Wednesday, November 4, 2015

'15 New York City Marathon



Pre-Race
Spooky.  It was Halloween and we were in Greenwich Village with thousands watching the parade, and I was getting grumpy, worried that I had been on the pavement too long with the race start 12 hours away.  Or make that 13, as lucky for us, daylight savings time started the next morning as well.

Logistics for 50,000 
Committing to public transit, Ceci and I boarded the R train in Chelsea at 5:50 AM southbound to the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, 4 hours before the start of the race.  Boarding the 6:45 ferry was surprisingly calm and orderly as was the connecting bus to the Blue Wave starters village (1700 porta-johns and all). Also included: coffee by Dunkin’, bagels and Power Gel. At 9:00 the gate closed on the B corral of the Blue Wave, more potties inside.  A critical fact, as while waiting for a last go, most of the blue wave seemed to surge past us, to get closer to the line. By the time we joined the masses we were back with the 3:30 pace crowd, requiring a shouldering up stream to the “3 hr” banner where we would reside for 20 minutes before our 9:50 start.  Along with water and gel we brought a sharpie and monogrammed Ceci’s bare mid-drift with “C C” and my singlet with “jeff”, and passed the pen back to a serious looking guy who underlined “Relax!!” already marked on his forearm.

It was Nearly Perfect (Until the Start)
Spike Lee sent us off and up the Verranzo Narrows Bridge, and the trouble began.  Despite being in the “NYC Elite” wave we were somehow stuck behind hundreds of NYPD(?) charity runners.  Helpless to go faster and moving up the incline with as much horizontal as forward movement, we logged 8:00 for mile 1, then overcompensating, 6:15 for mile 2 on the down stroke into Brooklyn. Not exactly the script for the 2h55m pace we wanted to run.  Runners seemed to be merging from every direction and mixing with the crowds already cheering three rows deep, and we started the first of our 13 miles in the 2nd Borough.  We also starting hearing the first of the “Go CC” cheers.  The guy in the yellow singlet beside her seemed to be invisible! We were clicking 6:40 miles, marveling at the crowds and grooving to the bands that urged us on. 

Elation in Brooklyn, Squabbles, and the Split 
By mile 8 in downtown Brooklyn, where we missed Kelly, who was swallowed by loudest and most massive crowd yet, the pace was slipping to 6:45-47, and Ceci was looking anxiously over her shoulder and urging me to “get up here” with her eyes.  Apparently the 2 of us had not sufficiently worked out the nuances of our race plan, and friction was developing.  The slow start, and differences in Garmin tracking and attitude, added to the situation.  I was pretty sure a slow first half could be overcome, whereas Ceci wanted the even splits. A father/ daughter argument played out mid-race, with chants of “CC”, now building more fervently.  The support was truly unreal – even a 4 year old or someone from Venezuela can read and then yell “Go CC!”, and they all were doing it. Being a 5-11 female with a bare tummy did not hurt her cause.  She was flying, and I was having doubts – 10,11,12 miles, we are mostly on pace but it was clear to me that we were better off doing our own race.  At 13.1, we had one last debate about the meaning of 1:29:xx and I told her she could still do it if she killed the last 3 miles in the Park and then I watched her disappear in front of me.

From Ceci: In retrospect, I have my dad to thank for my finishing time, because I ended up running perfectly even splits, which I’ve heard is the best way to run a marathon. If it hadn’t been for this nagging old man, I probably would have gone out in 1:27, and while I may have been able to hang on for 2:55, more likely, I would have crashed hard, logging a few 8 or 9min miles in the final stretch, and over-shooting goal time. In fact, of the countless splits I have looked at from friends and competitors, only the women’s winner, Mary Keitany of Kenya, posted a negative split (running the first half slower than the second). Everyone else tanked. So thanks dad, glad that wasn’t me. 

Cramping in Queens 
I was alone, cold and windblown on the Queensboro Bridge! It was slow and awful.  I got behind some big guys at times and then finally got pointed downhill as we rolled onto First Avenue. The crowds were back, but I was mostly thinking of my aching legs and the 10 miles to go. Thus began a delicate balance to avoid cramping. I vowed to make it to mile 20 and to not be “the guy on 5th Ave grabbing his hammies”. The course actually has a 1000’ of elevation gain and loss, and surprisingly, I was happy for the dippy little stretch at miles 16, 17, and then some real down downhill at 18, as my legs felt better there than on the flats.  By mile 20 the course makes turns to negotiate the Willis Ave Bridge into the Bronx and then quickly onto the 138th Bridge back into Manhattan.  I remembered throwing in a little backwards running (I’m not kidding) and some B skips and grapevine moves just to shake up the big muscles a bit more.  I made silly faces at the guys behind me but they were trapped in their own pain cage, and just glared back.

