit them all at once.

Yup, pretty much.

Mile 13 - 9:55 (Still a decent pace considering all the kissing)
Mile 14 - 9:21
Mile 15 - 10:01

I kept to my plan of only walking during aid stations until 16, when we hit a pretty steep hill. I walked up it and after that, I never quite got myself moving again. I was completely, utterly miserable. After Wellesley and until mile 21 is pretty much already wiped from my memory. I was taking handfuls of ice from spectators and cold wet paper towels. I put them under my arm pits, on the back of my neck, and down into my sports bra. I ran through every fire hydrant, every hose. Dumping the water over my head at aid stations felt like heaven. In the small town of Woodland, there is a right hand turn (one of only 4 turns in the entire race, which is why I remember it) and on the corner was a fire station that had set up a misting tent. I had been toward the outside of the turn but as soon as I saw that mist tent, I cut across (along with every else) and ran through, summoning the most enthusiasm I'd had since Wellesley as I released a happy "Whoop!!!" I was completely soaked through, head to toe, but I didn't care.

A lot of people around me were in complete misery too. I commiserated with a few of them, but I never really made a friend in the same way that I have at past marathons. As the day wore on, I feel like we all started to retreat into our own personal bubbles of determined misery. Honestly, it was the loneliest race I have ever run. At one point, I was so desperate for some encouragement that thought about stopping and asking a spectator - a nice, kind looking spectator - if I could borrow their phone to call my husband. I just wanted to hear a comforting voice so badly. I even started to toy with the idea of stopping and asking some of the grandmotherly-looking spectators for a hug.

I cried. I don't know when I first broke down, but it was during this stretch.

I started to feel so full that at aid stations I simply couldn't drink any more Gatorade or water. Despite that, I forced myself to take a few sips and dumped the rest over my head.  My mouth got extraordinarily dry - like sand paper.

The hills of Newton barely registered. Don't ask me about Heartbreak Hill... I couldn't tell you which one it was. It seemed like there were 50. There were SO many spectators throughout Newton. I walked a lot and I was downright ASHAMED. One of the few memories I still have of this section is of a woman running past me on my left and as she did, she smacked my butt really hard and said, "Get moving, girl - come on!" I was soaking wet and the sound that her hand made when it connectedly solidly with my backside was almost deafening in my ears and wouldn't you know it - it actually worked. I ran a couple hundred yards up to the top of whatever hill we had been climbing at the time. Don't ask me if it was Heartbreak. I have no idea. But I'm grateful for that woman who literally smacked me out of my stupor for a few minutes.

After Newton and it's hills, we were suddenly in the last 10k and I was becoming aware of the fact that my hands were starting to go numb. It started on the outside, with my pinkies, and was working its way across my fingers toward my thumbs. I also noticed that despite having run through all the hoses, fire hydrants, and dumping water on my head, my top was bone dry. I had stopped sweating.

This is the point where my mental game completely broke down. I had never experienced my hands going numb during a hot race and suddenly the specter of heat stroke entered my brain. I knew if I passed out, they would never let me continue the race and I would DNF.

I had come too far to DNF.

With my fear building - and no doubt causing even more symptoms to manifest as I went in to full on panic mode - I made the decision that I was going to stop at the med tent at mile 21.

I was completely lucid and apparently didn't look too bad, because the staff just asked me if I was dizzy (no), if I was cramping (no), if I needed water (I guess, but I'm having a hard time drinking). They asked me if this was my first marathon. I laughed and said, "Heck no, this is my eighth." Obviously they thought I was a rookie who had no idea what I was doing. That chapped.

I sat in a chair, forcing myself to sip a bottle of water and watching people run by. I have no idea how long I stayed there... from what I can figure out from my cumulative vs moving time in my split breakdown, it looks like I sat there for 5-6 minutes. My mind was gone. I asked, "So how far do I have left to go?" The medic replied, "About 5 miles." I could walk 5 miles if I could. I got up and kept moving.

Mile 16 - 8:55
Mile 17 - 11:06
Mile 18 - 11:17
Mile 19 - 11:51
Mile 20 - 12:11
Mile 21 - 15:39

Aside from the threat of a DNF, the thing that kept me going was knowing that Jason and Kit were up ahead, probably worried to death, waiting for me to come. My muddled brain couldn't remember where Kit said he'd be, but I thankfully was able to remember that he was wearing his bright blue Monument Avenue 10k shirt, so I spent the next few miles desperately searching for him.

When I finally spotted Kit, at the left hand turn (don't ask me what mile it was. I have no clue...22? 23? 24?), I picked up into a run and went straight to him. He had that look on his face - the one where you're trying really hard to smile to offer encouragement, trying not to cry yourself. I knew that look very well because I wore it at Erie for 13 miles, when I was worried sick and waiting for him to run past.

"This is the worst, hardest thing I've ever done," I wailed, and hugged him. If I hadn't been so terribly dehydrated, tears would've been pouring down my cheeks. Kit gave me a big hug and then held me at arms length and just said, "I know, but you're going to finish, ok?"

"I can't!" I wailed again. I was so done.

"But you WILL FINISH."

I suddenly became aware of the fact that immediately to my right, there was a giant TV camera/cameraman, pointed our direction. "Oh GOD this better not ever be on TV!" I cried. The fear of national embarrassment is what got me moving again. Before I left, I begged Kit to call Jason and tell him I was alive and I was coming. Slowly, but coming.

Boston College was next and as I passed through all the drunk college students proffering beer and yelling "16334, you can do it!" embarrassment started to wash over me. As I walked/shuffled I tried to keep my head up and sometimes gave a thumbs up to people who yelled my name or bib number. But I was devastated inside.

During those last five miles I remember little. There was a woman who power walked past me and said, "This is sad for us, yeah? So sad." I could only mumble my agreement. Later on, a man running for Dana-Farber came up next to me and for a little while we walked/ran together. I became a bit jealous of his Dana-Farber status, because the spectators all yelled and cheered for him as we passed. Being with him for a few minutes helped me, though, and when he said he was running the rest and left me, I wanted to run with him but I just couldn't. I was saving my energy for Boylston Street. There was no way in hell I was walking down Boylston.

At some point, I realized that a race photographer station was set up and snapping pictures of me walking. Something I always try to do is fake it for the cameras, but I didn't even do that. You can see the frustration and humiliation all over my face in the photos.

When I saw the Boston Strong sign on the overpass just before the right on Hereford, a surge of emotions washed over me: relief, that I was almost finished; shame, that I hadn't been able to power through and be truly Boston Strong; sadness, that my experience was about to be over and I wanted it to be; and excitement; Jason was just around the corner and so was the most famous stretch of street in the marathon world.

Jason had told me his plan was to be on the outside corner of Hereford and Boylston, so as soon as I turned right on Hereford I had one mission, which was to spot him. I needed him so badly at that point. I was emotionally drained; completely bereft, devastated, and ashamed. My brain could only think of three things: red hat, green shirt, yellow sign. Then there he was. I found my legs again and ran toward him. By some miracle, a friend from a Facebook running group, who I'd just met the day before, was across the street on the opposite corner and somehow managed to record this moment.

