I have been called an idiot. I have been called crazy, and well some have even declared me to be Forest Gump. Running is not mainstream-at least my kind of running. Something has truly dawned on me over this past marathon experience and current recovery time. I love this sport. I love running. I have even come to the point where I enjoy the gut wrenching, stomach heaving workouts. It is now easy to embrace the frigid waters of an ice bath.
There is something so soothing about running. Something so startlingly independent, that it forces you to review yourself and take stock at who you have become each time you step foot out the door. You can only imagine you are running with the lead group so many times at the Olympics before your mind drives itself into self healing mode.
That is why it is so interesting to hear from so many people about how they could never do what I, or so many others do, and that is run. What is stopping people? Has the air outside become unbreathable? Will martians zap you from space if you elect to step outside your door for a few miles? Egads, could someone even see you without makeup, trendy clothes, or maybe even see you moving slowly and suffering if you took the risk to go for a run?
Our society has sadly not embraced the ideals of running, and in particular, distance running. When the Olympics are on we glue ourselves to the TV to watch a few guys run 100 meters in less than 10 seconds, that is about all we can handle. Sometimes, a select few will watch guys run a mile, or maybe even a little more if there is a pit of water and immovable hurdles to be jumped over. Sadly when the events get above 5k, most people just tune out.
What is sad is that most of society fail to realize that they could experience everything those elite runners are doing, just simply not on a huge stage. Who does not wrestle with self doubt? What person can say that they fear not completing something. Who does not struggle with being embarrassed for taking a risk? So to say that you could never be like "those" people is not true, chance are, you are much more like them than you think.
Would it not be great if instead of talking to others about running, you would hear, "Wow that's great that you are doing that, Hmmm, maybe I will get out and run to the end of the street tomorrow and see how that goes?" Could it even be possible we see culture reshaped by people stepping out of norms and risking it to go for a run? Why there could even spring new relationships and opportunities for community if people left the stair master, or their couch, and went out for a jog with friends. Running is more than a love for me, it is a passion, and who doesn't wish to see that which they are passionate about play out in the lives of others? Meanwhile I am going to go for a run, and imagine taking Haile Gebressalessie (I will never spell that right) to the line, well at least for a little bit.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Of Hurt, and Dreams
The reality is that I am not going to qualify for the trails. The time simply does not exist, and my responsibilities are far too great. That being said, my passion for running is unparalleled compared to any point in my life at the moment, so I will continue to run, and continue to pursue even faster times.
That being said-here is the story of one of the greatest moments of my life, told by the guy who lived it. The guy who worked 60 hour weeks, helped raise his 3 sons, and found some time to run, here it is- The 2010 ING New York City Marathon-
This was my Olympics, my trails, and my world championships, at least to this point. Raised to revere and respect this marathon, it was on the bucket list, and I have now been to the mountain top. This is the story of all 26.2 miles, so enjoy, or don't, but realize, I poured everything I had into this attempt, and had the time of my life. This is the story of the race, not the expo, or the training, or what I ate the night before. This is the story of a pursuit and an accomplishment, all beginning at a cold and windy Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island.
Cramming 45,000 people plus volunteers onto a small slot of land is a logistical masterpiece. Finding a way for us 45,000 to stay warm, was a simple issue of how uncomfortable were you willing to be. There were not many tents for us to cram into, but cram we did. I managed to find some plastic wrap to sit on in a tent, and quickly found myself between a woman in a sleeping bag reading a book, a lady from another country sleeping on a cardboard box, and two very hairy legged men standing directly in front of me. Thankfully I had my blackberry with me, and was able to kill some time. Outside the tent the wind was blowing at around 12 mph, and it was about 35 degrees out there. For two hours or so, I managed my spot until it was time to head to the starting corral staging area. I dropped of my bag of clothes and what not that I would change into after the race and headed to my corral.
I was in the first corral of the orange line, wave 1. There are three waves and each started 30 minutes behind the other. Basically I started when all the pros started, an issue that was truthfully very important to me. In our corral staging area I met a really nice guy from London named Lee, and he and I kept each other company as we worked our way onto the Verrazano Narrows bridge. This I think was good, as it kept my nerves calm, and probably his as well. As the time approached to start, we all slowly de robed and tossed our clothing to be donated to charity to the road side. I was wearing a Fleet Feet top and my gray shorts, blue sunglasses, and red hat that I did not expect to last long after the start. Before we knew it, the national anthem was being sung, and we were getting ready to start.
