Saturday, October 2, 2010. 5:15am. I stumble out the front door of my house and am surprised to see Kevin is already sitting at the picnic table on my patio. It is too early in the morning and I am too sleep deprived to say anything other than "we need to stop at 7-11." A few moments later a buttered roll and orange juice are accomplished and I gun the Prius down the entrance ramp and onto the LIE.
We are on our way to East Hampton for the 4th Annual Hampton's Marathon. Actually Kevin is on his way for the Marathon. I am on my way for the half marathon. Neither of us realized just how far East Hampton is from my place. They should stop pretending it is a Hampton and just rename the place West Montauk. Then you would have a more accurate idea as to the actual location of the quaint and scenic little town. Since neither Kevin or I picked up our race packets prior to race day we need to get there extra early to check in. Hence the ungodly early wake up call.
We manage to reach the starting line at Springs School without getting lost too badly. The good thing about getting there so early is that we got an amazing parking spot. The other great thing about getting to a race site early is that nobody has biologically destroyed the porta pottys.
The race is scheduled to start at eight. Kevin and I are killing time and trying to count all the people there as part of Team in Training. I stopped counting after 40. In contrast I counted 4 people, including myself rocking the Fred's Team orange. Probably because this race was so far out east that we were practically in Ireland.
I had not done a serious run in the past month. A chronic hacking cough and what i have recently learned are some nasty allergies conspired to keep me lazy. I had thought I was over the morning coughing fits. But as I stood leaning over the playground equipment in the schoolyard coughing and puking up phlem I discovered otherwise. Taking the violent expulsion of snot, buttered roll and OJ from my body to be a good sign, much like getting crapped on by a bird, I walked over to the starting line.
Kevin and I wish each other luck as he lines up with the serious runners. I wedge myself in among the mass of humanity around the ten minute per mile mark. A group of tourists visiting from the UK are on my right. The three guys and a girl heard about the race the day before and all went out to buy new running shoes so they could run the half marathon as a way to kill a morning. I hate them . Viva le Bunker Hill.
The starting horn sounds and the soon to be doomed begin the death march. I am not going to bother with a mile by mile account. Somewhere around mile two a guy in a bright orange Fred's Team shirt catches up to me and we start small talking. Dave is an attorney from Philly and for the next few miles we rocked a pretty good pace. We were passing folks and still manage to talk shop. I was doing my mental checklist. Legs - good; breathing, good; cramps, none; scenery, nice. Things were looking real good. In fact, it may have been too good. I ran one of the best 10k's of my life. The sad part is that once that 10k was finished I still had another 10k to go. Dave had told me that his goal was to finish in 2:10. I was hoping to finish in that general time frame as well, but once we hit mile seven I started to lose some ground.
Not being a local, I had no idea that the South Fork was actually as hilly as it is. The freaking race flyer said flat and fast for the love of god. It was rolling hills. Lots of rolling hills.
Somewhere around mile eight it happened. I am not going to say I hit the wall. That would be unfair. The wall actually punched me square in the face. It was also at that point that I realized that nature was calling and it was not going to tolerate going to voicemail. Luckily following mile eight there was a porta potty. Unluckily there was a line. So I wind up waiting ten minutes or so for my turn. The girl in line in front of me asks why I don't just run into the woods to handle my business. I respond that I am wearing a day glo orange shirt. While I am reasonably sure that no hunter is going to take a shot at me I am also reasonably sure that there is no way I am going to blend into the background while I contribute to the circle of life.
Following the bathroom respite, I managed to string together another two miles at what was close to my goal pace. My mental checklist was now more like this; legs, burning; breathing, holy crap; cramps, every type but menstrual; scenery, who gives a crap. I am no longer passing people and many of the people I sped by earlier in the race are now returning the favor.
Following mile ten I begin to feel my brain shutting down. I try to figure out my pace and splits and my ability to do any type of math has completely left the building. At a water station a volunteer tells me I am doing a great job. My response consisted of telling them that it was tuesday. If there was a paramedic anywhere nearby they probably would have tackled me and wrapped me in a space blanket because I obviously had checked out.
But I am too stupid to quit. My checklist now consists of: legs, still there; breathing; obviously; cramps; now including menstrual; sweat; holy crap, i think i stopped sweating; scenery; just show me the mile markers.
The last three miles are a bit of a blur. Not because I am moving so fast, but because I think my spirit has left my body. The crowd starts to thicken up as the finish line gets closer. As corny as it sounds, the energy of the crowd was a help. I just concentrate on putting one leg in front of the other. By this time my only goal is to finish the half marathon before Kevin finishes the full.
With less than a mile left to go I try to give it some gas. You know, finish strong for the cameras. There was nothing left in the tank. I jog across the finish line. 2:40. Ouch. Not what I was hoping for at all. However, considering somewhere around mile 11 a talking street sign asked if I wanted to visit the honeycomb hideout I will take finishing to be victory enough.
An emergency blanket is wrapped around my shoulders and a finishers medal is handed to me. Somehow or other I manage to get back to the car where I proceed to change. It is then that I discover I am practically missing a nipple. Awesome. I take off my shoes fully expecting to see blisters based upon all the heat spots that I felt at the end of the race. Not one blister. Thank god for small favors and a liberal application of body glide. A change of clothes and two bottles of gatorade later I make my way back to the finish line to wait for Kevin. I figure I have some time to kill. But instead Kevin finishes right as I get to the line. Kevin finished in 3:28. He is a bit worse for the wear though. After getting some bagels and coconut water (?) I walk Kevin over to the medical tent to get him some ice. He is handed what must have been the warmest ice ever. The very existence of room temperature ice smacks the rules and laws of science in the face.
Final note for the day. I decide to buy a car magnet that says 13.1. I finished a half marathon. It wasn't pretty, but I feel the need to passively brag about it. Kevin and I get back to the car. I slap the magnet on the tailgate of the Prius. The thing falls right off. It seems there is no metal anywhere in that car. The perfect punctuation for the whole sordid affair.
Less than 40 days to go to the NYC Marathon. It is not too late to donate to my run as part of
Fred's Team. It is my goal to raise $3,000. You all have contributed $1,800. Thank you all so much.
