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elkid
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Joined: 18 Nov 2002
Posts: 8353
Location: hiding out in Philly
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 Posted: 05/18/03 - 16:37 Post subject: Queens Half Marathon (long as usual)
SHORT: new PR for The Kid! Amazing considering what I physically went through (but more on that later). 2,137 out of 2,215, beat 4%.
SETUP: first half: supah ill-prepared = 2:58. 2nd half: ill-prepared = 2:35. Bad showings in both made me fearful of this distance that I badly want to make "my distance". This half: more prepared than evah = 2:18.
THE TALE: Logistically this was tough. Friday after work, drive 90M to Northern NJ. Saturday, up at 5am to drive 37M to Queens (Route 46 - Route 3 - Lincoln Tunnel - cut through Manhattan to pick up Queens Midtown Tunnel - LIE - College Point Boulevard). Got to this 25th anniversary race early; met up with monk at 7am or so. Spent nearly an hour with this gentleman. For those of you who haven't met him, brotha is TAUT, and he reminded me of what is indeed the sexiest accent evah: Male New Yorker. Watched his pee dance, then we split up. Him to run supah fast, me to run a tad bit slower.  Picture available here.
It was freezing at the start, considering I had only the hideous PH singlet/shorts combo with black T-neck on top. Brrrr in 48 degree weather. Race started late, then BANG! We're off. T-neck is off by mile 2, conquer HUGE hill at mile 4, and at mile 5 I am surprised how quickly the mile markers are coming. I begin to think that my conservative goal of 2:25 will be smashed, but I know from experience to not trust this feeling. I feel great, like a well-oiled machine, up until mile 8.
Ah, the mysterious mile 8. The point at which I usually begin to suffer (could it be because this usually signifies the end of my training runs?). By 8.5 I am ready to throw in the towel. I do not care anymore about finishing this race, because everything hurts, I am having serious trouble breathing. I begin looking for someone who can drive me back to the finish so I can get my car and drive home.
Luckily I keep running and do not see anyone. What finally keeps me going are three thoughts: 1) my best friend will KILL me if I stop now, knowing I can finish this race, 2) it took so much time and effort just to get to the start line, it'd be a shame to throw it in, and 3) the longest I've run nonstop in a race is 10M - if I can get to 11 I've accomplished a new goal. I trudge on.
By 9.5M my fingers are really swollen. I recognize this: it means I've run out of sugar and am beginning to get dehydrated. By mile 10 I stop sweating. I recognize this: I am now dehydrated. By 10.5 I begin feeling somewhat dizzy and loopy. Just before mile 11 the HUGE hill comes once more on this double loop course. I look up it and think I don't care how slow I run up this, or how long it takes me: I AM RUNNING UP THIS FRIGGIN' HILL. I get to the top.
Next thing I remember is thinking, where the hell did all these people come from? Then I realize I'm a quarter mile from the finish. I pour it on, overtaking 3 people in the chute. Cross the finish line dazed and confused, not even realizing the huge PR I'd just gotten.
As I hand my chip to the volunteer, there's a tap on my shoulder. It's the dude I'd been jockeying positions with all throughout the race. He asks me if I'm feeling OK, I reply not really, I feel like crapola. He says since mile 9.5 I'd been weaving, and was kind of weaving out of control for 11-13.
He said I had been mumbling something to myself. Originally he thought I was singing along to my MP3s, but then overheard me say a chant I'd devised in case I got into trouble: "1-2-3-4, I will have some beer for sure / 5-6-7-8, then I'll have some funnel cake." Apparently I mumbled this for an entire mile or so, which I also don't remember. He'd stayed behind to ensure my safety, and noted that several NYPD had come over to help me but I'd waved them off. He suggests that I visit the paramedics because I admit I feel like crap, and I look it (salt-encrusted and supah white lips), and I agree.
I meander to the ambulance, where I discover not paramedics but EMTs. I know this because they test my sugar (very low) and my oxygen saturation (very very low), and say "We think you should go to the hospital for an IV." I said, "If you give me one, I'll take it, but I'm not going to the hospital here, where I have no one, and no way to get my car back home." They say they can't (OH, YOU'RE EMTs! I think), I refuse to go to the hospital, instead seeking out sugar.
I have a few HI-C juice boxes, a bagel, and tons of water. I figure if I can make it back to my car without falling, I have a good chance - in my car is tons of water and Swedish Fish. I get to my car, fuel up, and begin the trek back home.
The whole 1.5 hour trek to my parents' house I'm freezing and uncontrollably shaking, despite having 2 layers of clothes on with the heater blasting. I stop to get gas, the attendant asks me if I'm OK. I just need coffee to warm me up, dude, I reply and go get coffee. I'm shaking so badly the server has to tape the lid closed. I finally reach my parents house and immediately call The Paramedic. He's in Harrisburg for the day, can't reach him, decide to wean myself back to health with water and Swedish Fish.
Afterwards I told The Paramedic my oxygen and sugar levels: he is very concerned. He says I was severely dehydrated, hypoxic, and hypoglycemic - also in the initial stages of shock. He said if I had run a few miles more I would have been in serious trouble. and that I should have stopped when I felt the crash & burn coming. I remind him that I wasn't thinking too clearly then, but secretly think "wow, if I was that bad off, I am really becoming one hell of an athlete to put myself on autopilot and still maintain my pace." Crazy runner mentality!
Splits: 10:43, 10:28, 10:22, 10:31, 10:09, 10:34, 10:49, 10:25, 11:02, 10:44, 10:55, 10:59, 10:18, 0:54 (8:56). I don't know how I managed to keep this together, but I did. Despite the huge PR, not the race I wanted. I would've liked to have been ... present for the whole thing. Until the "I give up, fade to blackout" point, however, I did enjoy this course. I still have yet to conquer my fear of this distance, but will attempt to conquer it next at the Bronx Half in July. I will remember to bring my own Gatorade. 
And I did, many hours later, have that beer and funnel cake. Life was good once again.
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