And not only did I survive, I reached my goal: finish the marathon in less than 5 hours without walking. I finished in 4:55.23 and only walked through water stations. I don’t think that counts as walking because I never mastered the art of drinking from a cup on the move. Besides, everyone else walks through water stations when you are as slow as I am so it would have been practically impossible for me to run around thousands of people who come to a screeching halt for Mountain Blast Powerade. But I digress.Overall, the weekend was so much fun. Friday morning my friends Wylie, John, Kelly, Mark, and Melissa all flew to Reagan in Washington, DC. Friday afternoon we picked up our race packets and bib numbers and wandered around in the expo for a while. Then the whole group of us went out to dinner at Otello for some yummy pasta and carb-loading.
Wylie and I spent the weekend at Wylie’s friends Ben and Sarah’s apartment. Saturday we relaxed and stayed off our feet as much as possible. The guys watched a football game, I read a magazine and we played a game of Trivial Pursuit. We cooked some pasta for dinner. (By the way, now that the marathon is over, I’m not eating pasta again for a while!) Saturday night we all tried to go to sleep early but a high-speed-chase-car-jacking outside the window provided us a little entertainment.
Marathon Day (Sunday) we all got up at about 6:00am, I suited up in spandex, a long sleeved shirt and sweats, iPod, and crazy gooey carb supplements. We walked to the subway and got off the train at the Pentagon. From there, we had to walk to the starting line about a mile away. I remember thinking about how ridiculous it was that this mile didn’t count towards the 26.2 miles we actually had to run.
The starting line was just outside of Arlington National Cemetery. The process of starting a marathon can be best described as one long line. I left Wylie at the bag check line and headed for the port-o-potties line. I waited for about 20 minutes to go to the bathroom. During the singing of the national anthem I as in the port-o-potty. I hoped that this was not some kind of indication of how the rest of the afternoon was going to go.
At 7:50 I made my way through some of the 30,000 runners to the flag where the people who planned to finish the marathon in about 4:30-5:00 hours waited for the starting gun. At exactly 8:00am (the marines are punctual) the howitzer fired and we were off! Well, someone was off, back were I was, we started shuffling forward towards the starting line. I fell into step with a young woman about my age. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I told her “Good luck.” She exclaimed, “You too! I have been trying to run this for three years... and I just got back from Iraq!” I thought about my path to the marathon, how I got up so early in the morning to either run before my meetings, my classes, or before it got too hot. I remembered trying to find new running trails because if I ran the Boulder Creek Path one more time... I remembered my anxiety before long runs I didn’t know if I could get through, and all the different muscle aches, pains, and abnormalities and I realized that these things are not insignificant, but they were compared to what this young woman could have been doing for the last several months. She and I crossed the starting line together, wished each other well and I picked up my pace and jogged away from her.
The crowd was so thick over the first 4 miles that I didn’t even see the mile markers. Fortunately, I wasn’t looking for them yet. I think it would have been a bad sign if I cared about where I was so early in the race. I was also highly amused by the clothes being ejected from within the mob. We would all be bobbing along in a big mass and suddenly a pair of pants would come shooting out of the crowd and onto the sidewalk. A few steps later a long sleeved shirt would shoot out. Not to be left out, I moved closer to the edge of the swell of runners and waited for a break in the spectators. Then, I launched my long sleeved t-shirt over the four rows of runners that separated me from the sidewalk. Unfortunately, I didn’t time this right and ended up hitting a very surprised middle-aged lady right in the face. I cringed and shouted, “sorry!!” but I’m not sure if she heard of me. In my head, I promised to think of her in a few hours when I assumed I would be in a lot of pain.
I was surprised at how quickly the first eight miles flew by. According to the computer chip on my shoe, I ran them very slowly but they seemed to go by quickly. When I am running, I often think about how a year and a half ago that I was training to run a 10K (6.2 miles). I smiled to myself about how I never thought I would be able to tackle this kind of challenge.
I crossed the 13.1-mile mark (half way point) and figured it was time for a short break. I spotted a bathroom, pulled over, did a little stretching and splashed water on my face before setting off again. I was pleased with how I felt at this point in the race, but this was the first time that I realized how far I had left to go.
Around mile 15 or 16 I was starting to get uncomfortable. I did most of my training on dirt trails and I was starting to feel the constant pounding of the pavement in my knees. About this time, I also saw someone with a sign that read, “Way to go Lindsay! We love you!” I have no idea who these people were, but since they spelled my name right, I figured they were there to support and cheer me on. I waved at them. They gave me a confused look but they still waved back. I imagined that they were trying to figure out if I was the Lindsay they were looking for since most of the people running with me at the time looks like they had been stuffed into the washing machine for about 3 hours.