Meanwhile, a few minutes up the road, I charged up the unending mountain that was the 59th Street Bridge. While I kept the pace under control, I probably passed 100 runners on the way up, which became a theme. In fact, I think I was only passed by one runner (at mile 26) for the entire race. While NYRR did an awesome job organizing, something is wrong with this picture. Anyhow, we were swept down onto First Ave, where I found my groove, preferring the completely empty right side of the road, where I didn’t have to compete for elbow room. Of course, this made my “CC” tum more visible; I converted the cheers into energy. At mile 18, I was in for a treat, as I spotted one of my best friends, Helen, fellow Eph and cycling teammate, who was wearing our distinctive “Stan’s No Tubes”  jacket, along with two identically clad side kicks. She had time to do whoops and dancing twirls before giving me the best high 5 ever. Though my toes were on fire (I am blister-prone), I was confident I could keep this pace as long as my calves behaved themselves!. 21- Finish 
By mile 21 and Fifth Ave it appeared that I’d won the cramping battle and began to move again. I started paying attention to my splits and liked that they were starting with a 6:! At Mile 22, in a rare moment of clarity, I look and see 2:30 and figure there is an outside chance still at sub 3:00. I am also thinking – I really hope I don’t come up on Ceci, this would be horrible and a dilemma – but no sign of her, whew! Mile 23 – not bad, passing lots of people -  carnage on 5th Ave as “those guys” are everywhere, off to the side hobbling and clutching.  Mile 24, a cruel uphill that you can see forever, but also where you get to FINALLY enter Central Park! Then a roller coaster ride as you plunge mercifully down along tree lined lanes, past the zoo, and towards Central Park South for a right turn with about 2 miles to go. Everything is burning, and you are thinking “how am I going to do this” but also knowing inside that you’ve got it! I am finishing strong but a few others are too and I feed on their energy as we veer out towards Columbus Circle and then back north.  Were is the #$^% banner?! Finally, I can see the clock, and the line, cross it, and hit stop at 3:01:12

The other half of the duo entered the final 6 miles, thinking of the parting quote from her father, “The marathon is a 20mile warm up followed by a 10k race.” Forcing down a last gel, as I entered Manhattan, I didn’t feel ready to race at mile 20, but I was prepared for the fight to hold on. I was thrilled to spot my coach, Mikael, who hopped on to the street to run with me down 5th Ave. The distracting chat was a blessing, and he left with advise for the remaining miles. I decided my next motivation would be catching girls. I knew top 50 was possible, so I tackled the 5th Ave hill reeling in a girl in a official looking singlet. Soon I’d caught her and then my sights were set on the next. An unexpected girl—my mom!—appeared at 96th Street to add even more encouragement. Central Park is only a blur of a memory, most notable for searing hamstrings and buckling calves. I tried to use all my knowledge of anatomy to recruit any new muscle I could to shift the stress somewhere else. With half a mile to go, a man ran up behind my shoulder, and said “come on, girl, let’s go!” I spotted two more women, and I knew this man was my ticket, so I dug just a bit deeper catching the second one at the line and staggered into the arms of a guy in a red medical jacket. Time: 2:58:35!

Beyond the Line
I’m elated, rubber legged, high-fiving the volunteers, and a little delirious.  With my medal around my neck I’m prompted forward by dozens of impossibly cheery volunteers (there were 10,000 of them!). Then in a burst, there is hobbling Ceci! She is moving way slower than I am (when it doesn’t count of course), and we hug and scream or something, I really don’t remember.  I am so proud, and we are quickly spewing our respective versions of miles 13-26.  We literally walk 2 more miles (cruel) to the very end of the 25 UPS trucks for our gear.  After delicate maneuvering to put dry clothes on cramping limbs we get our phones.  We have only been finished for 20 minutes and Mitch Baker, Ceci’s coach at Williams has texted, and Jennifer, missed calls from Kelly (2), an email from Chris…..they probably all knew our splits better than we did.

New York Loves You.
Weird scenes of hobbling runners draped in blue NYCM ponchos drifting down Central Park West; cops on scooters, cops with dogs, cops on horses; volunteers EVERYWHERE in yellow and blue jackets; a guy in full Inca Warrior garb with a massive Mohawk (and finishers’ medal) - and this was before most folks were out of Brooklyn.  Where was Kelly?  “No way, we said Broadway and 62nd not 52nd!”  We squeeze through a dump truck barricade at Columbus Circle and Ceci climbs atop a pedestal at the foot of the the Trump International Hotel, while I trade smart remarks with a cop about poor meet up plans.  We see the CVS canopy way down on Broadway where Kelly is, but there are like half of the 1 million spectators between us, so once again, I am tracking Ceci through crowds and minutes later we are reunited with big hugs.

