Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Long Beach Island Race 18 miler

***NOTE: This post is long as hell but I really wanted to chronicle as much as I could so 50 years from now I can be like," Damn, look what I did!" So here it goes:

The night before the race I just couldn't decide...do I or don't I want to run this race? I was hating the weather forecast, not only because I've come to realize that it can't be trusted EVER, but because it kept changing and giving me false hope. "Wow, it just went from 60% chance of rain to 30% chance of rain, and if you look by the hour, it's not even going to start raining in LBI until 1pm or so," I told my husband as he surfed Facebook. By this point I knew he was only half listening. I would be too. I was just talking out loud and being indecisive, and I am sure he had shut me out by this point.

I knew if I didn't do this race, I probably wouldn't get 18 miles in that weekend. Time just hadn't been letting me get in my LONG runs, and my longest run to date was 15 miles. I told myself I would do at least TWO 20 milers before the Philly Full Marathon and that hadn't happened as of yet.

I also knew that my friend would be racing too, and she's a bit faster than me, which is just what I would need....to see her just far enough ahead of me that I wouldn't slow down....there's that "thing" in me, that drive, that competitiveness that would make sure to follow her...I would tell myself, "Just don't lose her. Keep her in your sight at all times. You can and you will. Follow her. Catch up. Go!"

We made it to the Registration desk with minutes to spare. On our way down (the trip was about an hour and 15 minutes) I got a text that my friend wouldn't make the race. I was disappointed, but I knew it wasn't her fault. I could absolutely relate to why she couldn't make it, and that made it all the more depressing.

My husband and son drove me to the starting line and we waited for about 45 minutes until the racers began to congregate near the start. It was raining steadily at this point, and it was colder than I had expected. I threw on an extra t-shirt and vest and found myself shivering with a group of other racers as we huddled under the shelter of a balcony jutting out of a big beach house. The house looked abandoned for the winter, as did many of the houses along the course.
My son and I before the race, and yes it was a slight steady rain at this point.

The first few miles were good. I was keeping a decent pace, and there were families all along the course cheering us on. It was quite touching to see so many people holding signs (and umbrellas), screaming for us to keep going. It was funny to me that by mile 8 people were saying "You're almost there! Keep going!" Was I almost there? I wasn't even halfway there.

Then depression set in. Families upon endless families, hooting and hollering and cow-belling for specific runners....GO DAN...GO MOMMY AND DADDY.....JESS WE LOVE YOU....MELANIE YOU ARE OUR HERO...... I couldn't help but wonder where my fans were. I know, pity party. My husband and son got up earlier than they would've liked on a cold and wet Sunday and drove over an hour, only to wait for 4 more hours, to then drive home another hour...I know that is greatness....but I wanted a crowd screaming my name. I wanted to see my name on a banner. I'll blame my period for the pity party. Remind me to never run 18 miles during "that time of the month." It sucks.

By mile 12 my stomach decided it wanted to explode. I should've known this. It always happens. I blame my gallbladder, or lack thereof, as I had it taken out 5 years ago.  I hobbled to a porta potty at mile 13 and stayed in there for almost 5 minutes (yes I timed it, just call me anal, but I wanted to know so when I hit the finish line, I could see how much time I could've shaved off had my stomach not decided to let loose. And no I didn't subtract the 5 minutes from my Garmin at the end, although I wanted to!).

By mile 16 I was done. Spent. Finished. Cursing at myself. Almost crying. My socks were so soaked that they had gotten heavy and bunched up under the arches of my feet. My hat was dripping rainwater onto my nose. I couldn't pick my legs up higher than maybe an inch off the ground. Then I happened upon a water station. A guy who I still believe was Matthew McConaughey handed me a cup of Gatorade. He smiled. He said I was almost there. I faked a smile and said, "Help me. Just help me." Then I swished the Gatorade around in my mouth and spit half of it out, just missing his boots. I darted off to show that I still had something left in me (and to show Matthew that I was the definition of pure awesomeness) but within a minute I had slowed to a 10:30 pace. Then I saw 11:12. Then back up to 9:56. It was a roller coaster of numbers from mile 16 to the finish. By mile 17 I was talking to myself out loud. I was moaning and whining. I was wondering if the girl behind me and the girl in front of me were listening. I was wondering if I was saying what they were indeed thinking. I wondered if that was really Matthew McConaughey. I wondered if I was going delirious. The fans all looked the same now. Was it deja vu? Was I losing it?

My son anxiously waiting for me to come around the bend to the finish line!

Two runner girls were walking towards me. They were obviously done. They had crossed the finish line and were heading back to somewhere. They said to us, "The finish line is like right there," and they pointed up ahead. I stopped and said,"Like how far is it exactly...because I don't know if I can make it...can I make it?" They told me it was .2 miles away. POINT 2 MILES.....POINT 2 MILES?! They lied. They so, so lied. It was about half of a mile til the finish. And I was crying. Then I started laughing. No, more like cackling. Then back to crying. When I saw my husband and son at the finish I felt my face crumble and the tears were falling again. I tried to hide it from them but I couldn't hold back.

Am I laughing, crying, or both? 



Within 5 minutes I was back to my normal self (if there ever is a normal self) and we headed back to collect my medal and t-shirt and a bite to eat at the post-race buffet.

I was told that only the top racers received medals and that they only had shirts in XL and XXL left. At that point I just wanted to dry my dripping wet hair so that I wouldn't be freezing on the ride home, but the community center had just removed their hair dryers and hand dryers from the locker room. SUCK!

All in all I am glad I completed 18 miles in a race setting. I am glad I pushed myself when I was ready to quit. I am glad I didn't call my husband from the porta potty at mile 13 to say, "Come get me, I am done." I am glad I put myself through that. I am glad that I found this gift almost 4 years ago and I ran with it.