Before us lay the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the longest suspension bridge in the United States. One mile of uphill awaited us, and then a really fast mile down the other side. The cannon went off, the bridge shook, and we were running. In marathons, I always start towards the back of my corral to avoid the temptation of running too fast at the start. However, before I started making my move to the front, I had to see the pros go by. They were on the other side of the bridge, and would quickly overtake us on that side. I saw Meb Keflezghi, last years winner, and American, and gave him a shout of encouragement, in return, I got a fist pump! How awesome. I also made sure to get a shout out Dathan Ritzenhein on the other side of him. Most importantly, I caught a glimpse of Haile Gebressalessie, the greatest marathoner of our time, and probably of all time. He was in the front, and I assumed he would stay there, but he didnt, he faded, and dropped out at mile 16. A truly tragic ending to one of the greatest runners of all time's career.
I spent the majority of the first mile trying to stay calm, and to make my way past slower runners. I took a look to the left at the Manhattan sklyine in the distance, and unlike most other runners, I did not think, "gee, how beautiful," but instead," oh dear lord, that is a long freaking way off". I went through the first mile about 20 seconds off pace which is perfect. By this point we were beginning to space out pretty well, and I was trying to settle in, but we were zooming down the other side of the bridge and into Brooklyn at this point. I may have run the second mile in less than 6 minutes, but I am not entirely sure. However I was about to encounter the crowds of Brooklyn, and that was to set my pace ablaze.
As we worked our way onto Fourth Avenue, the crowds were several deep and stretched on and on. They were loud, cheerful, and not at all upset their road was closed. I could tell at this point that I was moving pretty quickly, and by mile five realized that I was on pace to go under 2:40-the goal I had set myself to aim for in order to continue training for the trails. I was trying to control myself, by staying with whichever runner I caught up to for at least several strides, but each one seemed to fade as I caught them, so I just kept going. The crowds in Brooklyn were relentless. There were bands, bagpipes, people cheering, and general mayhem. All cheering for us who spoke different languages and who most of us will never meet. I was so amped, that I forgot to take my first gu at mile 5, and had to wait until mile 6.
We hit mile 8, the point in which all three colors come together, and the noise of Brooklyn seemed to hit a crescendo. This was also a huge turning point for me in the race as well. I was beginning to understand that to keep this pace was to punish my body severely for a very long time. I had been watching a group of about 10 runners on the other side for about a mile or so, and figured that I would just settle in there because the pace seemed kind of moderate. Well we all came together at mile 8 and I realized that I had joined up with a group going just faster than me. I had been lulled into thinking it was going to be easy because of the 100 or so runners I had passed from the orange wave. This is when the race and the pain really started for me. The crowds remained amazing. We were in the shade, but the terrain was beginning to roll a little bit, but nothing too bad, and the pace stayed the same. I went through 10 miles in just a smidge over an hour, which was perfect for hitting that 2:40, I knew however, that if history repeated itself, my back half would be much slower than my first.
I did manage to settle down, and by the time we were approaching halfway assumed that I could make it. Then we rounded the corner and saw the Pulaski Bridge leading into Queens. Pictures I had of this bridge made it seem rather flat, and not much of a bridge at all. To say the least, these pictures were misleading. It was a huge climb, and began to take all the fight out of me, or at least try. The halfway mark was on the bridge and I went through in 1:19:00, a pretty solid half, but I was beginning to realize, that without a major boost from my legs, that I would go over 2:40, I was okay with this and just kept plugging. There was however, a monster looming ahead of me, The Queensboro Bridge.
The crowds through our brief stint in Queens were great and lively as well. But we could see the bridge coming, and most of us were gearing up for it. What was truly beginning to bug me at this point were my feet, well the balls of my feet to be precise. I honestly felt like a couple of bones in my right foot were going to break. As I went over the bridge, I knew for sure that on the downward side, that I would snap something, and it would all end. That is what I thought as I ran over the bridge and kept my head down and concentrated on getting to the top. I did not care about pace, I just wanted to keep moving forward and get to the downward side. The Manhattan skyline was huge in front of me, but really, who cared, it simply hurt too much. Lo and behold, I reached the top and began the kamikaze decent to First Avenue. My mind was wondering how loud the crowds would be, but I was also wondering what it would be like to hear my bones break. As I approached mile 16 this is when the first thoughts of walking came to me. I forced them out and kept moving. There is a quote, that if you have not thought about walking during a marathon, you are not running hard enough, well I was going plenty hard by that standard.
I shot off the bridge onto two very tight hairpin turns that catapulted us on to First Avenue, the crowds truly were fantastic and there were tons of people everywhere. They say not to get carried away and go too fast, and well for me, that was easy, as there was not much umph left, just an ability to loosely maintain. First Avenue rolled up and down, like they said, but I didnt believe it would be that hard, ha ha ha, I was wrong. The miles began to tick by, and then suddenly I was going through mile 17, and then 18, and then 19. I was about to enter into the final 10k, this would be the hardest, and one of the slowest 10k of my life.