Yelp directs us to Times Square and a hole in the wall with one of the “Best Slices in Manhattan” for pizza.  We slip into the lobby of a posh boutique hotel next door for the rest rooms just as a runner is helped through the door, not able to support himself.  We emerge cleaned up and the slices live up to their 5 star rating.  The sun is shining and it seems like everyone is a marathon fan – and all are asking us about how it went, and praising our efforts like we are celebrities.  When I tell them “she was the 16th American woman”, then they really had something to be impressed about! A bit later, the One World Trade Center Observatory the staff gifted us an iPad interactive tour guide. And finally, a random stranger treated to a shared Uber Cab ride back to our hotel!  There was a dinner invite as well, but our sticky, achy bodies needed a bath.

The complex agony of the marathon, and the hassles of mega races, were why I left this behind for the trees, rocks and trails; but If you can get to NYC for the marathon - as a participant, volunteer or spectator, do not pass it up!

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Laurel Highlands

After 14 hours and 15 minutes; 11,010 feet of elevation gain; 9900 calories burned; and 14 liters of water consumed, I crossed the line to finish the Laurel Highlands 70.5 mile trail run.
In the late 70’s a few friends challenged each other to see if they could run the trail, which starts at Ohiopyle, Pa (also famous for Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater) to its end, just outside of Johnstown, before dark.  No one made it, but in subsequent years it became established as one of the oldest trail races in the country. It traverses the entire length of the Laurel Ridge, and is marked with concrete pylons at each mile.

As both an avid hiker and runner, the race had immediate appeal, but at 70 miles it seemed in another league from what I was prepared for.  Then last fall I let the notion of doing the race get closer to reality and shared this with my frequent training partner Chris, who also got on board.  Being an old race, and also "old school”, it is not an Ultrasignup, sold out in a few minutes kind of race.  One mails a paper application and personal check and hopes to get a spot.  Your canceled check is the only acknowledgement that you are indeed a part of the 130 entrants.  By mid-December we started to plan for June 13, 2015.

A somewhat serious mid-winter Achilles injury limited my training to 17 weeks and it started with a 15 min run on a treadmill (!) and lots of cross training.  At some point in April I did a legit long run, and after that Chris and I started weekly 1/2 mile long hill repeat sessions up Rex Avenue. It was close, but by June 1 we declared ourselves ready.  In longer races, some ultra runners enlist a crew to help them on race day - and we were lucky enough assemble one too.   Our crew: Bob, a race veteran and master of the pace calculator (see below); Barb, Chris's wife, also a seasoned runner, and our accommodations manager; my daughter Ceci; and the team dog, Scout.


All but Ceci arrived in southwestern Pa the night before and attended the pre-race briefing and dinner.  We were very happy to not be catching the 3:30 AM bus from Johnstown to the start!  Instead we slept in :), and our driver Bob had us to Ohiopyle at 5:00 AM.  Chris was mortified that a serious runner would race with a cell phone, but I wanted to be able to take some pics, and was also tracking Ceci as she made the 5 hour drive west to meet me at mile 46.  Also, I was still not super confident about a 70 mile challenge and thought the phone might keep things more casual.  

The fist 9 miles of the course features over 3k of climbing, so I adopted "it's a long day" approach, while Chris wanted a slightly faster early pace.  Bob's race calculator predicted us to reach mile 40 at the same time.  Somewhere around mile 8(?) was the last I saw Chris before the finish! The climbing lived up to expectations, and the conditions were rain forest like, but with temps in the 70s(?) - not bad on paper, but it was suffocating without a breeze stirring. I hit the 11.6 mile aid station on time at 7:52 AM and in good spirits. Bob reported Chris a few minutes ahead. The next 10 miles were rolling and I picked up the pace at hit the 19.3 mile aid station at 9:20 AM.  The aid station routine was smooth and pro - Bob expertly inserted a spare bladder into my pack and handed me a new packet of gels, salt tabs etc....He also had a pack with spare clothes and a change of shoes.
I had opted for a fairly light weight shoe - but the trail was  proving to be rockier (and more slippery) than anticipated and my ankles and feet were starting to hurt. The temps stayed coolish and we had a long section of running literally in a cloud bank - it was surreal and wonderful. I took my first of 2 hard falls during the section - a stubbed big toe and skinned arm being the only consequences. At the 28 mile aid station I upgraded to a heavier shoe (Mizuno Kazans)- and was still feeling good.  Bob said Chris was now 4-5 mins ahead.