I can't tell you how much I needed to be embraced, how I much I needed someone who knew me to comfort me in that moment. Yes, the spectators are all amazing at Boston. But they didn't know the whole story. Jason knows how hard I worked, all that I (we) went through, and just how disappointed I was that this was how things turned out.

Jason gave me the strength I'd needed to finish and as I left him and made the turn onto Boylston, all of the negativity that I had been feeling disappeared as the cheers of the crowds washed over me. Again overwhelmed by emotions, I started to cry. It didn't matter that it had taken me God-only-knows-how-long to get there, but I got there. I was on Boylston Street, about to finish the freaking Boston Marathon. I fixed my eyes on the finish line and ran.

Mile 22 - 17:29
Mile 23 - 14:38
Mile 24 - 12:52
Mile 25 - 15:51
Mile 26 - 17:35
Mile .2 - 5:16

When I was out on the course at my lowest point, I couldn't wait to cross the finish line because as soon as I did, I was going to lay down flat on my back on the pavement and let them carry me off. I just didn't want to have to move anymore. But after I crossed, I didn't do that. Instead I headed directly for the hard earned medal that had been the focus of everything for more than a year. I sobbed as the volunteer put it around my neck and she said, 'Ohhhh we've got another emotional one here!" At that moment, I wanted to punch that lady. OF COURSE I'M EMOTIONAL DO YOU KNOW WHAT I JUST WENT THROUGH???

I didn't punch the lady.

Instead, I shuffled to the mylar sheets. I wasn't cold, but I wanted one to have as a souvenir. I didn't have the wherewithal to put it around my shoulders, but two volunteers tag teamed one with one draping it around me and the other fastening my new super hero cape with a piece of tape. I continued through the chute, gathering a Gatorade and a big bag of food, as I headed toward what I thought was an exit at the end of Boylston. The plan had been to meet Jason, Kit, and Lauren at the Make Way for Ducklings statue in Boston Green. Unfortunately, I couldn't get there by the most direct route and was being forced to go right to walk a few blocks to the family meet up area - which was in the opposite direction of the Ducklings.

I took one look at what seemed like a very long walk to the family meet up area, then at the line of wheelchair-wielding volunteers in red shirts who lined the street, and decided I was going to med. I walked up to the closest volunteer and asked if she would take me to med and before I knew it, I was sitting (blessed sitting!) and moving faster than I had in 3 hours as she wheeled me toward the tent.

To be clear, I didn't go to med just because I was tired. I was also aware that I was bone dry (not sweating), my hands were tingling again, and I figured that given how I'd felt on the course it was probably a good idea to at least get looked at by some medical professionals.

In med, I gratefully laid on a cot while a very nice nurse took my blood pressure (60/90... low, but as she said, "you're a runner so I'm not too worried). She listened to my pulse and heart, asked me how I felt. I really couldn't say anything more than tired. I was just really tired and really NOT sweaty. I asked if they had a phone I could borrow. No doubt Jason was worried about me and wondering where I was. They handed me a little Nokia and my mind was so gone that it took me a few tries to remember how to use it. First I called Jason. He didn't answer. I figured I should try Kit, but I don't have his number memorized. It was written on the back of my bib, but I found that I couldn't sit up to read it. I unfastened the safety pins and when the nurse came back, I asked her to read his number. I called him, he didn't answer either. I was tired, so I gave up and laid back for a little while. I tried again in a little bit and finally got a hold of Jason. I told him the situation and that he needed to come meet me at med.

I felt better so I sat up and asked the nurse if I could be discharged. As she finished my paper work, I looked around me at the other runners - most far worse off than me - and said, "Why on Earth do we do this to ourselves??" The nurse just looked at me, shrugged and said, "I really don't know!"

"It's because we're all f*cking crazy," I said and stood up to leave.

I expected Jason to be outside of the med tent but he wasn't; I figured that maybe they didn't let non-runners into the barricades so I headed toward the family meet up area. On the way, I passed the official finisher portrait area so I stopped to get one. Why the hell not, right? 

Fake it til you make it, right?

Notice the salt on my shorts. That has never happened to me before.

I'll spare you the rest of the details, but it took a while for me to finally find Jason and Kit. By the time we were reunited, my mind was pretty much gone and I was starving. I had accidentally left my bag of food back at the med tent and there was no way in hell I was going back for it.

We walked to the hotel and I insisted on taking a few pictures. I was feeling proud that I had muscled through and finished. I still had no clue what my actual finish time was.

Afterwards, Kit was a dear and walked to get us some pizza. We were all starving. Jason went upstairs to the room with me and I got my shower and got in bed, which is where I ate my pizza.

After lounging in bed for a while, I decided that I wanted ice cream so Jason and I headed out to Boylston for some dessert.

All around me were other runners, all telling similar tales of woe. No one had a great race that day, it seemed. After my initial surge of pride at having finished, I was circling back toward disappointment in my race.

Later, when I was laying in my bed again, I couldn't quiet my mind so I was scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I saw a post show up in the RVA Runners page. It was me, running on the Potterfield Bridge. The caption on the post said, "RVA Represent on the big screen in Fenway!" A friend had tagged the post, "Kathryn isn't that you??"

It was!! I was so confused. What was happening and why was I on the big screen at Fenway?? Then I remembered. We took the video on my birthday run. The BAA had sent out a call for runners to take short videos of them during their training to submit for possible inclusion in a compilation they were putting together. I had been wracking my brain trying to think of where to film a short segment that would get noticed in what I assumed would be a sea of submissions. I settled on the T Pot, with the Richmond skyline in the background. It's a striking and not just another road or sea of trees, so I thought it would have a chance. I had never heard from BAA and assumed it wasn't included. But it was - and it was shown as part of this video at the official BAA after party.

How ironic was it that when I was feeling like a huge failure, there I was running across the big screen at Fenway, with that particular quote under me?

I've continued to struggle with my feelings about the whole experience. Six weeks (!) later, the misery is starting to fade and I have come to terms with it... kind of. I didn't know what my official finish time was until the next day. Jason and Kit knew, but I hadn't been able to summon the courage to look. When they told me, I started to laugh hysterically. It's a cruel kind of joke to have your personal worst race at your first Boston.

Even though my official Boston finish time is 4:49(something) the time I will always associate with my first Boston Marathon is that BQ of 3:30:05. That number is why I was there and that is still what I am most proud of. During the race, when I was walking, I wanted to yell at people, "I am a 3:30 marathoner. I've been injured. I don't walk. This is NOT ME."

Of course I've thought long and hard about what happened. Physically and mentally, I was on the edge of a knife. I knew I was barely trained; not through fault of my own but just due to the foot surgery and longer than expected recovery. Knowing that created the seed of self doubt in my mind, which was then blown out of proportion by the weather forecast.

