 Runner's Village  |
This is mostly for me to go back and read when I'm old and senile and reminiscing about the "good ol' days". For anyone else who's interested, read on.
I ran the 26.2 With Donna, The National Marathon to Finish Breast Cancer yesterday in Jacksonville Beach, Florida. Not only was it my first marathon, it was my first race of any kind. I started running just over a year ago, in January 2009--my New Year's resolution. My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer a month later. She moved here for treatment at the Mayo Clinic in the spring, and the girls and I followed in the summer. I registered for the marathon, which starts and ends at Mayo, the week we arrived. I thought running it would be cathartic, and training for it would keep me sane.
Race day started at 4:00 am. I slipped out quietly and drove to a nearby hotel, where shuttle buses were picking up runners (there was absolutely no participant or spectator parking at or near Mayo). There were hundreds of runners lined up in the freezing cold. Some wore humorous get-ups--pink clown wigs, pink tutus, bras outside their shirts. Many, like me, had "I'm running for:" bibs filled out and pinned on along with their race bibs. I made it onto the second shuttle and stood for the circuitous ride to Mayo (the most direct route, JTB, was closed for the race).
Runner's Village was elaborate and well-staffed. I checked my bag at the gear check, got a banana, and wandered around trying to stay warm. Before long, they were corralling us based on our bib colors, which corresponded to our estimated finish time. Mine was green, somewhere in the middle. I was relieved to spot a pacer with his flag for 3:50. I made my way over to him and asked where I could find the 4:45 pacer. "Towards the back," he said, somewhat disdainfully.
Turns out I wasn't the only runner searching for a pace group. Several people around me introduced themselves. We stayed together as they moved us out to the starting line on San Pablo, always scanning the sea of runners for pace flags. The only ones near us were 6:00 and 6:30. 4:45 was nowhere in sight. Joan Benoit, the Olympic gold medalist, and Donna Deegan, three-time breast cancer survivor and the marathon's namesake, addressed the crowd, a band played a song, a soprano sang the national anthem, they fired the gun, and we took off through a blizzard of pink confetti.
It was slow-going for the first two miles. I stayed with Patti, a woman originally from Long Island who lives in my neighborhood. She'd trained with Galloway, and planned to 2/1 (run two minutes, walk one minute) for a 5:30 finish. That was slower than I wanted, but I was grateful for someone nice to run with. The stretch on the bridge over the Intracoastal was breathtaking. Fog banks and steam rising off the water, the sunlight slanting in, warm and pink, illuminating the ribbon of runners snaking to the horizon ahead of us.
I stopped to use the port-a-potty east of the bridge, and lost Patti. I resolved to run MY way (10 min run/1 min walk) until I caught up with the 4:45 pace group. For the next few miles, we snaked north through downtown Jacksonville Beach, until we turned out onto the beach itself. The beach portion is what makes the Donna special. They time the marathon to correspond to low tide, when the beach is broad, flat and hard-packed. The inspirational message boards we'd signed at the Expo were spaced out every few hundred yards. We had those on the left and the Atlantic ocean on the right as we ran northward.
After a couple miles on the beach, we turned back into downtown Neptune Beach. At mile 8, I finally saw a fluorescent green pacer's shirt (TWO of them!) and a pink and white pace flag. I caught up and asked their pace/finish. 2/1 for 5:15. Good enough for me, I decided. Having run flat out for the previous 5 miles, I wasn't sure I could catch up to the 4:45 group, anyway. The next 10 miles were the best of the race, for me. We ran through residential areas down tunnel roads shaded by live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Spirits were high and we shared some laughs.
The hardest miles were 18-23. The route was a straight shot southbound, as far as you could see, in the hot sun, with only the occasional breeze off the water. We picked up several runners who'd dropped off faster pace groups or who were struggling on their own. At our largest, we had over a dozen members. The group was quiet and serious. Our pacers struggled, one with an old knee injury, the other with her breathing (she used an inhaler at one point). As we made our way up the banked, steep flyover onto JTB, members of our group began to drop off.
By the time we crested the bridge over the Intracoastal and could see Mayo looming, we were down to 5, all women, including the two pacers. We waved to Joan Benoit as she ran past us in the opposite direction. Having placed 2nd in the women's half-marathon, she was on her way back out to meet Donna Deegan to complete the marathon with her. We were ahead of schedule, and our pacers were required to finish close to their stated time. They encouraged us to run on ahead, but I told them my goal was to finish WITH the group I started with. So we all slowed up and jogged easily across the finish line just as the official clock rolled 5:15.
I got my medal and a bottle of water and made my way to gear check to get my bag with my phone. I'd just sat down on the curb when my phone started ringing. It was V. He had no idea I'd just finished, and was expecting to leave a message I'd get later. He and the girls were in the family reunion area. I met them and V gave me my new pink Oakleys. We took some pictures and got the girls a snack.
I met another runner who was waiting for his family. He'd just run his 58th marathon. He's running a marathon in each of the 50 states. Florida was his 16th state. Texas is next Saturday. He'd finished in just over 4:30, and seemed impressed when I told him this was my first race, and I'd run it in 5:15. He asked me, with a conspiratorial grin, "So? Are you hooked? Gonna do another marathon?" "Ask me tomorrow," I hedged.
I've had a day to rest and reflect, and the answer is... Yes. I'm totally hooked. How could I not be? Running a marathon is a peak experience, not unlike natural childbirth in its brutality and transcendence. I figure I've got one marathon a year in me. Maybe the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco next year? Not to mention several half-marathons...
.:.
| Very cool. And we're all still proud of you. Love, --Bill (2010.02.22) |
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