PR at NYC marathon: The Mini Series!

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Warning: anyone looking for the short of it, scroll to the bottom for the stats. This is not really a report of a race run, but of a journey taken. It is the story of a half-baked promise of a naive girl that became a dream fulfilled by a woman. A marathon 18 years in the making. As such, it'll be long: grab a cup of coffee and a snack.

11/86: my best friend Joe and I stand in the streets of Brooklyn to cheer on his brother's girlfriend as she runs NYCM. We drunkenly laugh at all the stupid people running why? for how long? WHY? I say, "Damn, that's dumb. But we can do that. How hard can that be?" We vow to run it before Joe turns 30.

12/88: Joe is diagnosed with AIDS. He reminds me of that wacky promise, and says he will now cheer me on as I run NYCM alone. I am now obligated to do this race. I promise to do it by the time he turns 30.

01/92: Joe calls me, sounding weak and weary. We reminisce about times past. He reminds me of that wacky promise. I laugh. He dies the next day, 2 months shy of his 30th birthday.

10/00: I turn 30, and remember my promise. I give myself another 10 years and hope I live that long.

10/01: I turn 31, and sense something missing in my life. I begin my quest to find it.

02/02: At a family dinner party my brothers and I try to best each other. I blurt out "In the next 2 years I will run a marathon, and one day I will run New York." My entire family, including my husband and mother, laugh so hard they cry and/or fall off their chairs.

05/02: After a few false starts, I begin the C25K program.

07/02: I run my first 3 miles nonstop; first time since high school.

09/02: I run my first race, a 5K. I think I'm going to die through the whole thing, but am amazed I finished. The next week I run my first half marathon, one of the most awful experiences of my life. I fall in a pothole at mile 3 and cross the finish line broken, bloody, defeated, and bawling my eyes out. Yet strangely I want to come back for more.

12/02: I join the NYRRC.

02/03: I run my first qualifying race with the NYRRC. 3 weeks later, I begin to see an athletically competitive side of me I didn't know existed.

05/03: After 2 miracle races, I crash and burn. It will take me 14 months to fully recover from this.

10/03: I run my ninth and final qualifying race with the NYRRC, and as such have earned myself a guaranteed slot in NYCM 2004.

11/03: I run my first marathon in Philadelphia. Slow, but sure: a great experience. I realize I'm bad at the distance, but can't wait for another.

02/04: After a weird fluke I bust my knee. I take 3 weeks off, doctor-mandated. Not being able to run, I realize how important running is to me, how much a part of my life it has become. I realize that running is the thing I'd been looking for. My first race back that month, I confirm this.

03/04: I officially sign up for NYCM 2004.

06/04: After training for 4 grueling months for triathlons and hating it, I decide to switch gears. I will focus on running, which will hopefully benefit the other 2 sports which proves to be a correct assumption. I begin base building. I sense my legs have muscle memory and decide to test this long held theory with an overall strategy of high mileage run slow, races for tempo runs/speedwork. At the suggestion of an elite runner, I add in weekly race recovery runs and long run recovery runs, and start to ice my knees on any run 5 miles or more. I decide to start training long and early, just in case life throws me a few curve balls. This proves to be critical for this training cycle, and hands down the key to my training success.

07/04: After a year and a half of trying to figure out what's wrong with me, my doctor gives me a diagnosis. "It's very possible, Lauri, that you will NEVER run a marathon again." I am devastated, but disagree. We develop a course of action to attempt to push my body past some physical and physiological limits it apparently has. Subsequently I kick it up and begin marathon training in earnest, including my first long runs, but I train very cautiously. I'm contacted by Joe's brother, who says he's creating Team Joe so I don't have to run on my own. I would run at various parts with a cop, a fireman, a teacher, and a priest, and there would be family members scattered throughout the course to cheer us on. I'm ecstatic.