Everyone asked me, "Was it your foot?" No. It wasn't my foot. My foot didn't hurt afterwards either, though I have a bet with Kit as to whether or not I'm going to lose the 2nd toenail on my right foot (note - I have NEVER lost a toenail from running). The only real pain I experienced was in my mid-back, and it was intense. But it wasn't anything that I could have pushed through and would have pushed through any other time.

No, what happened to me in Boston was simple. I got into my head, I let anxiety take over, and I let it rule my day. The heat scared me. There had been a lot of reports prior to Boston about runners keeling over and dying after finishing races. Those reports scare the crap out of me. I always wonder if I'm next, even though I've gone to my doctor and had my heart looked at, etc. Those thoughts were in the back of my mind in Boston.

Mostly, I am disappointed in myself and the lack of mental strength. I have no doubt that I could have run that marathon in four hours, even with the heat, if I just hadn't given in to all of my fears. But I did. I let my mind win. It's a hard lesson to learn, especially at an iconic race like Boston. But it happened. I can't change it. I won't make the same mistake again. I am also a person who hates excuses. Other people had bad races that day, but not epically bad like mine. I was weak and that's that.

In a way it is kind of fitting that I had to struggle so hard to complete Boston. The twelve months leading to the race were marked by struggle, pain, and determination. The marathon was the same.

Everybody has a blow up race. Mine was my Boston debut. It sucks. But hey... I finished the thing. That's what I hold on to.

I also have to thank everyone who tracked me that day, who wished me well, who congratulated me afterwards. My sweet coworkers who decorated my cube for my return, my family who tracked me the whole time, everyone who hugged me. Knowing you were all watching helped me get through. I only hope I didn't disappoint you.

I have to also thank Jason for believing in me and letting me pursue this insane thing. And of course to Kit, for training with me and never letting me give up.

There's a lot to learn from running.  It taught me ultimate respect for the people who are out there for 5 hours. It taught me to just keep going. That the time on the clock doesn't always define a success.

The day after the race, I visited the Adidas running headquarters on Boylston. They have a cool topographical relief of the course there, surrounded by quotes from Boston greats. This one struck me, hard.

"I have as much respect for those who run and do not finish first

as I have for the ones whose strength, endurance and training brings them first place."

- Roberta 'Bobbi" Gibb, first women to run the Boston Marathon

Boston humbled me. It hurt me, it tried to put me down. But I won't let it. I trained really hard to get there and fought back from an injury that wouldn't quit. I did something big that day, even if it didn' turn out the way I wanted it to.

Onwards and upwards.

Have Your Cake - Steamtown Marathon Recap

Marathon 3 is finished, and I'm so pleased to be able to report that it turned out to be a lovely piece of cake.

I loved the Steamtown Marathon, from start to finish. I haven't written because for some reason, I'm having a really hard time expressing my thoughts about it. It's odd, because it was a fantastic time: a picture perfect fall day, a beautiful course full of natural scenery and adorable Pennsylvania villages, crowd support that included my personal weakness - adorable old men from Lion's clubs and military vets, a surprise appearance by Husband at mile 17, and the company of my Sensei for 23 miles.

It wasn't all rainbows and butterflies. By mile 10, I knew that my SI was going to be a problem - and it was. By mile 21, my left leg (what I could feel of it) felt like a lead weight. From there out, I had to concentrate very hard to maintain decent form and keep moving. Thank God Kit and I ended up running together - if he hadn't been with me, I'm sure I would have stopped to stretch or walk. As it was, I did not walk a step and maintained my pace thanks to pure grit and the determination that I wasn't going to let Kit out of my sight.

Waving at Jason, mile 17

They aren't kidding about the hills. Running down the mountain was, as expected, tricky - but not for the reasons I thought it would be. In my mind, it would be very steep but it wasn't at all. The downhill was subtle enough that we hardly even noticed it. I found myself asking if we were running down the mountain yet (we were) and because it was so NOT obvious, we had to really pay close attention to our pace. But the quiet mountain road was also my favorite part of the course. Fall has truly arrived in northern Pennsylvania, and the beautiful reds, oranges, and golds of the foliage that lined the road were a glorious sight. Paired with the quiet interrupted only by the sound of foot falls, it was a meditative experience that gave me goosebumps.

No - the mountain isn't your worry in Steamtown. The truly challenging part of the course is from mile 23-26.2, not because of the typical end-of-a-marathon aspect, but  because there are some evil, monster hills to take on. As we approached the very steep hill at mile 23, I looked at Kit and said, "Well, this is where sh*t gets real, Sensei." We then did what we do to psych ourselves up - curse at the hill. Kit went barreling up and me with my bum leg followed behind, yelling at him to "make that hill your b*tch!" the whole time. That was just the warm up though - the hill at Mile 25 is what really separates the boys from the men. It is no joke, let me tell you. But it seems like all of Scranton is out there lining the sides of Washington Street, screaming, yelling, and cheering and there is no walking when you have that kind of support.

The trail portions were beautiful respites. It was quiet in the woods and the scenery around us was just gorgeous. The soft surface felt good on our legs after pounding down a mountain on pavement for 14 miles. A lot of people complain about the trails but I, for one, think they are one of the loveliest things about the course.

I didn't cry at the finish this time. I was too focused on the task at hand to feel any emotion. There was no room in my brain for anything other than concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

Approaching the finish

But once I crossed the line and realized what I had done, there were lots of smiles.

Despite that cranky SI, I managed to finish in 3:46:25 - an 11 minute PR from Richmond. My super secret goal was 3:45:00, so I didn't quite make it according to the official clock. However, my Garmin showed 26.5 miles when I finished so as far as I'm concerned, I did run 26.2 miles in 3:45:00. I'll make it official next time, I hope.

Not only did I have a massive PR, I also managed to run the marathon with a negative split. My first half was completed at an average pace of 8:35 and the second half at 8:32. This is precisely what I had wanted to do, but thought it would be impossible given my SI situation and the uphills at the end. That I accomplished it is the perfect demonstration of what you can achieve when you put your mind to something.

My splits, according to Almighty Garmin.

I wanted to run Steamtown for me, and I did. But I am so grateful that Kit and I were on the same running wavelength for so much of the race. Steamtown taught me that even though running is an incredibly  individualistic pursuit, sometimes just the steady presence of a running buddy beside you can make all the difference. Though we both ran our own races, I think it is safe to say that the parts were greater than the whole for Kit and I in Steamtown. We both had some difficult moments; luckily they were not at the same time, so the struggler was pulled by the stronger and vice versa.

Kit finished just before me, and as soon as I crossed the line I started yelling his name over and over trying to find him in the crowd to share our accomplishment. I think the med staff thought I was hysterical, because I was stopped twice and asked if I needed medical attention. "No! I just need to find my friend!!" I told them. When I found him, our celebratory hug was fantastic. We had both achieved PRs and we had done it together.

Don't worry, Steamtown. I fully intend to purchase this photo,
as I think it is the biggest I've ever seen Sensei smile.

