New York Marathon 11/6/16
By Nikki VanderWiele

What does a runner think about while pounding the pavement for 26.2 miles? While I wish I could say it was pure focus, that there were thoughts of how to maximize my efforts and compete, but it was more of a wandering whirlwind of moments and reflections. Here is a glimpse of what NY really looked like inside my head.

Logistics Awake at 4:15 am, left apartment at 5 am. Coffee and bagel in hand. Subway to south ferry – ferry ride – watched the sunrise over NY City. Bus to the start. Wandered the holding area. Check bags, wait in lines; porta-pottys. Into the corral by 8:50 am. Stood nervously in place until the 9:50 am start.

Race

Mile 1 – The gun sounds, the music starts and we’re finally moving! After 6 hours of traveling, standing and waiting, I was thrilled to be under way. An uphill start…took in the view off the Verrazano Bridge.

Mile 2 – It’s so crowded I can’t run the pace I want; I should have sharpened my elbows and practiced not-so-polite passing. The Achilles Handicapped and Blue Lives Matter runners started in the front of the corral, which meant while trying to bomb down the bridge at 6:33 pace I have to pass traffic jams of them. Everyone is pushing and shoving one another all while taking selfies and videos.

Mile 3 – “Relax,” I tell myself, “Find your pace. Settle in.” I spot two other women who seem experienced and follow them as we weave through the crowds.

Mile 4 – I am always shocked how quickly the mile markers pop up during a race. I hit 6:54 pace for the last mile and feel hopeful.

Mile 5 – I think of my friend and teammate, Aly, somewhere in the crowds behind me and say a prayer for her health, safety, and fun for both of us.

Mile 6 – I begin to realize the splits I’ve hit, the hills, and the way my legs feel currently can’t possibly add up to my goal of a 3:00 marathon…

Mile 7 – I change my strategy – decide to enjoy the race, be sure to finish, and forget the time. I settle into a more relaxed gear. My thought: “I don’t want to come back here,” and if I don’t finish the race, I can’t say I’ve run NY.

Mile 8 – My lingering hamstring/glute injury reminds me its there and I feel it for the rest of the race.

Mile 9 – So many spectators! The streets are lined with cheering! I look around at the posters, one says, “Remember you paid to do this,” and I smile at the reminder: this is supposed to be fun!

Mile 10 – “Why are my feet so sore?” The bottoms are tender and hot. I begin to regret all the pre-race pavement standing.

Mile 11 – The splits are slowing and I’m lost in trying to figure out what “Just have fun” pace is supposed to be. I think about how your finisher medal gets you a free fancy juice at a local hot spot. I start coaching myself, “Make sure you finish! Make sure you get your juice!”

Mile 12 – I pass this little bearded leprechaun of a man that looks like my college running friend, Tim, who is currently undergoing round 3 of chemotherapy, and feel embarrassed of my self-pity over the fact that the marathon I’m able to run for fun isn’t going as well as I had hoped. I dedicate the mile to praying for Tim and drop a 6:44.

Mile 13 – My brain wanders from Tim to a friend’s son who has been really sick and may not be able to ever do sports or run, and I try to focus on prayers for him and thankfulness for what I am able to do. Gratitude breeds positivity so I try my best to be thankful and start counting all the little things.

Mile 14 – Over halfway done and feeling ok. I bypass all the overly congested aid stations and feel thankful that I brought the handheld flask my coach suggested.

Mile 15 – We cross over another bridge on the under level and for the first time there are no spectators yelling. A group of us are cresting the hill and this middle aged man yells a long drawn out “F#$@!!!!!!” and everyone agrees. We descend, again. In the eerie quiet of no spectators, another runner yells, “Come on runners, we’ve got this!” and I’m reminded of the bonding that comes from shared experience.

