The Scent of Accomplishment

"You can never win or lose if you don't run the race."- The Psychedelic Furs

I did it and I feel like Dora after she solves the puzzle...all giddy and ready to dance and sing some stupid, but catchy, victory song. At least now I am, because it took a few days for my legs to just want to wear pants, never mind dance in them.

If I didn't say it in the beginning of this blog, running a full marathon was my goal, but not one I was all gung-ho about. I was terrified of failure. I was convinced I would drop out mid-way or worse, get cold feet and not even show up. This is why training was so crucial. Those long runs (specifically the 16, 18, and 20 milers) built up not just my physical stamina, but my confidence. Quite honestly the WORST part of my TCS New York City Marathon experience was the port-o-potty I was forced to use before the race. Ladies and gents, don't ever be the winner of a port-o-san duel. The woman who relented as we both advanced to the same john clearly won. She had to hold it in maybe another minute while I was greeted by some other runner's fresh diarrhea. The smell nearly made me pass out and I practically choked to death as I dry heaved my way out of there, retching so hard I ended up on the ground outside, warning those in line not to go in there between gags. This was the first time I probably looked crazy to those around me.

The race went a lot smoother than my bathroom trip. Ugh, I should never use the word smooth when referring to that "bathroom". I started pretty strong.The weather was perfect. Fifties or so with a light drizzle. My 20 miler was in the rain so I was well prepared for this. I ditched my gloves somewhere within the first two miles on the Verrazano Bridge, which connects Staten Island to Brooklyn. Mile 2 was all downhill and I finished that one in 7 minutes and 43 seconds, buying me much needed time for the end of the race. The crowds in Brooklyn were amazing...they were in all of the boroughs. 

I had decided early on that I wouldn't brake for anything, something a runner in front of me learned when he dropped a spoon in Brooklyn, bent down to get it, and I went crashing into him. Folks, if you drop something during a crowded race like NY, unless it's your phone, KEEP ON GOING!  Nothing was going to stop me, not that dude's spoon, not my scrunched up sock which started bothering me at the starting line, and not my bladder. Fortunately I never once had to pee. I think the port-o-potty experience scared my bladder into compliance. I wasn't stopping for water either. I carried two small frozen bottles in my sports bra and one defrosted in my hand. If you ever see a woman running and pulling waters from her cleavage wave and say hi, it's probably me.

On the way I saw a few friends who came to cheer me on, even in the rain. I did stop a few seconds to say hello to them. I'm competitive and determined, but I'm also grateful to anybody willing to spend four hours in the city waiting to see me for 5 seconds. One even had a water for me, which was great because my bra supply was near finished by that point.

All was fantastic and I was ten minutes ahead of my training pace...and then it happened. That proverbial wall we always hear about. It's real and it sucks and it happens around mile 21. This triple sucks in New York City, where the rest of the race from that point on is all uphill. My legs don't have middle fingers, but if I could've seen my blistering feet through my shoes, I'd bet my Asics that my middle toes were aimed at me. This was when I realized it was a good thing that I listened to my coach about not putting my name on my shirt. I'm sure anybody who shouted "Go Tara" from miles 21 to 26.2 might not have been answered back nicely. My favorite bystander sign, and there were many good ones, read "Running is a mental sport and you are all insane," and at this stage of the game I felt no truer words had ever been written.

Pulling myself to the finish I saw the most beautiful sight at mile 25 in Central Park. My three boys, my husband and sons. They were wet, cold, tired, and probably hating me for guilting them into being there, but for a few moments they forgot that and started calling to me. I stopped and went over for some hugs and kisses. It was like I was in the Indy 500 and this was my pit crew giving me the final tune up for the last leg of my journey. If I wasn't going to do this for me, well then I had to do it for them. I found out later I had come to a full stop for 30 seconds to see them. I know this now because my mother, who was tracking me on the app (yes there is one!) thought I had either given up or dropped dead.

After that it was straight through to that finish line. I had set three time goals that day based on my training. 4:30 if I was having a tough race, 4:20 as my most likely, and 4:15 as my miracle push time. I crossed the line at 4:13:20, nearly 2 minutes ahead of my most lofty goal. I started running at 10:15 and wanted done at 2:30...and I did it. Was it that pesky sock I refused to fix, the rain, the worry I would need another port-o-potty? I'll never know. What I do know is that I didn't get home until 5 because it took another hour and a half to get back to my family who found me swearing into my cellphone at them in the middle of a Manhattan sidewalk while once again onlookers looked at me like I was nuts. Or maybe it was admiration for this poor filthy, TCS foil wrapped  woman who just conquered a 20 year goal in her forties. I like to think it was the latter. Will I run another 26.2? Do port-o-potties stink?

*Miles ran this week 37.2. Days post marathon 7.