Though a completely different experience from Rock n Roll Raleigh Marathon, Steamtown also drove home the point that with enough mental fortitude, I can do anything. You can't see in my splits where my leg started to give out. That's because I absolutely refused to let it stop me. You can't see the hills either, because I was conquering those things. My slower laps (mile 16 and 19) were, I believe, on the trails, where we did slow down ever so slightly as it became very necessary to watch where each foot fall went on the uneven surfaces. Otherwise, it was truly a full steam ahead effort in every way.

My mantra for the day.
"Resolve" is one of my new favorite sentiments.

Not only did Kit and I have a fantastic day, but the rest of our group thoroughly enjoyed Steamtown. We are especially proud of our girl Lauren, who absolutely crushed it and earned herself a BQ. She shared her goal with the group while we were hunkered down in the high school gym at the top of the mountain, waiting for the start. We all knew she'd do it because when Lauren sets her mind to something, consider it done. Whenever things got rough for me, I thought about her up ahead, running even harder than I was to get that BQ, and knew that I had to keep going - pushing her from behind with all of the karma I could muster. After crossing the finish, I found Jason who told me that she had earned that BQ and I was more excited for her than for myself. When I found her, I hugged her so hard (partially hoping some of her greatness will transfer to me, but mostly because I was so happy and proud that I couldn't stand it!).

Our BQ Girl.

Lauren's achievement is even more amazing considering she is a med student who barely has time to eat and/or sleep, let alone train for a marathon. Her natural talent and determination can't be stopped! We are all looking forward to cheering her on in Boston in 2016.

So, thanks Steamtown, for a great day. The Richmond Steamtown Contingent all agree that we'll be happy to come back any time to run your race again!

Kit, T, me, GB, and Will, taking a bite out of our well-earned medals.

Race Report: Raleigh Rock 'n' Roll Marathon

Before I delve into the narcissistic recollection of my second marathon, I will start this blog entry by recognizing that two of my fellow runners died while attempting to complete the Raleigh Rock 'n' Roll Marathon on Sunday, April 13, 2014. Both were competing in the half marathon, both were men in their 30s. I wish I could say that I am surprised; that I didn't think to myself, "Man, it is really hot and this course is really hard. I hope that no one dies today." But I did think that, somewhere around mile 18 as I struggled and watched almost everyone around me struggling too. I was horrified to learn that my thought was prophetic. While I remain thankful that both Teresa and I finished the race on our feet and ok, my thoughts are with the families of those runners.

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To say that I was an anxious mess in the days and weeks leading up to my second marathon is an understatement. I felt woefully under-prepared, my SI joint continued to wreak havoc on me, and my left foot (the previously-broken one) started to bother me so much in the week leading up to the race that I was convinced that the foot was going to break mid-race. So convinced, in fact, that I got my crutches out of the attic and asked Husband to put them in the backseat of my car when I wasn't looking so that I would know they were there but would never have to lay eyes on them. I also made a panicked phone call to BFF Steve on Friday, who talked me off the ledge and told me to just run the race. I'm pretty sure that he thinks I am 100% certifiable now.

Add to this list of grievances the weather forecast - a low of 58, high of 81, under sunny skies. Sounds like a picture perfect spring Sunday if you're going to sit on a porch and sip tea or maybe take a nice leisurely hike, but not if you're going to run a marathon. Especially if you're going to run a marathon after having trained in the polar vortex for the past 4 months and therefore have no conditioning for running in warm weather.


Then there were the myriad smaller worries: T had strained a muscle in her quad and was really concerned she wouldn't be able to finish the full; the entire East Coast was under siege from the Pollen Vortex; we'd heard that the course was really hilly and difficult; and this was the inaugural Rock 'n' Roll event in Raleigh, which of course can lead to all kinds of shenanigans.

Thanks to all of these factors, I already knew that Raleigh was not going to be PR for me - and that was fine. Truly, all I wanted to do was finish under my own power and without the need of medical attention for heat exhaustion or broken limbs.

We arrived in Raleigh on Saturday afternoon around 2:30 pm and parked at our hotel, which also happened to be attached to the convention center where the race expo was taking place. Staying at the host hotel was, without a doubt, the smartest thing we did this past weekend. Not only did it make packet pick up painless (for once), we were able to basically roll out of bed on Sunday morning and be at the start after a 5 minute walk, then go straight through the finish area and get back to our room almost instantaneously after the race.

Greeting in our hotel lobby

Despite a lot of scary language and rules posted about switching corrals on the Rock 'n' Roll website, I was able to switch to T's corral (she was in 4, I was in 7) without a hint of hassle. Half of the expo was taken over by the Brooks set up, the other half hosted far fewer exhibitors that I expected. Personally, I hate expos and usually spend as little time at them as possible, but T likes to window shop so I think she was disappointed. We did end up purchasing Flip Belts, which are hands down the best race belt ever invented. If you don't have one, get one now. It does NOT bounce at all and you really do forget that you were wearing it.

We also tried on Hokas, which I still say are absolutely ridiculous. To each his own, I suppose.

After the expo we went about getting drunk on carbs at Caffe Luna, a local restaurant that was within walking distance of our hotel. I ate what seemed like an entire loaf of white bread and a very nicely prepared linguine with pesto and chicken. Full of food, we decided to meander a bit through downtown Raleigh as we made our way back to the hotel. Once we arrived we laid out our gear for the morning, set the alarms on both of our phones, and went to bed.

The sun was not up yet when our alarms went off at 6 am. The race was scheduled to start at 7 and thanks to our proximity to basically everything race-related, we were able to sleep later than on typical race mornings. After applying copious amounts of Glide and sunscreen, we left the room at 6:45 am and were trying to figure out how to get into our corral around 6:50 am when we heard the announcement that the race start would be delayed by 10 minutes. Fine by us, as we were having trouble locating a gap in the stanchions ringing the start area. We eventually gave up and found that we were both small enough to fit through bars of the stanchions, so we slipped through into the general area of corral 4 and began to curse at our Garmins, which absolutely refused to connect to satellites.

At that point, I looked at T and said, "Um... so... we are running a marathon today." Much like the start of the Richmond Marathon, it all felt very surreal to me.

Realizing we had taken no photos to this point, I insisted on snapping this quick "What the f*ck are we doing?" selfie about 3 minutes before the National Anthem and start of the race. My Garmin also finally caught the satellite just seconds before our corral started, but T's remained on the fritz.

I won't bore you with a mile by mile recount. The first few miles were rather scenic, mainly in downtown Raleigh. The temperature was ok, there was shade from buildings and trees, and it was (relatively) flat. Taking the c'est la vie attitude, I was full of jokes (Wait, what? You mean a marathon is more than a mile? I was lied to!), thanked every policeman I saw, and cheered crazily as we passed bands at every mile (the Shawn University Pep Band was amazing and I wish they could've put them on a truck and followed me through the whole marathon).

