Last Long Training Run Before the Marathon -- How Can I Fail With So Many Coaches?

Believe it or not, I am going to write a second blog in a row about duct tape. This has to be a record of some sort. But let me explain. Last week part of my blog talked about how I had lost my coach right when I was overcoming an injury and a mere 4 weeks before the marathon. I suddenly felt that I was doing all this alone. I had no one to guide me through my myriad of questions, no one to encourage me to keep going and to remind me I could do this. In my blog I wrote that if I got through my 20 mile run, then I was going to treat myself to a roll of yellow duct tape so that I could write my name on it and stick it on my shirt during the marathon so that all of New York could cheer for me personally.

Well, I never bought that duct tape. Don’t worry, though, it’s all good. I didn’t have a chance. I didn’t buy it because a couple of days after I posted my blog, I got an odd shaped package in the mail from my very dear friend, Bethany. Bethany is a friend of mine from when I lived in Massachusetts. She used to be my work/study student, and I’ve admired her from the day I met her (and she doesn’t even get mad if you have to bail out of being a bridesmaid in her wedding because your husband’s appendix burst right before it, but that’s a story for another day). Anyway, I opened up Bethany’s package and found – a roll of bright yellow duct tape. Bethany’s gift couldn’t have been more touching. With that roll of tape she was letting me know that she was supporting me right when I felt I had no support.

This morning I did my last “long” long run, 15 miles. I treated this run like a dress rehearsal, wearing the clothes I intend to run on Marathon Sunday (and let me tell you, if it’s even 1 degree colder than it was today, I’m going to need a plan B). I even tested the duct tape, cutting a piece off and sticking it to my shirt to see if it would a) bother me (it didn’t), and b) stick to my shirt for the entire run (it did). At one point, the bright yellow tape caught my eye and I thought of Bethany and how supportive she’s been. Then I thought about other people. There’s my old college roommate, Leslie, who lives in Vancouver and virtually trained with me by doing the same deep water runs that I did, and I’m sure lived through the same boredom of them. My co-worker, Stephanie, is a marathon veteran and has patiently answered every single, solitary question I have asked her (and trust me, there have been millions of questions). Friends on Facebook have cheered me through every posting about each run, injury, sad moment when I wanted to give up. My running partner, Karen, keeps encouraging me every time I say that my schedule got too messed up when I had to take two weeks off.

There’s also family. My mom is going to keep the kids overnight the night before the marathon, and since she lives one block from the route, she’s going to take them down there to cheer me on at about mile 18. My husband, Wil, has been “single dad” for hours on end as I go on 15, 18 and 20 mile runs. He’s made dinner for the kids when I’m too tired after my runs, and he regularly risks life and limb as he gently prods me out the door when I don’t want to go run. He bought me one of my favorite running shirts that says, “Pain is temporary; quitting is forever.” If it weren’t for Wil, all I would know is quitting, but instead he’s taught me to believe in myself as much as he believes in me.

Today’s run was difficult, almost impossible. My legs started cramping up at mile 11 (and why is that mile so impossibly difficult??). The top of my foot is completely cured, but now the bottom of it hurts, and it let me know what it thought of this run for about 6 miles. Socks I’ve been wearing for months (that sounds gross. Don’t worry, I’ve been washing them) suddenly rubbed a nasty blister starting at mile 10. But it really didn’t bother me (OK, fine, the blister hurt like a mother, but the rest was fine). Because in my head I pictured the marathon itself: running through the five boroughs of New York with tens of thousands of other people, picturing my brother and sister-in-law holding up a big sign for me in Williamsburg, and Wil waiting for me to pass by him in Harlem. I thought about the love, support, and encouragement I’ve gotten from everybody.

As I finished my run and glared at the 23 steps that lead up to my front porch (and trust me, had I been a long distance runner when we were house hunting, this one never would have gotten a second look from me), I couldn’t help smiling. There is no way I’m going to fail at this marathon; I have far too many coaches :-).