The Bayshore Marathon is the most beautiful course I have ever run, for any race distance. The views are simply breathtaking. Just to have the opportunity to run on such a course was worth all the training, all the effort, and all the pain. It is a small race, with approximately 2,000 full marathoners, 2,000 half-marathoners, and 2,500 10k racers. There is no expo. There are no masses of cheering spectators. There is no post-race feast or beer-garden. You pay for the view, and it is worth twice the price.
Prior to the marathon, I had the worst case of Taper Madness in history. Twenty percent was real and physical (I did have a bad back and fairly serious PF in both feet, along with persistent tendonitis on the top of my right foot), but the rest was a bunch of craziness. I was, as most of us are pre-race, nervous and anxious. But this time, I was absolutely afraid. Fear is not a good look for me. It took a couple of good friends to kick me in the hind end, turn me around and tell me to look back at why I decided to run a marathon again in the first place. And so I did. I went back to the beginning of this blog and thought about the why, and when I remembered the why, I felt better about things. You see, I decided to run another marathon because the "ME" that I like best runs marathons, and I needed to be that person again. A simple reason, and a simple goal. Not an easy goal, by any means, but a simple one.
Friday Morning. Got the small people off to school, came home, finished packing, drove to Orlando and navigated the airport. I didn't get lost once, and I didn't forget anything (well, I did forget toothpaste, but hotel had some so it doesn't count). Got on the plane in Orlando and got off in Grand Rapids. I rented a car, drove north to Traverse City, ate on the way, and arrived at the hotel in one piece, which was a very good omen. I found my way to packet pickup, drove back to the hotel without mishap, did all the pre-race organizing and arranging, and was in bed by 9:30. Sleep was a different story, but I was in bed on time.
Race Day. The phone rang at 4:30. I woke up expecting to be teeth-chattering, bone-shaking nervous, but I wasn't. I had butterflies, and it took me longer than usual to get through the morning routine, but by 5am I was downstairs getting a bagel and some coffee, talking to other runners about race morning things. I went back upstairs to gather my race bag, and then joined a group of about 10 runners outside to wait for the shuttle. I had on a long sleeved t-shirt from an Orlando half marathon and my red gloves. It was, at least to me, quite chilly. The school bus came, and 10 minutes later I was in the start/finish area -- the track area of a local college. I sat down next to my first new best friend of the day, a lovely young woman named Nellie (one of my favorite people at work and in the world is named Nellie, a woman who truly loves me, and so I thought this was a good harbinger for the morning). We decided to start the journey together. Her parents found her, and so I gave them my t-shirt, knowing it would have a good home post-race. We made our way to the start, just as people began moving forward in the starting chute. Chirp, chirp and we were off. 10:24 first mile, according to Nellie. My watch was in the bottom of my race bag; I wore only silver bracelets on my wrist. Nellie put her headphones on, and we parted ways. Soon, however, I met my second new best friend, Suzanne. We ran and chatted for a couple of miles (10+, both of them). Suzanne had a 16 month old who was under the weather. She was looking forward to 4.5 hours of not taking care of a sick kid. I could relate.
When Suzanne and I parted ways, I ran solo, easing past people, astounded by the view. The bay was stunning...pale blue-green water gradually darkening to deep blue. My bay is grey-blue and green. To see blue-blue water was spectacular. It was still; the water was glassy. The air smelled of new grass and spring and lilacs. I stopped more than once to bury my face in lilac bushes. It had been 25 years since I smelled lilacs. There were gentle puffs of breeze. I was chilly, but not uncomfortable. I was glad for my gloves. By mile 6, however, I noticed people soaked in sweat and panting. I had not yet even begun to glow. The miles rolled along, and somewhere before mile 9, I met my third best friend of the day. I can't remember his name, but we played leap-frog for the next 10 miles or so. He teased me about my gloves. Actually, a lot of people commented on my gloves. By mile 10, I was taking the advice of a friend, who said to walk the water stops and to walk 50 steps a mile. It seemed like I was climbing more often than I was descending, which ended up being true. The course is advertised as flat, but to a true flatlander, it had rolling hills. Mile 13, up a sharp hill, turned around at the floral arrangement, donated my gloves to charity, chirped across the time strip, and headed for home.
I had no new best friend, and so I put on headphones and let Pink Shuffle work her magic. One minute later, I turned her back off. She is my training partner; and I now I had race friends. Mile 15, and I was juggling two thoughts: 1)this was the best long run of my training cycle, by far, and 2)my gut hurt, I thought I might vomit at any moment, and the balls of my feet were in horrible pain. And so I channeled my next new best friend, EB. I remembered to exist with the cramping, to exist with the nausea, to exist with the pain for that moment, because that moment became the next moment, which became the next. A few times dark thoughts flitted through my mind, but for once I gave them no gravity. At 47 years of age, I finally learned to ignore myself. Mile 18 and I met my fifth best friend of the day, whose name escapes me, but I thank her for the Succeed caps and the company. I passed her at the bitter end, only because she had stopped to partake in her post-race martini. In a Gatorade bottle...classic. And then, at mile 21, I met my sixth and last best friend of the day. Phil and I had played leap frog for a bunch of miles, and so, when we were not close to but not far from home, I asked him if I could run with him for a while. He said "Sure, but I am doing some walking". I said, "Great. So am I". And I was introduced to the Galloway method. I may be a convert. We ran and we talked, and at intervals that were a mystery to me, we walked. We passed for the final time Diesel and Rolly. We passed TNT runners (one more heartfelt "GO TEAM!" and I was going to have to channel my inner bitch). We ran companionably. I would have asked him to marry me, but he had a wedding ring on. I figured his wife might take offense. Mile 24, and Phil said we were at 3:59. We walked the requiste minute, and then I abandoned my last best friend of the day. I ran the last 2.2 in about 18 minutes, ignoring everything but my aching need to finish. Run and pass, run and pass. Looked at the almost finish clock. I could hear the cheering, and then saw the crowd and the finish. 50 feet on the track, chirp chirp, and I staggered into the volunteers, where a kind young thing dumped a bottle of water down my neck. I guess she was my seventh new best friend. I waited for Phil, who finished a couple or 3 minutes later, and got a post race "attaboy" and a hug.
Post Race. I picked my way, slowly and in agony, to the post race area. I got some Cold Stone Creamery strawberry ice cream and a cookie. I looked for the bag drop, but couldn't find it. I was totally engulfed in post race brain fog when I heard someone call my name. There was Nellie, who finished better than she had the year prior. And so I got my t-shirt back. That, however, wasn't all that I got back. Sitting on the bus, waiting for it to ferry us back to our various hotels, I was a marathoner among other marathoners.
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