And then, as we climbed one of the first hills, T got really quiet. I know that this is a bad sign; typically we are both chatter boxes when we are running, but if T goes quiet, there is something wrong. I asked if it was her thigh, she said no. I asked if it was her foot (she has plantar faciitis), again she said no. Just that she didn't feel right and wasn't sure she was going to be able to do this. We spend the next two or three miles debating back and forth over what to do. She wanted me to go ahead; I refused, saying that I wasn't running for time I was running for fun and that I'd rather stay with her. Then around mile 7 she told me she felt cold. I reached out to touch her arm and it was freezing. At that point, I got really scared. It was warm out by now and we had been running hills - she should have been burning up like the rest of us. She basically begged me to go on without her but again, I refused. There was no way I was going to leave her behind in her state. We agreed that we would stop at the next med station at Mile 8, which we did.

I put my arm around her and took her into the med tent saying, "She's cold to the touch - there's something wrong!" The doctors sat her down, asked her name, where she was (all questions answered within seconds), gave her fruit juice (and me a water, which I polished off), agreed that she was unusually cold (but didn't seem too worried about it), and took her pulse. All seemed normal, and the doctor said that the cold was probably just sweat evaporating in the shade. I wasn't entirely buying it, but having a medical professional give the blessing for her to continue seemed to be the mental boost that was needed.

We set off together again, but less than 2 miles later, T was telling me to just go. Even though it killed me to do it, at this point I knew that she was ok and that my presence was really just hurting her mentally, so I went ahead right around mile 10.

For me, now I had to deal with the fact that I was going to have to run the next 16.2 miles by myself. With no headphones, no running buddies - nothing to distract me in what I knew was going to be an extremely challenging course. My Garmin was also useless at this point; somewhere along the way I had paused it (I don't know why) and forgot to restart for almost half a mile, meaning it was off. Knowing that it was off, I didn't want to look at it any more.

It really was just me, myself, and I.

But the thing was, I still felt fine. I'm not sure what happens to me on race day, but once I've crossed that start line, all of the piles of anxiety that plague me in the lead up to race day just melt away. I feel invincible, strong, and relaxed. Even happy. (I know, it's crazy.) Despite the heat and the hills, my breathing was regular and controlled. My body felt fine too. What hip? What foot? I was floating.

I knew I wasn't going to sub-4. That knowledge was freeing. The prospect of a PR was shot and because of that, all I needed to do was concentrate on keeping myself moving, hydrated, and not hurt. My plan was to walk through every water stop, being sure to drink an entire cup of Gatorade and to try to have some fun. Talk to people, make friends, offer encouragement, sing and dance along to DJs and bands.

So that's exactly what I did. If someone was walking and I passed them, I touched their elbow or shoulder and told them they could do it. I chatted with a gentleman named Brad, who had just turned 50 and was running his first marathon. I told him the best advice anyone gave me before my first marathon, which was to take it one mile at a time and not worry about what's ahead. This photo was snapped just before I met up with Brad. I was still feeling great.

When the DJ stationed on the impossibly long, steep hill at mile I-don't-even-know-what played Nelly's "It's Getting Hot in Herre" I sang along, fist pumped, and run-danced my way up the hill, earning a few looks of confusion from runners coming back down the other side. Next up was Queen's "We Will Rock You" complete with lots of air guitar moves from me as I crested that hill. That move got me some smiles and laughs from spectators and runners around me.

After that hill we went into the "rural" section of the race, which was quite pretty. The course doubled back on itself, and I was noticing that the runners coming back toward me didn't look so festive anymore. Soon I found out why; that whole mile or two was a slight decline (not noticeable) that suddenly became a VERY noticeable incline on the way back. This was the first time that I wanted to stop and walk, but I knew it would be useless. The incline was long and walking part of it wasn't going to help me out that much. I also knew that up ahead was that glorious downhill where the "Hot In Herre" DJ was stationed. That was my reward for hanging tough. As I crossed the half marathon mark, I couldn't help but carry on my tradition of belting out the chorus of Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer."

I also got a boost when I spotted T among the runners after the turnaround. I was so very relieved to see her. She was running, she looked happy - she was going to be all right.

And then everything kind of crashed. I don't think that "hitting the wall" is what happened. It was more like "hitting the hill to end all hills" at mile 18. As I came around the corner and came face to face with the imposing edifice of what may as well have been Mount Kilamanjaro, I suddenly felt extremely tired. But I knew that one way or the other, I was going to have to go up that hill, so kept running. Then, as everyone around me slowed to a walk (and I mean everyone), I decided that I was going to walk to.

This wasn't a PR race. There was no use in torturing myself. So I didn't. I walked to the top of the hill, chatting for a minute with another runner (who was doing the same). We cursed the hills and both agreed that the entire course had been insanely difficult. At the crest, I broke into a run again.

Just after mile 20, I decided to stop at a portie potty stationed next to a med tent. I didn't really have to go (only kinda had to go), but figured that since I obviously wasn't running for time anymore, there was no point in denying myself a bathroom break.

This was the most surreal and odd moment of the marathon for me. I found myself in a portie potty, on the side of some state highway outside of Raleigh on a Sunday morning, giving my body parts a pep talk.

"Listen here, SI joint. We've made it 20 miles and we only have 10k left. You are going to hold up. Same for you, foot. Don't get any ideas about breaking now. We've come too far and I am determined to finish this damn race!"

Yes, I actually said that. Out loud.

After my portie pottie pep talk, I stopped by the med tent and asked the volunteers for ice. The man looked at me and said, "Do you want it in a bag?" I said, "No, just pour it down my shirt." He looked incredulous. "Are you sure you don't want a bag?" Then I pulled the front of my top out a bit and instructed him again: "Just pour it right here, man!" So he poured the scoop of ice into the built in bra of my top, which pretty much felt like heaven. I thanked him and set off running again, now with a nice little icy percussive sound accompanying my every stride as the ice jostled against my chest.

As I rambled along with my ice jangling, I came across two girls dressed in North Carolina blue shorts and white tops. One was absolutely hysterical and the other was trying to comfort her. I immediately stopped to make sure the hysterical girl was ok. It was obvious that she had just completely hit the mental wall. Not even thinking about how weird it probably appeared, I pulled a handful of ice out of my top and instructed the friend to try to cool down hysterical girl by putting ice on her neck. Hysterical girl was interchangebly thanking me profusely and telling me to running. When I was convinced that she was truly just hitting a mental wall and wasn't in physical danger, I kept going.

Honestly, the next 6.2 miles are very blurry except for a few things. One: I walked up all of the hills from there on out. Looking back, I probably could have pushed through it and am slightly disappointed in myself that I didn't.

Two: Green and Blue.

Let me explain.

Ever since mile 8, I had been playing jack rabbit with a blonde girl running in a green tech shirt with a camel back water tank thinger. She seemed friendly and we exchanged pleasantries/complaints whenever we passed each other. I started just calling her "Green". Sometime just after mile 20, I came across Green again and told her that this time I was going to try to keep with her. It seemed like everyone was struggling at this point and for a social runner like me, having a person to commiserate with was all that was going to get me through.

The problem with staying with Green, however, was that I was walking through water stops and she wasn't. So at mile 22's water stop I lost her.

