Sunday, October 17, 2010

WHY? (AC Marathon)

So far my post-marathon routine has consisted of zombie-like wandering while my brain and feet battle over whether they're allowed to stop and sit down—which all the run gurus decry as a painful decision. Eventually my feet realize they don't need to listen to my brain, and I sit down. Sunday my feet won the post-race battle in Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City. My support team of Kristin, Mom and her friend Mrs. H watched as I joined other racers in the Hall--wrung out and spent. Mom finally asked a young guy
near us the obvious question:
“Why do you guys do this?”

Truly ironic is that we spend a lot of time, effort and solitude to do this. Fortunately, the Atlantic City Marathon was the closest I've come to sharing the experience with my family. My littlest one was excited to make the overnight trip to the beach and cheer me on. Mom was up for it too. So it was a plan: Kristy and I would meet mom and Mrs. H in Ocean City Saturday evening, head over to AC to pick-up my registration stuff and then enjoy dinner together. Seemed like a good plan-- until we found out a few thousand people had the same schedule.

The lines of people in the registration area twisted, turned and stretched like a nest of vipers. Yeah, this could take a while. Like most, I hate waiting in line, but I love watching how different people handle these things. You can feel the life pouring out of the indignant and irritated folks. Why waste the energy. When the volunteers are overwhelmed but working hard, what's the point in being frustrated and annoyed? Is this what we planned? No, but it's not the end of the world. We chatted and people-watched as we waited an hour in line. Not ideal, but hey we were together.

The logistics for the pre-race dinner added to the fury of some racers. Great food, nice ballroom, just not enough of either unless you waited. Cope people. It's a pre-race dinner not a wedding reception.

Back in OC, the excitement of the race and my bed hog daughter made for a restless night. Fortunately, an 8:00 a.m. start gives a little more time for sleep. Up and out at dawn I get to watch the sun rise over Great Egg Harbor. The rising sun fills the sky with a warm glow that reflects off the glassy bay. It's gonna be a great day.

The race start is chaotic as I arrive. I check my bag at the drop-off and try to loosen up. Just minutes before the race I realize my drawstring has pulled through, so I can't tie my shorts. Normally not a problem, but cinching up helps when I'm carrying gels. So there I was five minutes before the race mentally thanking Mom that she taught me the trick for fixing a drawstring way. Of course I've never had to do it in such a rush, while wearing the shorts, but hey it worked. After the fastest threading job ever, I took a deep breath and reminded myself to enjoy the day. With that, I made my way to the start area.

Good Lord! The chaos at the start area was like a third world market. I couldn't find any system, so I wandered into the crowd and took a spot near the middle. FYI,, shorts and a light shirt are great for a race, but not ideal for standing around the boardwalk on a chilly autumn morning. Thankfully, the huddle of racers keeps it just warm enough as we wait for the start.

Finally, the race started, but not really. Boardwalk construction forced the throng of racers through a narrow area—like sand in an hourglass. We finally shuffle over the start sensor about two minutes after the official start. Unfortunately it was another minute or so before things open up so we could, you know . . run.

Local cheerleaders and spectators cheered us on as we headed down the boardwalk. Cool, but I assure you, now is not when we need the extra energy and encouragement. They should put those girls out around mile 18 or 19. I know we'll need some energy then.

This would have been
nice around mile 22
It's a bit surreal romping down the boards early in the morning. Shops are opening; guys are pushing rolling chairs and a few pedestrians are out for a walk—normal Sunday morning, except for the on-rushing hoard interrupting the early morning quiet..

Despite the size of the AC boardwalk, it's still fairly crowded when we reach the turn-off to head back toward the bay. The first surreal moment of the day came about mile 2.5 as I pass a group of slow jogging women. I'm not greased lightening, but I'm trying to do the math in my head to figure out how I didn't pass these ladies back on the boardwalk—still doesn't compute. Second surreal moment of the day came about mile 4 as we turn and head toward the Borgata. The police are controlling the traffic; volunteers are directing a line of hundreds of racers along a side of the road and the pedestrians are up on a walkway. Right in the middle, like a median strip, two really large (i.e. wide) guys plod along side by side where we're trying to run. Really?!? You guys don't see what's going on around you?!? Fortunately, the guys moved at a glacier pace and didn't make any sudden moves —not that it looked like they'd be able to if they wanted to.

As we pass the Borgata, the wind picks up a bit and I see the wind farm looming in the distance. Hmmm..that doesn't seem promising. But no worries. The wind didn't really show itself—not just yet.

