First Race of 2011: New York City Half Marathon

Peter K talks a lot about visions. His basic gist is that it’s important to pick some kind of feat we want to accomplish, and then set out the path necessary to get from where we are to where we want to be.

Last year I had a vision to complete a half marathon. And I did it – 4 times. I also had a vision to complete a triathlon. Again, mission accomplished – times 3. This January I started training for my first race of the season, the New York City Half Marathon which took place earlier today. And frankly, I was bored. I did all my training runs, but with a kind of “been there, done that” type of attitude. The problem with my visions was that I’d arrived at my destination over and over again and didn’t really feel like I had any kind of challenge left in me.

To make matters worse, the last couple of weeks were completely hectic for me. I worked late most nights writing a presentation (and even someone as witty as myself had difficulty making data sound interesting). Then, last Friday I went to Atlanta to help Peter K out at a health fair. We worked like dogs (and that night I ate grilled sea bass and steamed string beans while I watched Peter K inhale a 28 ounce steak and chase it with a plate of French fries. I guess the student became the master and the master became a carnivore). I worked in Atlanta until Sunday, and then flew straight to Hendersonville, North Carolina (you’re jealous, I know) for my company’s 4 day client conference where I had to stand up in front of 100 people and make that data presentation humorous and have the audience begging for more.

Yesterday I found myself at the eve of my half marathon, and my first true race of 2011. And, I also realized that I had no goals for it, no visions. On a whim I decided that I was going to break a personal record, and beat my best half marathon time of 2:11:11 that I accomplished in this exact same half marathon last year.

When I got to the race this morning, I already knew it would be different from last year. To start, last year it was a beautiful day, over 50 degrees at start time, and not a cloud in the sky. It was sunny this year, too – but about 20 degrees colder. 30 degrees is great for running in, but not for standing and waiting for 45 minutes in a light shirt and shoes with little ventilation holes in them. But, the waiting time (i.e. jumping up and down time trying to get some circulation back into my feet) gave me a chance to think about my strategy for the race. Peter has taught me to start slow, and save the turbo boosters for the second half of the race. So when the gun goes off, what do I do? Of course!!! I ignore Peter completely (oh, please. This is what we do. He advises, I ignore; it works) and take off. I pass people like they are on a leisurely stroll. I train at least once a week in Central Park; this race is on my “home turf” and I know every bump, hill, uneven patch of asphalt. I slow down enough on hills so that I don’t tire too much on the way up, and then sprint down the backside of them like I stole something. At each mile I check my watch, and I am about 3 minutes ahead of where I need to be.

We exit the park at mile 8 and run down 7^th Avenue to Times Square. Last year I had a lot on my mind during the trek down to Times Square, but this year the only thought in my head was “hurry up!” At 42^nd Street we turn west to the West Side Highway and then run the last 3 miles down to Battery Park. When we left the park, my knee starting talking, and by mile 10 on the West Side Highway the language got colorful. I pull over to stretch, and the statistician in me quickly figures out that I have about 20 seconds per stretch in order to break my record. I do each stretch as fast as I can and jump back into the race. At the 11 mile marker I look at my watch and know I’m in trouble time wise. On top of that, my knee is still hurting and I can’t keep this frantic pace up for 2 more miles.

To motivate myself, I think about my winter runs. I think about training for 3 months in weather so cold that one time the water I was carrying froze. I think about all the support I had: my running partner Karen who ran with me when it was 16 degrees outside, and my husband, Wil, who risked his own life every weekend as he gently prodded me out the door when I didn’t want to go train. I think about Peter who repeatedly fixed my ailing back and knee, and who reminded me that I’m strong enough to complete a half marathon, and to kick some serious ass while doing it.

I finally get to the last ¼ mile of the race. I look at my watch and know I’m going to be cutting it close. I shift into overdrive and literally sprint. I pass other runners who look at me as if to say, “Umm, honey, you lost. Just finish, but don’t kill yourself.” I race to the finish line, hit the stop button on my watch, and look down: 2:11:19. I missed my goal by 8 seconds. Eight.

Here’s the funny thing, though. Anyone who knows me would think I burst into tears, threw my sneakers into the Hudson River, then went to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts for a bakers’ dozen to eat all by myself. Nope. I was absolutely elated. No, I haven’t lowered my standards to being proud of failure. I realized that my goal wasn’t really to beat my old time. It was to push myself again, and to find purpose and motivation in my workouts again. And who knew that I’d find it on the corner of Chambers and West Street, 8 seconds later than I was supposed to be there.