But then I found Blue. Blue was a tall man that I ran past and did my typical touch on the elbow, "Hey, you can do this we only have 4 miles left! Come on, run with me. We can do this together." We ran a few hundred yards together and then I pulled ahead... until (another) hill. I started walked up the hill and heard from behind me, "Hey Orange, you aren't allowed to give up."

Blue and I stuck together for almost the rest of the race. His real name was Simon. We talked about the usual getting-to-know-you plesantries, we complained about the heat and the hills, we compared previous marathon war stories, and we shared our post-race gnoshing plans (beer for him, that cake for me). We walked up hills and made each other run at the crest of every one.

Then there was mile 24 - set up as a tribute to fallen military heroes. Both Simon and I were really struggling now, trying to convince each other to keep running. But as soon as we saw the row of signs, each with a photo, name, and age of soldiers that had died during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, I said, "Simon, we are running through this. These guys can't run anymore, but we can. And we are. We aren't stopping. We are going to run for them."

As we ran past the signs, seeing the horrifyingly young ages of the fallen soldiers, their pictures with babies and small children, wives, or standing proudly in uniform, we both seemed to have gained new inspiration.

Then came the families. After the signs with pictures ended, families and friends of the soliders lined each side of the street, holding large American flags. The effect was overwhelming. Here were these people, all with broken hearts and hurt, standing out in a park and cheering on runners. Why were they doing it? I don't know, but I do know that I couldn't feel anything but complete awe and gratitute to all of them for everything - their sacrifice, their time, and their presence. Simon and I ran through, saying "thank you, thank you, thank you" over and over again. It seemed like a pitiful offering compared to what they were giving to us.

It seems so selfish to say now that it was the presence of those families and their strength in the face of adversity that gave me the extra oomph I needed to run the rest of that marathon. I feel guilty saying that. Running a marathon is an accomplishment, but it is nothing compared to the sacrifice of those families. NOTHING. Any pain or suffering that I had felt during those 4-odd hours was a temporary, self-imposed, selfish exercise.

It was at that point that I deteremined that I wasn't going to walk again.

Simon and I parted at the final hill. I refused to walk up it. I told him I would be waiting for him at the finish and went on my way. The end of the race took us back to downtown Raleigh, past the state house and then a right hand turn to the finish. As soon as I turned that corner and saw the finish line I started to cry.

Apparently it's something that I do at marathons.

I just couldn't believe that I had done it - again. I am convinced that no matter how many times I may run a marathon, I will always be completely overwhelmed by that first glimpse of the finish line, knowing that I just did something that is a huge achievement.

After I got a hold of myself, I smiled ear to ear for the rest of the way. I couldn't stop smiling. The race had been hard, but I had persevered. I had done it. I loved running, I loved the people cheering. As I ran down the final 100 yards to the line, I "raised the roof" trying to get the crowd going. A girl in Texas Flag shorts (I had been near her for about a mile) suddenly shot past. "Go Tex! You go girl!" I yelled.

Then it was over. Finally. Because my Garmin had been thrown off, I had no idea what my time was and the thing is, I didn't even care. I was just so proud to have finished that race.

I collected my medal and a bottle of water, then immediately went back to look for Simon. I knew he couldn't be far behind me. Then there he was. I stood, cheering and screaming for him at the top of my lungs as he finished. Sweaty high fives and hugs ensued. I insisted on getting a photo together.

I thanked him for keeping me company during those last miles. Then I told him to come run Richmond in the fall. I promised him it wasn't as hilly and much cooler.

Then my thoughts then immediately turned to T. I hadn't seen her since the turnaround and had no idea if she was still running or when she'd be crossing. Then I saw a Rock n Roll staff member standing near me and so I asked him if there was any way to find out if my friend was still on the course. I explained that we'd stopped at a med tent at mile 8 but she had continued, that I was worried about her and just wanted to know where she was. Without hesistation, he took me to the "mission control" tent with its banks of computers where a second staff member looked up T and said she was still running with an expected finish time of 11:41.

"What time is it??" I asked, having no idea at all.

It was 11:41.

I thanked them all profusely and ran back toward the finish. I didn't see T yet. The RnR staff member was hot on my heels and stood with me. Then I saw her coming - running, looking strong like T always looks. I screamed and jumped up and down (painful, but necessary) and as she crossed the finish we fell into an immediate sweaty hug. She burst into tears and I just kept saying "You did it! I knew you would do it! You did it, T!!!!"

The helpful RnR staff member made sure that T was not in need of medical attention (she wasn't) and I again thanked him profusely as we made our way to collect water and medals.

And to take a finisher photo, of course.

Though T may have her doubts, there is no doubt in MY mind that we both more than earned those medals. To be honest, I feel that this medal was earned even more fully than my Richmond Marathon medal. This race was a real test for both me and T. We both had to fight doubts, we both struggled, but we both overcame. That is the true spirit of the marathon - not the time on a clock or splits or place. Looking your fears and doubts straight in the face and saying, "You won't win today. I am stronger than this and I will do this!" is what a marathon is all about.

That is what Raleigh taught me.

It also reminded my why I love this sport so much. I had mentioned in a previous post that the intial "shiniess" of running had worn off a bit for me during the training cycle leading up to Raleigh. That shininess is back, full force.

Often, people think of running as a self-centered, individualistic sport. In many ways, it is, and that is part of why I love it. There is no one to compete against but myself, and in the end, only I can run those miles. The only obstacle to my success is me. But being on the course in Raleigh, I felt that amazing kindred spirit that exists only among long distance runners. Yes, we were all out there doing this on our own. But we were also doing this crazy thing together. Even though I ran those last 16 miles "alone", I wasn't really alone. My fellow runners inspired me, encouraged me, and got me to the end - most without saying a word. I am so grateful to be a part of this community of crazy, hardheaded, compassionate, strong people.

I am proud of what I did in Raleigh. I am not ashamed to tell you that my time was 4:14:38 - more than 15 minutes longer than my Richmond time. To me, that doesn't matter. The experience, comraderie, and lessons that Raleigh gave me are more important than a sub-4:00 time.

So here's to the Raleigh Rock 'n' Roll Marathon. It was real, Raleigh - real HILLY and real HOT, and I don't think I'll be back (at least not for a full marathon). But I am eternally thankful for what you gave to me - my second marathon and a renewed love of the run.

Oh yeah, and one really delicious post-marathon celebratory burger!

(because no marathon post is complete with a picture of food)

Race Report: Divas Half Marathon - DC Wine Country

I should have known better than to sign up for a race with the word "Diva" in the title, but this one just happened to fill a need. Marcey and I wanted to go out of town for a girls' race weekend. I prefer longer distances, Marcey prefers shorter, and we wanted something within driving distance. The Divas Half Marathon - DC Wine Country met all of these parameters: it was 2 hours away in Leesburg, it had a half marathon and a 5k, and it worked with our schedules.

So we got excited and signed up for it way back in January and have been counting down ever since. We reserved a room at the official Race Hotel, the Landsdown Resort; planned coordinating outfits (not matching, just coordinating); planned a post-race afternoon of wine, cheese, and lounging in our room in pajamas with not a care in the world; made dinner reservations at one of the resort's restaurants; and picked out little black dresses to wear with our medals.