08/04: Highest mileage to date achieved. I spend most of the month training my body to do without: as water is my enemy, I push my 'no liquids until weak' threshold from 65 minutes to 100. I discover my perfect hydration/nutrition on the run ratio needs. I try to run when it's hottest and most humid, so I will be able to run faster with less when it gets cooler. I decide to trust my knowledge of my running self and break from my coaches: one because he's too busy, another because he's somewhat inaccessible and can't give me the immediacy of feedback that I need, the third because his objectives contradict my goals. I do an olympic triathlon on almost no training, and get cocky about my abilities. As such, I start fall racing season with a huge bonk in Manhattan. While I get a course PR, I also get an hour and a half in the med tent. Lesson learned: I cannot beat my body, but I must work with it.

09/04: Finally grasping that lesson proves critical. I start really working with my body, and listening to it. I push my 'no liquids until weak' threshold from 100 minutes to 150. Mileage about as high as August, but my races are awesome, including my final tri of the season. PRs all the way around, including breaking my 16 month-standing half PR.

10/04: My life begins to unravel and fall apart. My mother goes into the hospital, eventually diagnosed with congestive heart failure, pneumonia, and cancer. My training suffers due to constant trips to NJ to visit her and care for my family that she has asked me to run. I fall at work and pull a hip muscle, and train easier to accommodate it. My mileage is all over the place, though. My highest mileage ever at 70, my lowest mileage in six months at 16. I begin to fear the marathons as I slip into depression, self doubt, and complete exhaustion. My racing, however, is off the charts. PRs all around - I break my 5K PR twice, my half PR twice as well. As I get closer to the marathons, my fear grows but I still hold a flicker of hope thanks to my races.

11/02/04: Final consult with my doctor, who is concerned about my exhaustion, depression, and weakened physical state. I point out that factoring in race fees and transportation costs, this is the most expensive race I've ever attempted, and that it took me two years to get to the start line (a year to qualify, a year to get into good enough shape to run it). After weeks of trying to coerce me into dropping out of NYCM, he gives me the medical OK so long as I use it as a training run, and run slow with my HRM.

11/05/04: My mother has her first of two surgeries in Manhattan. Prognosis good.

11/06/04: I stop in and see Mom, who's doing very well. She wishes me well in the race, and tells me to kick ass. I pick up my race packet for my first NYCM. I'm amazed at how organized the expo is; it's easier to pick up my packet here than at regular club events. And then ...

11/07/04: RACE DAY
I wake up at 215 and can't get back to sleep. Not because I'm nervous, but because the night before I had 11 glorious hours of sleep. The most I've had unassisted since September. I lay in bed and reflect on what's happened, and what might be today. I rise at 4, dress, and get my stuff together. I stop at DD for breakfast, then drive to my baby brother's. We drop my car off at the bus terminal, and he drives me to Giants Stadium to pick up the official bus to Staten Island. I board the bus and we leave at 555. The girl next to me strikes up a conversation, and we end up chatting through 1020. That's a lot of time to sit and wait! Luckily the weather was mild. We sipped water and coffee and made occasional treks to the portajohns. At 1010 the race starts, and we line up in our respective areas in our corral. I'm so far back I can barely hear the start canyon. I can see the first of the runners go across the Verrazano, and am unsure when we'll get to meet up with them since every corral has a different start path. They have slightly different courses, too, until they sync up at mile 8.

We walk a mile to the start, and then off we go, immediately uphill on the Verrazano, the longest single-span bridge in North America. I'm already smiling at what I believe to be the most beautiful bridge in the world, but am already warm. In tights and a long tank I'm a little concerned, but figure by the halfway point I'll get cold again. I run for a while with a gold lame outfitted Elvis, sporting a good wig and rings on every finger. He passes me, but I overtake him later. I then run with a Stormtrooper before leaving him in the dust. I also quickly overtake the Running Rhino. My first mile, uphill, is an OK time considering I'm really stuck in the pack. We then descend and hit mile 2 in a better time. I realize I'm going fast, but my strategy is not to start slow and end slower, but to run consistently at 83-85% on the HRM. I know I'll be faster in the beginning than the end, but figure a constant rate of effort will help.

