Exactly 12 hours ago I was waking up. Amazingly enough, I managed to sleep, and was in the middle of a dream about Michael as a kid when the alarm went off at 3:45 AM. Temps looked great; no rain, just cool enough for the extra layer, everything laid out, organized and ready to go. Cruising down 95, it was a fast trip to downtown and a flat rate lot near the Arena. Incredibly, just like at the Expo, I walk up just as all the elite runners are coming in, swinging easy legs in uniforms, all going to the same start line. Being early gave me a chance to really see the whole scene develop, as the pre-dawn dark became illuminated with the sights and noises of a 20k plus crowd. I was in the corral with a Ft.Lauderdale runners team mate, who it turns out, was sharing her first marathon as well, and also nervous as hell. Another good sign; a connection. Should have peed again; it took many many minutes to get everyone across that start line; I had to wait until mile 2, over the MacArthur Causeway, to go. But by then the lovely fingers of dawn were painted above the fully lit cruise ships shimmering on the water, and the magic, I knew had begun.
The run to the beach and up was good. The hitch in my right hip began early, however, a very big and major drag. I kept looking for a pace, a gait that would help, and nothing really ever relieved it; now I know this must be addressed if I ever hope to try this again. Anyway, the sun came up fully up at the beach, and all the usual cast of characters were out and about, the homeless, including a guy sitting on the street next to the course burning sticks of incense, the late night partyers who shouted half-hearted encouragement over their beers, the clumps of charity supporters, and families, friends with signs and clackers and bells, and the volunteer staff everywhere. What an amazing job! Each aid table, every corner, all the police and officials....and the runners. I fell back in the pack because of that first pit stop, and spent the entire first half trying to get free of crowds. I never appreciated how much I love to run because I am alone. I am a person who relishes solitude, appreciates the company of my own thoughts and the expansiveness of energy when unencumbered by others. Maybe this is what appeals to me so much about the endeavor. But the course was crammed with many struggling folks like me, and we all seemed to trip over each other as we plodded along. Still, when I had the chance to really see around me, the islands of causeways on the side, the sailing boats, the grey/blue hues that swirled around the bridges were the conduit. I realized, after mile 10 or so, that I had a lot of race to run. But somewhere there abouts, I managed to fall in with a woman running my exact pace, and without thinking we synced up for the ride to the split.
She was running the half, I told her I was doing the full; she said "I'm honored to run with you."
Little did she know that inside me the argument was raging. The half would be sweet, it was in reach. It would all be over. I tried to picture doing what I'd just done AGAIN. Nothing was comfortable. My time sucked. But as the split came up and the street volunteers shouted "half!" pointing left and "full!", pointing right, I knew it was impossible not to try. I had to see what it was like.
The first few miles after the split, out of the dingy underbelly of downtown Miami, was a mental regroup; there was no relief I realized. I kept trying to place myself on one of my training runs, saying to myself, this is mile 14 at.....this is what I do, this is how I feel. The course wound down into Coconut Grove and the weather, by then, had turned blustery, with intermittent rain, as the front came in. Not too terrible, I've run in worse. But enough to change the vibe into something more serious and surreal. The neighborhoods of the Grove gave me plenty of opportunity to take small chunks out of the distance, as the road ran round and through the downtown area. Once I was at 16 I said out loud "It's just a 10 now, I run 10 all the time," but on the other side of the downtown district I was desperately counting down each mile. Every little distraction was a moment of relief; the street dancers at the intersection, the dog-walkers and their dogs, little kids at their front drives cheering, the traffic cops with nods of encouragement. I found stretches of road I could tuck myself into and ride, and did that pretty successfully until we were out the other side of the Grove. But then it was only mile 20.
Just north, the track took a detour onto the Rickenbacker. This is familiar territory, but I had already been walking on and off, and it was mile 22. I pictured myself doing this training run, heading back down to Bill Boggs park, and tried taking that mile, to the turnaround, in one go. Had to begin walking again, while on the way, a big Minnesota guy was at my pace and struck up a conversation. It was his 4th. He was very supportive- all normal, he says, everything I'm feeling, and we agree at mile 23, the turn back, we will give it our last go, 3 more miles. And so I hunker down into what's left of my stride and away I went for my 'last race'.
The stretch back north after the turn was a relief, just knowing I was heading home, but exactly how far? That 3 miles felt like double, easy. I kept the pace and tried to ignore my hip, my feet, my shoulders, my legs and resisted their attempt to cramp or buckle on me. I kept looking for the rhythm, and even if it meant a crawl, I kept it up, mile 24, 25, and suddenly I saw a marker; I was in my last mile.
Seemed as if the field thinned, and all of us were struggling. There was one last overpass; I walked. Then around the corner the metal barracades began, the finishers were walking by, and lining the route were people still interested in cheering us on. I realized, by then, it was doable, it was within my reach. I don't think I quite believed it until then, until I heard the crowds, the megaphone voices and saw, over to the left, the final chute and the finish line with its orange and blue balloons.
People were ecstatic for me! Strangers! Shouting my name and cheering....I began to cry (not the first time) and put one last boost on for the line. I hear, over my shoulder, the announcer say my name. It doesn't register for a moment that he's talking about me; they are announcing people as they come in. And for a few moments I am running absolutely alone, and throwing my arms up, crossing the line.
Water, chip removal, and finally medal. wow.... cookies, bagels. Forcing myself to walk, past the clumps of families and friends, until I could get my bearings to leave. I felt the magic of everyone's support, and often called upon it- out loud. I shouted at you, Dave, a couple times, to get in my head and help me out, later in the miles. I had Michael, and CeeCee and Vitae/Margot on my mind earlier, at the split especially, telling me to Go For it!! Tom, with a gentle, hearty laugh. My other friends and coworkers. And of course the family, traveling through the area where Et, Roni and everyone lives. Naturally the first call was to Dad. That was fun. I know it knocks him out to imagine me doing this. And so unexpected.
I lost track of where the car was, and wandering around brain-dead, I wondered if that was the legacy: runner loses car, forgets parking due to extreme exertion. But eventually, I stumbled on it. I tried to pour my tangled, mangled body into the car and hit the road for home. 12 hours. 6 on the course (almost) and another 6 before and after. The super, uber runners were no doubt napping by the time I was making my mind up about the race. But I was entrenched in a time of my own. The time, by the way, being 5:56:51.
So not only did I finish, I came in just under 6 hours, which was my true goal. I tried to leave off attachment to it many many times, as I struggled along. But somehow, like everything else in this experience, there was a flow I just needed to follow. In the end, it all fell into place.
And I got the medal to prove it.
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