Everything about the weekend turned out just as we had hoped... except for the race itself. A better name for this event would have been the Divas Disaster Half Marathon. 

From the top...

Packet Pick Up

Packet pick up and the race expo are always my least favorite parts of a race. This one was no exception, with the one saving grace being that it was held at Landsdowne so it was convenient for those of us who were staying there.

Otherwise, it was ridiculous because they offered packet pick up for only a few hours on a Friday night in Northern Virginia. Anybody who has ever lived in the DC Metro area knows that traffic on a Friday night is a flat out nightmare. To give you an idea, when I lived in Gaithersburg, Maryland my commute to North Bethesda was 11 miles... and it took me ONE AND A HALF HOURS. Leesburg, the site for this event, is pretty far west of DC and for anyone trying to come from there, I'm sure it was difficult. Marcey and I left Richmond at 4:00 pm and barely made it ourselves, arriving just after 7:00 pm (expo closed at 8). 

Strike one for the organizers. 

Once we got to the expo, we had to stop and be surveyed by Divas staff before we were allowed to pick up our packet. This was also annoying. The questions were: Where are you staying? How many nights? Do you have spectators? I know they were gathering this information so they could show the resort hotel what a great revenue generator this event was, but it was still aggrevating for people who had just sat in hours of traffic and just wanted to get their stuff. I actually tried to bypass them but they caught me.

Just give me my damn bib and shirt, please!

Race Day Arrival

Here's where the real fun starts. On Friday evening I put the address for the Tarara Winery (the race site - in theory, very nice) into my navigation and it showed that it would take 25 minutes to get from Landsdowne to Tarara. That kind of annoyed me... the whole reason that I paid for an overpriced resort hotel room was because I figured that the official race hotel would be extremely close to the race itself. 

Guess I was wrong.

The event organizers made it very clear that the road into the Winery would be shut down at 7:15 am, meaning we all needed to be parked before that. Marcey and I decided to leave the hotel between 6:00 and 6:15 am, giving us a cushion of at least 35 minutes. I anticipated some traffic build up since we would all be converging on the same place and figured that this would be adequate. It was cold that morning, and we didn't want to arrive insanely early and stand around freezing.

We got into the car at 6:15. Things were going fine for about 15 minutes. And then we hit the start of the traffic. I got more and more anxious as I watched the minutes tick by. 6:40... 6:45... 6:50... 7:00. I was worried we were going to get turned away. But then we realized that everyone else around us was also going to the race and there was no way they could turn us all away - it seemed like ALL of the participants were sitting on that stretch of Route 15 - and as Marcey said, the last thing you want to do is piss off 5,000 women. 

7:15 came and went. FINALLY we came to a point where there was an alternate route we could take, so I did. This alternate route was a dirt road that led into the back entrance of the winery. We parked the car in a field at 7:20, jumped out, and literally ran toward the start. I had half a bottle of water in the car and HAD to go to the bathroom. My race was supposed to start at 7:30, so as we jogged toward the starting area I was already assuming that I was going to be jumping in late. Marcey's 5k was supposed to start in waves, with the first being at 7:45. 

Note on the parking: we parked in a freshly mown field. And it was very wet. My feet were soaked by the time we got through it. This was a bad thing, as we'll see in the future.

When we arrived at the start it was obvious that we weren't starting on time. We heard people saying 30 minute delay as we headed toward the porties. Excuse me... the LINE for the porties. 

I was grateful for the delay but I knew that people who had been there and were in the start corral were pissed. I truly do feel for those who had been there in time and were standing in the cold, getting hungry and thirsty and stiff legs. They had every right to be mad. I was pissed because it was obvious that the race organizers had no idea what they were doing when they chose this winery that was accessible only by 2 dirt roads as the venue for a race with 7,000 participants. Dirt roads cannot handle that capacity. I also heard that there was an accident on Route 15 (the way they told everyone to take) that made traffic congestion even worse. 

THEN the announcer had the gall to make an allusion that the delayed start was the fault of the participants. That just sent me over the edge. NO. I left at 6:15 for what I anticipated to be a 35-40 minute drive. Based on comments I have read since on Facebook, others who had left even as early as 5:45 am did not make it to the race in time. To try to blame participants for not planning well enough was truly bad form.

At 8:25 it was announced that we were going to continue to be delayed. FINALLY, the half marathon started at 8:55 am... nearly 1 hour and 30 minutes late. It was bad for the people in the corral, it was bad for the people who got stuck in traffic. It was bad for the volunteers at water stops who had been standing out in the cold, ready to go. It was bad for everyone.

Really bad.

As for myself, I had gotten to my "corral" (more on that later) at 7:55, expecting an 8 am start. When that didn't happen, I decided to try to find Emma, of A Mom Runs This Town. I knew she was running and I figured at least we could chat for a while to kill time. It wasn't hard to find her ... there weren't that many people in the corral. She had been there since 6:30 am and was really really unhappy about the repeated delays (as she should have been). She was starving, freezing, and getting tight after having performed all of her pre-race rituals in time for a 7:30 start. We tried to make light of the situation, but by 8:45 with no start time announced, we were just done. Personally, I didn't even feel like running anymore. All I kept thinking was that if we had started on time, I would have been almost finished by now.

So. BIG FAT FAIL on Race Day Arrival.

Starting Area

1. Not enough porties. 7,000 women, 50 porties. NOT ENOUGH.

2. Tiny, dirt starting chute with graded, sides. Not cool. Accessible only from the back, so if you needed to work toward the front to your "corral", you had to weave your way through everyone else.

3. Non existent "corrals." They did a wave start for the 5k, but there was no such thing for the half. We all just kind of self-selected into waves based on estimated pace. Emma is super speedy, so she was hanging out in the 7:00-8:00/mile area. There weren't many others there, unlike the area where I should have been, which was swamped. So I did something very bad and just stayed with her and started in that "wave". I wasn't in anyone's way because there just weren't that many ladies in that area. Yes, I'm a bad racer. Sue me. But after standing around for an hour, I just didn't care anymore.

Course

I am kicking myself for my procrastination because the official course description from the Divas Half website has been taken down now. But here is the gist of it, from what I can remember (and I read it a few times because I was nervous about the course, knowing that the Leesburg area is hilly):

"Enjoy this scenic course in Virginia's wine country. You'll pass vineyards, rustic farmhouses, open fields, and country churches. The course has gently rolling hills and two more significant elevation gains of 300 feet that are minimized as they are spread out over 1/2 mile."

My interpretation of that was yes, there are 2 challenging hills but otherwise this won't be so bad.

As far as I can tell, this was everyone elses' interpretation as well, because let me tell you, hot topics on the course were the delayed start and the hills.