One would think that you are about to go up 5th avenue and in and around Central Park, things should be rosy, well there is a hill or two that think other wise, and then, oh yeah, the Bronx. We rolled over the Willis Avenue Bridge, and at this point, my legs were beginning to scream, and well I was in more pain than I thought I could handle, well I was soon to find out there was more, see section on fifth avenue. However, I was working my way through the borough, and even caught a glimpse of Gebre Gebremariam on his way to winning the race on a jumbo-tron they had on the road, of course I was so out of it, I thought it was another Ethiopian runner by the name of Goumri, who didnt even run, but whatever. I felt good that I was less than five miles from the finish, and the winner had not crossed yet. We headed back into Harlem on the Northern part of the Island and began to prepare for the grueling finish.
It was like a dance party in Harlem. People on stoops, in the street, everywhere. They were grooving. It was as if whatever people were up to on Saturday night had just erupted on the streets the following morning. Kids, adults, everywhere, people enjoying the spectacle. Me, I was hurting. We round Marcus Garvey park, passed Langston Hughes home, and made our way through mile 22. These were the points where I was beginning to wonder if I was going to break 2:50. I told myself I could do it, and set my self on it. Then I saw the hill leading up fifth avenue to Central Park.
It was as if someone had just run over my dog. I wanted to cry, I wanted to run away, no wait, cant do that, it would hurt to much. So I kept moving forward, very very slowly. It is not an intense incline, no worse than I have gone over in training, but it was late, and it was long. The people were yelling and encouraging, yes the crowds were still thick, and would stay that way all the way through the park. As all the photos will show, I grimaced my entire way up that hill and was praying to God that it would end. It did, and the turn into Central Park was made.
Now when I had run these hills on Friday, I had simply dismissed them as some rollers that were steeper on the descent than on the ascent, but you guessed it, I was wrong. It hurt, hurt, hurt and hurt some more. Mile 24 finally came, and I was checking my watch as if my life depended on it. Soon after that mile 25, and at this point, I knew I would have to destroy myself in order to break 2:50, so I did. I came out onto Central Park West and let it all go, which really wasnt much, but sure felt like it. As I turned back into the park at mile 26, I really tried to use the quick descent to shoot me down the hill and get me moving quicker, but I stumbled, and was very lucky to not fall, but kept moving. I could see the stands, and yes, it did exist, the finish line.
I saw the clock and guaged the distance, I knew I was going to break 2:50, but not by much, so I kept chugging, and then looked very intently towards the stands to find my wife. I could not see her, though I looked hard, and then turned towards the line and drove it home. I grabbed the black band I wore in memory of my wife's cousin's son, pointed skyward, and then waved my arms around like a mad man. It was done, I had done it, in a time of 2:49:06.
I leaned over on my knees, and almost fell over, much to the chagrin of the medical staff. I convinced them I was okay, and started the long march to retrieve my bag. I could not even cry, I tried, both from hurt and from joy, but I did not have the energy. Then a medal, that I so deserved was hung around my neck, and a picture was snapped quickly, and then it was done.
This is by far not anywhere near my last marathon, and probably not my last New York. But it was the first time I had hurt so bad and kept going. I had seen myself achieve new limits, and I am ready to continue pushing them. I mean hey-4 straight personal records in four tries, I mean, I am doing something right, right?
That being said-here is the story of one of the greatest moments of my life, told by the guy who lived it. The guy who worked 60 hour weeks, helped raise his 3 sons, and found some time to run, here it is- The 2010 ING New York City Marathon-
This was my Olympics, my trails, and my world championships, at least to this point. Raised to revere and respect this marathon, it was on the bucket list, and I have now been to the mountain top. This is the story of all 26.2 miles, so enjoy, or don't, but realize, I poured everything I had into this attempt, and had the time of my life. This is the story of the race, not the expo, or the training, or what I ate the night before. This is the story of a pursuit and an accomplishment, all beginning at a cold and windy Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island.
Cramming 45,000 people plus volunteers onto a small slot of land is a logistical masterpiece. Finding a way for us 45,000 to stay warm, was a simple issue of how uncomfortable were you willing to be. There were not many tents for us to cram into, but cram we did. I managed to find some plastic wrap to sit on in a tent, and quickly found myself between a woman in a sleeping bag reading a book, a lady from another country sleeping on a cardboard box, and two very hairy legged men standing directly in front of me. Thankfully I had my blackberry with me, and was able to kill some time. Outside the tent the wind was blowing at around 12 mph, and it was about 35 degrees out there. For two hours or so, I managed my spot until it was time to head to the starting corral staging area. I dropped of my bag of clothes and what not that I would change into after the race and headed to my corral.