The lowest point of the race was just past mile 20. My longest run until that Sunday was (only) 20.5 miles and the unfamiliarity of this uncharted territory unnerved me. Just before this mile marker we finished our lap of the national mall and passed in front of the capital building. After mile 20 the course took us back from DC to Arlington, VA. Up until this point, the crowds lining the race course had been so thick and wonderful there were points where I was trying to listen to my iPod and I couldn’t hear the music over their cheering. I couldn’t help but think about the fact that this was an entirely different kind of marathon for these folks. Over 70,000 friends and family members filled the course, many of them tracking their runners on GPS and moving from place to place on the course to see their runners several times. This created a very strange dejavu effect for me as I kept seeing somewhat familiar people holding very familiar signs several times.
Anyway, around mile 20 we started across the bridge back to Arlington and the crowds disappeared. The bridge was totally empty except for us runners, who were mostly walking by then, many of them limping or carefully stretching every couple of steps. I moved slowly past these tired, sweaty people for the length of the bridge which seemed to go on forever but was really only about a mile and a half.
At one point about mile 22 I thought about crying. My knees ached and I had developed an ache in my right hip. I was tired, tired of running, tired of eating GU, tired of drinking Powerade, and tired of jogging through these stumbling people. The thing was, I was also thirsty. At this moment I put more thought into whether or not to cry then I ever have before. “Would my tears dehydrate me?” I wondered. “Will they be blue like commercials… wait, no that’s Gatorade… I wonder if Powerade does that too…” This line of thinking went on for a while.
After we finally got across the bridge we dipped down into Crystal City. The crowds thickened and the street narrowed. A fraternity was holding a sign saying, “you’ve run 23 miles, have a drink!” while they handed out Dixie cups of beer. A friend of mine told me that beer at mile 23 was actually a fantastic idea no matter how counter-intuitive that was. She said that it provides great carbs and dulls the pain just enough. The frat boys were on the other side of the street though and I couldn’t muster the energy to cross over several runners to get there. I also thought that by that point, if I tried to change my pace, I would just tip over.
I can’t explain what happened when I hit mile 25. It might have been the fact that I was so close and just wanted to have the whole thing over with, it could have been the crowd cheering us on, it could have been the fact that other runners were running again and I’m ridiculously competitive, but I really picked up my pace. I started passing people on the right and the left. I kept looking for the mile 26 sign, and then for the finish line.
Finally, there on the left, the arch that marked the finish line appeared at the top of a very steep hill. At that moment I forgot about how much my knees hurt. I forgot about the point I wanted to cry. I forgot about my friends who had finished more than an hour before me and I started running as fast as I could (which I’m sure by that point was a very slow 10-minute mile). Nevertheless, not a single person passed me after I spotted the finish.
I crossed the line at 4:55.27. A marine wrapped a space blanket around my shoulders and said, “congratulations, ma’am, you did great.” Another Marine hung a medal around my neck, smiled at me and said something about deserving this medal to honor the incredible effort. A third marine said, “you have just been running for 5 hours, how do you feel.” I told him that I was tired and asked where the beer tent was (I was meeting my friends there). He pointed and gave me some directions. I asked if he would carry me. He smiled and suggested I continue to walk for a little while.
Just then, Wylie called, “Congratulations Brust! You just ran a marathon! I’m in line at Chipotle, do you want a burrito?” I told him that I wasn’t ready to eat quite yet, but thanks.
That night, I felt differently, my friends and I went out to dinner. We had all met our goal. Wylie finished in less than four hours, Ben qualified for Boston by running the marathon in 3:10. Ben was in the roughest shape. He didn’t really eat or drink enough during the marathon, but he was able to keep up with his pace group. They told me about how Ben crossed the finish line, involuntarily wet himself (apparently, it’s very common), and took himself to the medical tent where he drank three bottles of Powerade and ate a bag of pretzels.
I tried to be healthy at dinner, afterall, I figured I should appropriately take care of my body. I ordered a big salad. I ate the whole thing. Not only was I not full, I was still hungry. I ordered sweet potato chips for the table and ate all my friend’s fries. I also ordered another beer. That night, I slept better than I remember sleeping in months.
So, the tale of my first marathon is behind me, officially. Forgive me for a moment while I get a little mushy. Crossing that finish line gave me the biggest sense of accomplishment that I have ever had. If I have to run for five months, fly half way across the country, and run for almost five hours to get that feeling again, I will do it. Happily.Thank you for supporting me, for donating to the American Heart Association for Andy Redman, whose spirit I had in mind throughout the whole race, and for reading this blog. While I have hung up the running shoes for the last week and a half, I don’t think they will stay in the closet long. So, if you are thinking about doing a marathon, or just looking for someone to go for a run with, please give me a call. I'll go for a run with you.