Miles 2-12 are in my beloved Brooklyn, first through Fort Hamilton then running the length of 4th Avenue, then Bed-Stuy and Williamsburg. At 2.5 I hear "bonjourno, principessa!" and see my first running partner, The Cop. Mr. NYPD runs with me for about 4 miles through the fabulous crowd support in Brooklyn, and we sing songs to keep us amused. Fabulously modern songs like "Play that Funky Music" and "Saturday Night". Early on I realize Team Joe has told a few friends, because every cop and fireman who sees me run past with JOE emblazoned on my chest in Sharpie marker screams "GO TEAM JOE!" when I pass. Throughout this race I seriously felt like I was a part of the NYPD and FDNY, so great was their support of me. At various points I hear "HERE COMES JOE!" over airhorns. Ridiculous the amount of support this slow marathoner is getting.

When The Cop leaves me I'm on my own for a bit, and manage, in classic Kid overachiever style, to add an extra tenth of a mile to my race by running on the blue route instead of my orange one and take a long corner I shouldn't have and I also miss the mile marker. At mile 9 I'm joined by The Teacher ("hey, principessa!") and we hit the amazingly supportive crowd at Clinton Hill, where everyone is going nuts to cheer us up the hill. Miles 10-11 we sing old school TV theme songs, like "Good Times" and "Alice". Mile 11 we continue singing and cursing up and over the Williamsburg Bridge.

At 13.1 we enter Queens via the Pulaski and The Teacher leaves. Pretty quiet in this borough, so I'm glad when The Fireman joins me at mile 14 ("yo, principessa!"). I'm still feeling great and strong. I'd been concerned about my hip, but it's not bothering me at all. We sing old school rap songs, like "Paul Revere" and "You Be Illin'". (I swear, this family has not musically evolved since 1985.) Miles 15-16 are the Queensboro Bridge (the infamous 59th Street Bridge), where I'm livid because the walkers are not creating a path for the runners to pass them. The Fireman helps me up and out. I'm wasting a lot of energy dodging around them because my cries of "LEFT! ON YOUR LEFT!" are being ignored. You can hear the roar of the crowd when you switch sides of the bridge, and the crowd is deafening. The Fireman leaves me saying he was told I needed to experience this for myself.

I curve around the bridge exit and an amazed at the support in Manhattan. Every available space has a rabid fan screaming for any and every runner that passes. We run to First Avenue, and for 50 blocks or so you feel like a Rock Star. The NYPD has a difficult time keeping these people reigned in, and behind the barricades. Never have I seen such a sight, and it spurs me on. Things calm down at mile 19, by 110th Street. Now I start to hurt and want out. Especially when I go up and over the "What You Talkin' 'Bout" Willis Bridge at mile 20. Here a man flat out refuses to let me pass him on the bridge, so I just shove him out of the way. The bridge kicks my ass and I am forced to slow down or die.

Luckily Father Frankie joins me after I get off the Madison Avenue Bridge at mile 21 in the Bronx ("you look like crap, principessa!"). He continues the singing tradition with 70s tunes, with "Shaft" and "Last Dance". In the Bronx I see the funniest sight of the day: my Catholic priest, in collar no less, running in a marathon doing the Cabbage Patch while singing a very off-key rendition of "Copacabana". He runs with me, spurring me on when I slow to a shuffle because I feel like my insides will fall out. He carries me through Harlem and down Manhattan's Fifth Avenue. I start to perk up a bit, but am still hurting. I refuse to walk except for 20 seconds or so through the aid stations, because I came here to run.

I down 2 juice boxes in 2 stations, which was a bad idea. The concentrated sugar makes me queasy, but I keep going. At mile 23 Father Frankie says, "Here, this is from Mom; she thought you might need it." In my hand he places her most sacred possession, her rosary that has been in her family for generations. The very one I'd been taught on. I shed a few tears (like I've been doing all day long) and place it in my Gu pocket. He then theatrically announces before we enter the park, "My principessa, I must leave you now. I give you your race, your park, and YOUR CITY!" He busts a left, I turn right into Central Park with a smile. I run the next mile and begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and am getting psyched.

The last 2.2 are pure redemption. I no longer feel pain, but joy. I decide to run the fastest I can and widen my stride. Constant screams of "GO JOE!" rang in my ears. Here I see more white t-shirts with black TEAM JOE lettering on them than ever, many who were cheering me on at a second spot, having taken the subway from wherever their original location had been. I smile through the whole thing, beaming with pride and joy as I run through Central Park South. Mile 25 marker comes, I point and scream. Mile 26 comes, I know my work is done. I kick it the final .2, smiling the whole way, and cross the finish line by Tavern on the Green with mixed feelings and a PR. When my medal is placed around my neck, I feel like I've won Olympic gold and now I'm really crying. For in the marathon that almost wasn't, I proved how strong and resilient I can be despite a course that was run mostly concrete. I think "Hey Joe, your principessa did it, at long last."