I was in the first corral of the orange line, wave 1. There are three waves and each started 30 minutes behind the other. Basically I started when all the pros started, an issue that was truthfully very important to me. In our corral staging area I met a really nice guy from London named Lee, and he and I kept each other company as we worked our way onto the Verrazano Narrows bridge. This I think was good, as it kept my nerves calm, and probably his as well. As the time approached to start, we all slowly de robed and tossed our clothing to be donated to charity to the road side. I was wearing a Fleet Feet top and my gray shorts, blue sunglasses, and red hat that I did not expect to last long after the start. Before we knew it, the national anthem was being sung, and we were getting ready to start.
Before us lay the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the longest suspension bridge in the United States. One mile of uphill awaited us, and then a really fast mile down the other side. The cannon went off, the bridge shook, and we were running. In marathons, I always start towards the back of my corral to avoid the temptation of running too fast at the start. However, before I started making my move to the front, I had to see the pros go by. They were on the other side of the bridge, and would quickly overtake us on that side. I saw Meb Keflezghi, last years winner, and American, and gave him a shout of encouragement, in return, I got a fist pump! How awesome. I also made sure to get a shout out Dathan Ritzenhein on the other side of him. Most importantly, I caught a glimpse of Haile Gebressalessie, the greatest marathoner of our time, and probably of all time. He was in the front, and I assumed he would stay there, but he didnt, he faded, and dropped out at mile 16. A truly tragic ending to one of the greatest runners of all time's career.
I spent the majority of the first mile trying to stay calm, and to make my way past slower runners. I took a look to the left at the Manhattan sklyine in the distance, and unlike most other runners, I did not think, "gee, how beautiful," but instead," oh dear lord, that is a long freaking way off". I went through the first mile about 20 seconds off pace which is perfect. By this point we were beginning to space out pretty well, and I was trying to settle in, but we were zooming down the other side of the bridge and into Brooklyn at this point. I may have run the second mile in less than 6 minutes, but I am not entirely sure. However I was about to encounter the crowds of Brooklyn, and that was to set my pace ablaze.
As we worked our way onto Fourth Avenue, the crowds were several deep and stretched on and on. They were loud, cheerful, and not at all upset their road was closed. I could tell at this point that I was moving pretty quickly, and by mile five realized that I was on pace to go under 2:40-the goal I had set myself to aim for in order to continue training for the trails. I was trying to control myself, by staying with whichever runner I caught up to for at least several strides, but each one seemed to fade as I caught them, so I just kept going. The crowds in Brooklyn were relentless. There were bands, bagpipes, people cheering, and general mayhem. All cheering for us who spoke different languages and who most of us will never meet. I was so amped, that I forgot to take my first gu at mile 5, and had to wait until mile 6.
We hit mile 8, the point in which all three colors come together, and the noise of Brooklyn seemed to hit a crescendo. This was also a huge turning point for me in the race as well. I was beginning to understand that to keep this pace was to punish my body severely for a very long time. I had been watching a group of about 10 runners on the other side for about a mile or so, and figured that I would just settle in there because the pace seemed kind of moderate. Well we all came together at mile 8 and I realized that I had joined up with a group going just faster than me. I had been lulled into thinking it was going to be easy because of the 100 or so runners I had passed from the orange wave. This is when the race and the pain really started for me. The crowds remained amazing. We were in the shade, but the terrain was beginning to roll a little bit, but nothing too bad, and the pace stayed the same. I went through 10 miles in just a smidge over an hour, which was perfect for hitting that 2:40, I knew however, that if history repeated itself, my back half would be much slower than my first.
I did manage to settle down, and by the time we were approaching halfway assumed that I could make it. Then we rounded the corner and saw the Pulaski Bridge leading into Queens. Pictures I had of this bridge made it seem rather flat, and not much of a bridge at all. To say the least, these pictures were misleading. It was a huge climb, and began to take all the fight out of me, or at least try. The halfway mark was on the bridge and I went through in 1:19:00, a pretty solid half, but I was beginning to realize, that without a major boost from my legs, that I would go over 2:40, I was okay with this and just kept plugging. There was however, a monster looming ahead of me, The Queensboro Bridge.
