This morning
in the New York Times, I read an article about the Barkley Marathon. It’s an ultramarathon of anywhere from 100 –
130 miles of trails in the eastern mountains of Tennessee, that you have to
finish in 60 hours. The race caps at
only 35 people per year. In its 26 year
history, 800 people have run it. 12 have
finished. Not 12 per year. Ever.
No wonder why it’s been nicknamed “the Race That Eats Its Young.”
No, I am not
setting you up to tell you that I just signed up for the Barkley Marathon. I’m not THAT insane. I only do things like sign up for 2 half
marathons only 4 weeks apart from each other, so I’m only that insane. And this past weekend, which was the midpoint
of the two half marathons, I decided to run a half marathon just for
training. So, OK, I guess I’m actually
THat insane.
Let me
explain a little more: on April 14th I’m running the MORE/Fitness
Women’s Half Marathon. My co-worker and friend,
Stephanie, is also running it. Not only
is Stephanie one of those natural uber-athletes who was a soccer star in her
day, but the girl is 14 years younger than me and can run circles around me. But, Stephanie has been stricken with an
ailment that has gotten in the way of her being able to completely follow a
training plan; it’s called “motherhood.”
Between work and family, Steph has not been able to train as much as she
wanted. So, a few weeks ago she asked me
if I would run the course of the half marathon with her, and that’s how we
found ourselves standing in Central Park early on Good Friday, and I was going
to be running my second half marathon that was both two weeks before and two
weeks after another half marathon.
Normally, I
would be excited for this. But instead I
was nervous. Actually, not nervous. Concerned.
In my half marathon 2 weeks ago I had sprained my left ankle, and because
of it I’d only done three runs of 2 miles each in the past 2 weeks. It also wasn’t healed yet. So, as soon as Stephanie and I started our
watches, my foot was already sore and I knew I was going to be pounding on it
for the next 2 hours or so on a run whose length I hadn’t come close to in over
2 weeks.
Steph and I
decided to follow the true course of the race, which is just over 2 loops of
Central Park Drive, going counter-clockwise (i.e. the hard way). It took us a few minutes to figure out a pace
that works for both of us, but in almost no time at all we settled into a good
rhythm. Stephanie and I have the same sense
of humor, which let’s just say isn’t for young or modest audiences.
We try to tone it down in our office, but in the middle of Central Park
on a long run all bets were off. We
cracked jokes and laughed, and the first 3 miles or so just melted away. My foot hurt, but it was easy to ignore.
The first
time we hit the Harlem Hills, Stephanie panicked a bit. I understood why. First, the Harlem Hills are what evil looks
like if you could landscape it. The hill
is over a half mile long, and keeps curving, so just when you think you’re at
the top, you go around a bend and realize there’s still more. Also, when you can’t train properly, you end
up getting inside your own head, which was the direction Stephanie was about to
take. I talked her through the hills as
best I could, making some jokes and encouraging her along. We got to the top, and I could see the sense
of accomplishment on her face. It was
awesome.
Near the end
of our first loop, my foot was screaming in pain. Just when it hurt so much that I wondered if
it was possible to die from a sprained ankle, Stephanie asked if we could stop
and stretch. I think I said, “Yeah,
sure,” but what I was thinking was “Oh, thank you! You just saved my children from growing up
motherless (though I have told my husband, Wil, that when I die he needs to
remarry immediately so that the kids don’t end up drowning in their own filth,
but I digress).” Stephanie has a sore IT
Band that was nagging her, so while she worked on it, I tried to think of any
movement that would cease the throbbing in my foot and ankle short of just
cutting them off. After a few minutes we
started up again.
Though the
second loop was still fun, it was way more painful than the first. With each step on my left foot, I think I
died a little bit inside. I wanted to
stop, but I knew Stephanie was counting on me. I thought about her, and how she
was pushing through her own physical pain, plus she was running a course that wasn’t
that familiar with much less training than she would have liked. She wasn’t quitting, so neither was I.
When we got
to the Harlem Hills the second time, I was the one in trouble. My lack of running more than 6 miles total in
the last 2 weeks had been chasing us all morning, and at the base of the hill
it finally caught up to me. I had no
more steam left. Also, at that point my
foot hurt so much that I was thinking that perhaps I had cut it off. There was one specific spot that if I landed
right on it hurt more than that day back in high school when I found out that
the guy I had a huge crush on didn’t even know I existed, and I landed on it 3
times in a row. This time, though,
Stephanie helped me up the hill. She
just kept encouraging me and giving me advice, like swinging my arms hard to
let my core do most of the work. We made
it to the top, and this time I was the one who felt that great sense of
accomplishment and at the same time decided that Stephanie was going to be the
sole heir in my will.
We had to
stop and stretch various body parts a few more times, but eventually we
finished the second loop. We were both
elated until I remembered that the second loop only completed 12 miles of the
13.1 mile course. My stupid GPS watch corroborated
that, and I said to Steph, “OK, moment of truth: we can stop here at 12 miles
and be done, or we can run the entire thing.”
Stephanie didn’t take long to say, “Let’s finish this.” I agreed.
I didn’t see any way that another 1.1 miles was going to be any more
painful than the first 12, so might as well complete what we had set out to do.
I’ll be
honest; that last bit felt like it took longer than either of the 2 full
loops. I looked at my watch and it said
we were at 12.50 miles. What seemed like
10 minutes later, I looked again and we were at 12.51. Ugh. Finally,
we were at 12.7, 12.8, 12.9. I yelled
out “just .2 left”, then “.1”. Finally,
I threw my arms up and yelled “13.1!
Done!!” Stephanie smiled, I tried
not to collapse.
Stephanie
and I stretched enough so that the pain was only searing, and then we hobbled
back to her car where we had locked up all of our stuff, including our wallets
that were going to purchase the largest breakfasts that two petite women could
handle. It was excruciating, but it
worked. Stephanie knew she could run
this half marathon, because she just did, and I knew that I could run it only 2
weeks after my last one, with minimal training and a lame ankle. Hmm, I wonder how to register for that
Barkley Marathon…
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