Seems the waiting wasn't very exciting
As we pass mile 6 I think about my awaiting my fans up on the boardwalk. I picture Kristin cheering and Mom ringing the cowbell. My pace quickens when I reach the boards. I'm scanning, looking for them, but I don't see the big blue sign Kristy made

Suddenly I see my support crew, apparently before they saw me. Kristy seemed surprised when I ran over and give her a quick (and slightly sweaty) hug before heading down to the south end of the island. She's so cute. Her smile will keep me smiling for a few miles. But I wonder where the sign got to.

The constant wind took its toll during the long trip south. It was like running uphill for six straight miles. But I felt good and kept pace hoping that the wind would be at my back on the arduous trip back to the finish line.

Around mile 12 I ran into my first “logistics” issue. Each water stop supposedly had a bathroom. The volunteers said it was down at 28th street. Okay, I'm at 32nd street. That'll do. Soon enough here we are . . uhh . . . you're not serious?!? It's zip-tied shut. Crud monkeys. Oh well, keep moving.

The road south seems interminable. I feel like I should be in Ocean City by now. When I finally see the end of the island, my hope grows as I realize the wind will soon be at my back, and a bathroom should be waiting at the water stop.

“Where's the bathroom?”
“28th Street.”
“It's locked” I shout back.
“Oh that's not good” she replies.
I couldn't agree more.

All I remember from the trip back north is scanning the horizon for a spot to go. I see a port-a-potty a half block up on the other side in front of some construction. I cross over traffic and beeline to it. But it won't open!! Then I hear “In use”. Oh man. Cross back over traffic and keep heading north. The situation is getting more urgent. I pass by the bathroom at 28th street. Still locked. Next water station I have to keep drinking. Do you know how crazy it seems to keep drinking when you have to go so badly? A few blocks later I pass a playground. A guy out front confirms that the building next door has a public restroom around back that's open. Nice. I veer off to find relief only to encounter another locked door. This is so uncool. Hmmm . . . what about the dunes? No, I just can't do it.

I plod north until the course turns back toward the bay. At the turn I ask if they know where a bathroom is.

“Union Street.”
Great, but where's Union Street?

At the next crossing, an officer informs me that Union St is only two blocks down. I pick up the pace. Please let this thing be open.

I've never EVER been so happy to see an open port-a-potty. The only problem is, now that I've stopped, it's tough to get going again. I start back up slowly and get back up to speed as I head through the windy maze of streets we're following in Margate, Ventnor or wherever the heck we are right now.

What mile 22 seemed like
Miles 19-22 were slow and painful. I could see the people ahead starting to struggle more and more and I felt myself slowing down. The wind and bathroom chasing had taken its toll. But I kept thinking about the coaching advice—miles 20-26 separate those who have trained right from those who haven't. Okay, I've been here before, and I've trained hard. Forget the pain. Finish this thing.

My pace starts to quicken about mile 23. I'm dodging pedestrians on the boardwalk who have no idea they've wandered into a race. By miles 24 I can feel it. My pace picks up again. Now I'm passing people constantly. Almost home baby. Almost home. Mile 25 faster still. At mile 26 I bust into what felt like a sprint. The final sprint felt longer than I thought it would, but I wasn't slowing down. I could see the finish.

As I crossed the finish, I found Kristy, Mom and Mrs. H all smiles. I was excited to finish and to see them, but now is when the pain sets in. I hate this part of the race. I felt rude as I kept walking—I can't really talk. It takes all of my concentration to order my rebelling body to keep moving.

Inside Boardwalk Hall I rest, get some fluids and food. I wash up, chat with my crew and some other racers. Within 10 minutes I feel like a new man.

After I recover, we take some pictures out on the dunes. Then Kristy and I head home while Mom heads back to OC. I'm high-fiving and congratulating runners all the way down the boards to the car. It's all good now.
We stop in to Ben & Jerry's to get a treat for my biggest (actually littlest) fan. After sampling the flavors I realize I have no money or wallet. That's tough on a nine year old---yum. . .look at the delicious ice cream. Oh too bad . . . you can't have any. So my dessert monster daughter now has another credit in the ice cream account.

We rock out to Toby Mac on the way home—sticking our hands through the sun roof and celebrating a great trip. The excitement and my chatty girl make the ride home fly by.


A day after the race, and my Mom's question still lingers: “Why do you guys do this?” And to be honest, I don't really know. I had never planned on running marathons, but there's something about the challenge and the experience. The only real competitors are at the elite level. Everyone else is just a personal race against the clock with a few 

hundred (or thousand) folks with a common goal. We push each other, encourage each other, and celebrate. And at the end, through the pain, finishing really feels good.


Results:
70th of 506 finishers
20th of 90 in age bracket
Sunny and 60 degrees

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