They seemed to never end. From the time we started, if we weren't running up hill, we were running down hill. "Gently rolling my a$$!" was the general consensus. Every time we turned a corner and saw yet another hill, a chorus of groans and expletives rose from my fellow Divas and myself. What was even worse is that the course doubled back on itself so you knew that once you ran over one big hill, you were going to have to do it AGAIN later. Just that thought made me want to quit so many times.

Here's the elevation chart, which doesn't look that scary. But trust me, these hills were no joke. They were small but they were fairly steep and just never ending.

The only respite that we got was a fairly flat stretch between miles 7.5 and 9.5, but by that point I think it is fair to say that most of us were already beat and our legs were shot. It was just a matter of survival. I remember looking down at my Garmin at mile 8 and saying to myself, "5 miles. You can run 5 miles. That's all you've got. 5 miles... less than an hour... just keep going...".

Oh, and the scenery. HA. Yes, there may have been "rustic" farmhouses, quaint churches, and vineyards, but we were all too miserable to enjoy any of it. There was also a fair amount of time spent running in McMansion neighborhoods (decidedly NOT scenic).

Finally, this was advertised as a road race. Sure, we were on roads... but at least 8 of these miles were completed on very uneven dirt/gravel roads. I don't care how hilly or flat something is... the minute you throw dirt or gravel on it, it becomes more challenging and it is far different than pavement. If you never run on trails, doing so for the first time is a learning experience that can sometimes be dangerous. Thankfully, I've run on all kinds of trails so it didn't throw me, but I know that a lot of people wiped out and were very angry about the running surfaces. I feel very badly for anyone who had only previously run on roads or treadmills. To experience dirt/gravel surfaces for the first time during a hilly race had to be quite jarring.

So basically, I felt pretty misled by the race organizers as to this course. Listen, I like to be challenged. But I was NOT prepared for this in any way. I like to think that I am at the top of my game right now as a runner. But after the first 6 miles of this race, I honestly just wanted to quit. They were the hardest 6 miles I have ever ever run, including the last 6 of the 18 miler last weekend.

Ok, well maybe not ever. The worst miles I ever ran were the last 4 of the Army 10 Miler a few years ago. But this was close to that misery, especially considering my level of fitness is SO much higher now. If I had KNOWN about the hills and the dirt roads, at least I would have known what to expect and could mentally prepare myself. 

Oh, and the course was 13.3 miles long. I know that they are never exact, but come on... nearly a quarter mile?

But let me say something positive about it: there were more than enough water/Gatorade stops, all manned with smiling happy volunteers. God bless them... they were just as inconvenienced by the delayed start as we were.

The Finish

Finally, at the end, there was some REAL scenery in the form of a lovely pond back on the Tarara Winery property. But honestly by that point I didn't care if I was running through a nuclear power plant... I just wanted to be DONE. At mile 13 we ran through the "Tiara and Feather Boa" station, which is a cute idea but honestly, it's kinda hard to jam a tiara on your head and putting on a cheap feather "boa" at mile 13 is not really enticing. However, I did both because dammit, I had suffered and I was going to live it up at the end. 

After crossing the line, I received my GIGANTIC medal from a very fit shirtless man. Then they tried to shove a plastic flute of "champagne" (aka sparkling cider) at me... pretty much the last thing I wanted but I took it because I didn't want to be rude. Same with the rose. All before food and water. I JUST WANT WATER AND A BAGEL OMG. Luckily I had Marcey there on the other side of the chute to dump off this stuff with so I had free hands to get my food.

The food was lackluster. Bottles of water, plain or cinnamon raisin bagel halves (which were kinda stale) and chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookes. That's it. There was no other runner support at the finish ... honestly I don't even recall seeing a medical tent. I'm sure it was there... somewhere... right? 

Overall Grade

Sorry, Divas, but this gets one big fat F. There was really nothing enjoyable about this experience. I guess at least I got a really gigantic medal out of it and a nice techinical race shirt that actually fits.

To be fair, this was an inaugural event for this particular location. I knew there would be hiccups... there always are at the first go around. HOWEVER, this is a National race series whose organizers should have forseen many of the problems and prepared for them. To me, the misleading course description was almost worse than the traffic issues. 

But the real rotten icing on this bad cake was that the organizers seemed to blame participants for the traffic and only took responsibility for their error much later - I believe in a Facebook post/email the next day. And they NEVER acknowledged the course problems.

And that is why I am never, ever doing a Divas race again.

Ever.

Personal Performance

Other than the Army 10 Miler, I have never been happier to be finished with a race.

After the 1.5 hour delay, I really just wanted it to be over with, so I went out way too fast. I knew it was stupid and I knew I would regret it later, but I just didn't care. My legs were tight thanks to standing around, and my feet were numb with cold after getting soaked from walking through the field that we parked in. I don't think I actually felt them until mile 3 or so.

By mile 6, when we turned a corner and saw yet another incredibly steep dirt hill in front of us, I really just wanted to walk. The only thing that got me through were the Schwings on my shoes.

Whenever I looked down at my feet because looking UP at the hill in front of me was too terrifying, I saw my Schwings and said to myself, "Kathryn, you have wings on your shoes. You cannot walk. That would just be ridiculous. People with wings on their shoes don't walk."

I wish I was making this up, but I'm not. I really did tell myself that.

Near the end, when I really felt like crap, I saw others starting to walk. I thought by encouring them I could also convince myself to not cave, so I would run pass and cheer them on. "Come on come one, we've survived the worst of it. We have less than 2 miles... you can do this! Don't walk now!"

These were really just pep talks for myself.

When I hit 13.1 (before the official finish line), my watch showed 1:51:something. That's unofficially a PR for me. My official time was 1:53:16, NOT a PR but also NOT a half marathon, as my Garmin read 13.3 miles. My average pace was 8:31/mile. That also included a 60 second trip to the portie located a mile 7.

Given all of the cirumstances, I'm pretty proud of myself. I ran fast despite the hills. I did walk for about 25 yards during mile 12 before I got pissed at myself for being a quitter and started running again. I did stop at water stops and I even took the time to stretch my poor calves at mile 12. Why I thought it would help at that point was beyond me... I guess really I just wanted to stand still for 30 seconds.

I finished 85th out of 2,535 participants, so that's not too shabby I guess... but to be fair I think that at least 50% of the people walked it instead. I placed 24th out of the 454 participants in the 30-40 year age group.

I was really so exhausted by this point that I have no
idea how I look remotely presentable.

But the people that I am most proud of are Emma and Marcey.

Despite all of the things working against her and the less than ideal conditions, Emma placed fourth overall and won our age group with an amazing time of 1:31:58! That is just flat out amazing to me. I can't imagine running that fast ever, and especially not on that torturous course.

I hope some of Emma's greatness rubbed off on to me.
Just a little teeny bit.
(Photo yoinked from Emma)

Marcey PRd her 5k time too! Thankfully, she said that the 5k course was not very hilly and the participants of that race seemed more pleased over all.

Marcey is pleased.

So, there's my book on the Divas Disaster Half Marathon.

I'm really hoping that I can redeem myself at the Wilson Bridge half in 2 weeks. After the Divas course, it should be a relative breeze (I hope).