The walk to the family line is long. I pick up my baggage, get some water and a mylar blanket, and get my chip removed. I had been instructed to listen for music, and that when I heard it, I'd know it. All of a sudden I hear Yello's "Oh Yeah" and know I've found my family. All 100+ of them Shocked

there to support me in this endeavor started so long ago. My 4 runners were there, still wearing the bib numbers that I don't know how they got. A sea of white TEAM JOE t-shirts surrounded me. I was given pizza handcarried from Totonno's (THE BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD!) and a beer. This is a large family (11 brothers, 1 sister, all their spouses and kids) so it's crazy. Many commented on how much better I looked during the final 2.2 than when they'd seen me earlier. Commented on what an athlete I looked like.

I'm handed a box by Tommy, who says "Joe said to give this to you when you finally did the marathon. He said you'd know what to do with it." I open the box, and in it is a Heineken label and a single match from the bar we often frequented. I sat down on the ground in tears, and softely said "I can't believe he kept this." I explained to Tommy that when we had cheered his girlfriend, now wife, on 18 years ago Joe had peeled this label off one of our beers, vowing to burn it in Central Park when we finished it ourselves. I struck the match and set the label ablaze, knowing I'd finally come full circle. I'd fulfilled an 18 year old promise and an obligation. I partied like a Rock Star, and kicked a little ass. I wasn't the best out there, but I was the best me I could be based on what I had to work with. I never gave up, felt pretty strong through most of it. Overall I was amazed that I did so well, with a PR to boot, in a race I didn't know I was doing until the day of it. It made perfect sense as we sang Chuck Berry: "C'est la vie say the old folks / It goes to show you never can tell". I've run various parts of the city 15 times, but today I RAN THE CITY. What an amazing and overwhelming experience, from start to finish. What an unimaginable experience as well.

I bid farewell to my surrogate family I've known for over 20 years and headed to the subway to get home. I began to process the mixed feelings I'd felt crossing the finish line. Ones that I readily recognized: pride, achievement, accomplishment, calm, and strength. One that I knew, but couldn't readily place because it felt foreign to me. When I finally got to 42nd and 8th, I did place it.

That feeling was happiness.

Stats: 5:12:17, a PR by 12:09, 11:55 pace. Splits: 11:32, 10:20, 10:43, , 11:59, 11:33, 11:02, 11:31, 24:17 (2), 11:29, 12:07, 11:42, 11:56, 12:12, 12:22, 12:35, 12:06, 11:55, 12:15, 12:41, 13:07, 12:50, 13:18, 12:19, 11:25, 10:55, 2:04 (.2)

Next up: after two take-it-easy weeks, bringing it back home to end fall racing season in my fair city at the Philadelphia Marathon.

Hipster Doofus

I am happy for you.

I am proud of you.

crazy cat lady

I knew you'd get there and I knew you'd take names.
So so so soooooooooo good.

Member

What a great report and a great race! Congratulations! thumbs up

Member

What a tribute, from and to several people. Thanks for sharing that great story, Lauri.

Member

Your stories always move cry

and motivate me dance

You ROCK!

Member

Well done, lady.

Member

What a wonderful race report! Congratulations on everything you've done to come so far! thumbs up

I am proud of you.

Member

Thanks for sharing that. Burning the Heinie label, this girlie = cry

. Big congrats to you. You rock!

my boys could swim

possibly the best report I've ever read.

The Pinball

i may be understating this, but that had to be an emotionally draining weekend...

congratulations on finishing the New York City Marathon.

Member

Great report Kid! Cool

I'm so proud of you...

The Movie Geek

That is one heeeeeeell of a story. Great job.

Member

What a great day you had. I know how much this marathon meant to you and I'm so happy you got so much from it!

Member

Kid, I am very proud of you, way to tough it out!

Next year kid, we will both do it.