The crowds through our brief stint in Queens were great and lively as well. But we could see the bridge coming, and most of us were gearing up for it. What was truly beginning to bug me at this point were my feet, well the balls of my feet to be precise. I honestly felt like a couple of bones in my right foot were going to break. As I went over the bridge, I knew for sure that on the downward side, that I would snap something, and it would all end. That is what I thought as I ran over the bridge and kept my head down and concentrated on getting to the top. I did not care about pace, I just wanted to keep moving forward and get to the downward side. The Manhattan skyline was huge in front of me, but really, who cared, it simply hurt too much. Lo and behold, I reached the top and began the kamikaze decent to First Avenue. My mind was wondering how loud the crowds would be, but I was also wondering what it would be like to hear my bones break. As I approached mile 16 this is when the first thoughts of walking came to me. I forced them out and kept moving. There is a quote, that if you have not thought about walking during a marathon, you are not running hard enough, well I was going plenty hard by that standard.
I shot off the bridge onto two very tight hairpin turns that catapulted us on to First Avenue, the crowds truly were fantastic and there were tons of people everywhere. They say not to get carried away and go too fast, and well for me, that was easy, as there was not much umph left, just an ability to loosely maintain. First Avenue rolled up and down, like they said, but I didnt believe it would be that hard, ha ha ha, I was wrong. The miles began to tick by, and then suddenly I was going through mile 17, and then 18, and then 19. I was about to enter into the final 10k, this would be the hardest, and one of the slowest 10k of my life.
One would think that you are about to go up 5th avenue and in and around Central Park, things should be rosy, well there is a hill or two that think other wise, and then, oh yeah, the Bronx. We rolled over the Willis Avenue Bridge, and at this point, my legs were beginning to scream, and well I was in more pain than I thought I could handle, well I was soon to find out there was more, see section on fifth avenue. However, I was working my way through the borough, and even caught a glimpse of Gebre Gebremariam on his way to winning the race on a jumbo-tron they had on the road, of course I was so out of it, I thought it was another Ethiopian runner by the name of Goumri, who didnt even run, but whatever. I felt good that I was less than five miles from the finish, and the winner had not crossed yet. We headed back into Harlem on the Northern part of the Island and began to prepare for the grueling finish.
It was like a dance party in Harlem. People on stoops, in the street, everywhere. They were grooving. It was as if whatever people were up to on Saturday night had just erupted on the streets the following morning. Kids, adults, everywhere, people enjoying the spectacle. Me, I was hurting. We round Marcus Garvey park, passed Langston Hughes home, and made our way through mile 22. These were the points where I was beginning to wonder if I was going to break 2:50. I told myself I could do it, and set my self on it. Then I saw the hill leading up fifth avenue to Central Park.
It was as if someone had just run over my dog. I wanted to cry, I wanted to run away, no wait, cant do that, it would hurt to much. So I kept moving forward, very very slowly. It is not an intense incline, no worse than I have gone over in training, but it was late, and it was long. The people were yelling and encouraging, yes the crowds were still thick, and would stay that way all the way through the park. As all the photos will show, I grimaced my entire way up that hill and was praying to God that it would end. It did, and the turn into Central Park was made.
Now when I had run these hills on Friday, I had simply dismissed them as some rollers that were steeper on the descent than on the ascent, but you guessed it, I was wrong. It hurt, hurt, hurt and hurt some more. Mile 24 finally came, and I was checking my watch as if my life depended on it. Soon after that mile 25, and at this point, I knew I would have to destroy myself in order to break 2:50, so I did. I came out onto Central Park West and let it all go, which really wasnt much, but sure felt like it. As I turned back into the park at mile 26, I really tried to use the quick descent to shoot me down the hill and get me moving quicker, but I stumbled, and was very lucky to not fall, but kept moving. I could see the stands, and yes, it did exist, the finish line.
I saw the clock and guaged the distance, I knew I was going to break 2:50, but not by much, so I kept chugging, and then looked very intently towards the stands to find my wife. I could not see her, though I looked hard, and then turned towards the line and drove it home. I grabbed the black band I wore in memory of my wife's cousin's son, pointed skyward, and then waved my arms around like a mad man. It was done, I had done it, in a time of 2:49:06.
I leaned over on my knees, and almost fell over, much to the chagrin of the medical staff. I convinced them I was okay, and started the long march to retrieve my bag. I could not even cry, I tried, both from hurt and from joy, but I did not have the energy. Then a medal, that I so deserved was hung around my neck, and a picture was snapped quickly, and then it was done.
This is by far not anywhere near my last marathon, and probably not my last New York. But it was the first time I had hurt so bad and kept going. I had seen myself achieve new limits, and I am ready to continue pushing them. I mean hey-4 straight personal records in four tries, I mean, I am doing something right, right?
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