Mile 16 – We turn the corner onto 1st Ave and the quiet is replaced by “Thunder Alley.” The guy next to me is trying to take a video of “Thunder Alley,” as he’s running, and he gets in my way, blocking me, and the warm fuzzy’s of shared experience are quickly replaced by annoyance and frustration at the ongoing congestion.

Mile 18 – I’m hot and wondering why I wore so many clothes; start stuffing arm sleeves and gloves into my bra and pockets. My water flask has run out, so I start taking cups from the aid stations, but spill most of the liquid down my shirt and into my stuffed bra.

Mile 19 – Did I mention my feet hurt? Like, they might spontaneously combust into flames. I finally decide I have to stop and retie my shoes to loosen them up, trying to relieve the pain – but mid-race, my nervous, clumsy hands and too tight legs make it difficult. It takes forever to get them re-tied. On the plus side, the crowds of racers are finally thinning out and I’m able to start running the pace I want.

Mile 20 – I think I should take another gel but the thought of it makes me puke a little. I decide I’m better off just switching to Gatorade, and btw, now my shoes are too loose. I think again of Aly and pray for her and for a good race and that she catches me and we can finish together.

Mile 21 – I’m soaked and sticky from the cups of liquid. I wipe my hands with the water from my arm sleeve stuffed bra and laugh at the hilarity of trying to juggle all the junk in my hands, grab the cups, keep up the pace – I look a mess, and this is all for fun right?

Mile 22 – I try to embrace the SWAP motto and the advice Deena Kastor gave in the podcast that Court suggested I listen to: SMILE. So I smile at the crowds and cameras even though I feel miserable, because supposedly smiling doesn’t use energy, and makes you feel happier, and running easier, but I’m pretty sure I just look like a crazy person and that this fake smile isn’t fooling anyone. And then I see Blair, Aly’s sister, on the side cheering and I wave and smile for real, because the support from my new friend feels awesome and like this whole thing is worth it.

Mile 23 – “I thought we ended in Central Park? Where the heck is it? And why are we going uphill again?” I tell myself, “You are almost done! It’s ok to pick up the pace now!” But I’m pretty sure I don’t actually pick up the pace. The spectators tell me I’m looking good but I think that’s just because I’m not cramping and walking like so many around me.

Mile 24 – The mile markers still pop up faster than expected but the accumulation of pain reminds me that every one of them is still hard earned. Finally, we cross into Central Park. I tell myself, “The faster you go, the sooner you finish.”

Mile 25 – Everything hurts and I just want to be done. I know the time is going to be disappointing and I try to speed up and fight for it. Thoughts circling, “Maybe I can be break 3:10?” But the math isn’t adding up. I think, “I’m retiring from marathons.” Isn’t that common? To vow never to do something again, when you’re in the midst of it.

Mile 26 – Tired but fighting, I pass a lot of runners who have been driven to walk. I want to walk. So I try to speed up. I hear someone screaming my name and right along the fence in the last mile is my Uncle Billy waving like mad and yelling, “I love you!” And we aren’t even that close, had no idea that he’d be there, but the shock of a familiar face paired with cumulative fatigue and I almost cried, just knowing someone, people, are proud of me no matter my time.

.2 – Shalane Flanagan warned us that the final .2 was hard and uphill. I tried to take in the rich atmosphere but I just wanted to be done. I pushed with everything I had left, which wasn’t much and I finish – 3:12.

I was glad to be done, though disappointed with the time. I wanted to go back in time, try harder. Worried that I didn’t fight enough, do enough, train enough. Worries that will continue to hover but that for now I set these worries aside, because everything was cramping and I just wanted to sit down. The last thing I wanted to do was walk the 2 miles to my gear. I made friends with a Brit and we commiserated on our sub-par times. She started telling me about the London Marathon, how fast it is and how I can stay with her (I don’t even know her name), but she’s convincing and I think about how in this crazy world where it’s hard to trust anyone, and you can’t take candy from a stranger, how all these runners feel trust worthy, friends in a common experience. An experience that unites us, and before I even get to my gear I’m excited for the next one.