Soon after, the sun came out and the heat index skyrocketed.  With the cool temps I may not have taken enough water and my pace was slowing by the time we crossed Rt 31 (mile 32). I had a headache and by the mile 39 stop I was 20 mins off my projected pace.  I was forcing fluids, salt and gels and starting to feel better,  then shortly after the aid station, I had the good fortune to be caught by Maggie.  It is an ultra ritual to form brief friendships with total strangers.  I knew Ceci was meeting me at mile 46, but feared I would be staggering by then.  Instead Maggie, a military intelligence analyst and mom, and I traded the pacing and life histories, as my head ache subsided and our pace increased.  I managed only to lose another 5 mins during that stretch- a pretty section of trail that frequently threaded through huge moss covered rock outcroppings.  

Barb had said earlier, it would be whole new race once I met Ceci, and seeing the trio of Barb, Ceci and Scout at 46.4 was huge.  Bob was off pacing Chris, but now I had my own helper.  We took our time at the station - I ate a mini turkey sandwich and some watermelon and we noted from the leader board that I was in 12th, with Chris in 9th.  The last big hills occur between 46 and 52, and I did my best to power hike up and run the flats.  I predicted that the key to Laurel was getting to mile 52 with something left - and I felt decent and ready to roll the last 18.  Ceci noted that the guy in 11th was drinking a beer at the rest stop, and we agreed that we should be able to get this guy, and in a old burn area with ferns lining the trail we came upon his pacer taking photos!  About a quarter mile later we catch Mr Miller Time and cordially pass on by. 


The joy of the catch did not last long, as on a nearly flat section of trail i tripped again - this time smashing the other big toe and coming down hard on my left hip and knee.  I rolled in pain, but the key parts all seemed functional, and we then managed some of the fastest miles of the day.  The pace was paying off as we eyed the 10th and 9th place runners ahead, and aggressively ran past them.  They shouted "were we relay runners?" (there is also a concurrent 5 man relay race) and Ceci shouted back "sorry, no".  At the mile 57 aid station a volunteer pointed out the blood streaming from my knee and cleaned me up while another guy patiently asked me what i wanted to eat - "grilled cheese?" - I settled for a can of Coke and mini Hershey's bars.  My stomach had not felt great for a while and the Coke helped.  

We were rolling again with many easy descents, but I was tiring - I kept thinking I would catch Chris anytime but 9th was where I would stay.  The only section of non-single track comes before the final aid station at Gas Line Road (mile 62) - about a mile of dirt road that rose slightly and seemed to never end.  The skies were getting darker and the humidity, impossibly, even higher.  Ceci cajoled me about the slow pace, but I was done racing and just wanted it over.  I had hoped to gain time here, as It was steeply down, but being rocky and slippery I was wary of falling again.  


With 3 miles to go you can hear the train switching yards in Johnstown below and then enter a delightful rhododendron thicket that arches completely overhead.  We were tempted to use the headlamp, but just took a bit more care.  Mercifully, the only mile on the course that is short is the last one, only .6! and it was a joyful thing to see the "69" obelisk.  It was nearly dark and we heard thunder and smelled rain, as we passed the park entrance sign and saw the glow of the finishing tent beyond!



Fitting the style of the race there was no digital clock or inspiring music, just a scorers table and guy checking  race numbers - that was it! It was 7:45 PM, 14 hrs and 15 minutes after the start. Ceci and I hugged and high 5'd, and then noticed Chris sprawled on a towel nearby.  He had been done for 25 mins and had finished in 6th place!  A few minutes later the skies opened in a downpour - the shower was refreshing, and the post-race chili tasted surprisingly good.

We joined up with the rest of the crew and took up the final challenge of the day - fitting all of us, plus gear, in Barb's Subaru - it was steamy (the nicest way to put it) but we fit and started to relive the day a bit at a time.


Laurel is a stunningly beautiful course, and being point to point is unusual (like Boston) and special. The small town, woodsy vibe is great, and the organizers and volunteers are clearly old hands. It was a brutal weather day, and it took its toll with only 2/3 of the starters finishing. I was the 3rd oldest finisher, so top 10 should have felt good, and generally I was pleased.  I loved the crew and my pacer - thank you!  It also affirmed part of what is so appealing to me about ultras - their unpredictability, and fighting through tough spots. It was also vindication of a training and race day plan well executed, and while not a 100 miler, I feel like I truly belong in the ultra marathoner club now.   Thanks for reading and all your support!!