Stats: 3:21:43 for an average 7:42/mi, 428th female (of 17,272), 3675th overall (of 47,438). I was shooting for 3:30:00 because that would qualify me for the Boston Marathon in 2013. (2012 registration was opened and closed back in September.) Happy girl!
The hours before went something like this:
4:40 a.m. -- Alarm #2
5:10 a.m. -- Suit up
5:30 a.m. -- Dash to make the 5:35 south bound 1 train
6:30 a.m. -- Arrive at the ferry's Whitehall Terminal. Proceed to bathroom line.
6:50 a.m. -- Board ferry to Staten Island (SI)
7:20 a.m. -- Arrive in SI. Proceed to bathroom line.
7:50 a.m. -- Walk to shuttle for transport to the start
8:15 a.m. -- Still on shuttle. Taking the long way (planned that way for traffic's sake, I'm sure). Bus driver loves to pummel the brake. 80 degrees. We're standing in the aisle. Awesome.
8:40 a.m. -- Finally arrive at the start village. Only about 25,000+ other runners there at the same time. Fifteen minutes left to find our color section and corral before they close.
8:50 a.m. -- Find and enter corral with five minutes to spare. Glad I didn't need to run to make it. Start putting myself together -- replace over clothes with trash bags for warmth, donate said over clothes, don calf sleeves and arm warmers, douse all necessary body parts with Aquafore, etc.
8:55 a.m. -- Corrals close. Proceed to bathroom/latrine line. Line does not move.
9:00 a.m. -- Corrals collapsed, to move forward for the start. See last latrine before the start line open, jump in for PPP (pre-performance pee). Jump back into the masses to wait in the start area. (See first picture below. Blue start in the lower right corner, orange just to front/left of blue, green not visible.)
9:10 a.m. -- Cannot see pro women, but get to hear their start. Time to get excited. Eat pre-race electrolye Chomps.
9:35 a.m. -- Still wearing trash bag (will not remove until 9:39), shivering to stay warm during the National Anthem. Wondering how Nathan is feeling.
9:40 a.m. -- Mayor Bloomberg sets off actual cannon for the gun. Go time! I crossed 0:01:30 after the gun, Nathan crossed after 0:03:30.
On the Verizano Narrows Bridge. For Nathan, he's the red shirt and tan capped fellow on the left. Crossing this bridge was a unique experience, as the bridge is for automobile use only. It is the only bridge in the boroughs with no pedestrian or bike lanes. The only time a pedestrian may cross is during the marathon, or during spring's annual 5 Borough Bike Tour. (No, I have no and will never ride in the 5BBT. The 40 mile tour becomes a 40 mile stretch of coasting elbow to elbow with 39,999 others who last rode a bike 10 years prior. Cow herd. Moooo. Awful. I refuse. Hence, this was my first opportunity to be on the bridge.)
Once we land in Brooklyn, you quickly make your way to 4th Ave around 90th St. Proceed north until you reach downtown Brooklyn at what would make 0th St if it existed. Along the entire stretch, supporters were shoulder to shoulder and about 1-2 people deep, excluding the areas like the 10k timing mats (see below, I'm in the bottom left). Orange was on the west side of the street in the sun, while blue and green were on the east side in the shade. I'm glad the long stretch was early, because those parameters are hell on my mind if later in the race.
I saw my friend Breanne holding a "Go Bucky Go!" sign albeit on the opposite side of the street from me. Runners were backlit, so she had a hard time seeing that I was standing on the median directly across from her, jumping and flailing and screaming her name. Sound did not carry, EVER, during the race because supporters were so long. After 20 seconds I decided to continue on and tell her later that I saw her. Kat was working an ambulance (non-race affiliated) around that area, but was called to pickup 10 minutes before I passed. Missy was around mile 7, and while I wasn't able to see her she did at least see me.
After 4th Ave, we curve around downtown (around the Brooklyn Academy of Music area), all routes converged into one and we make our way north through residential areas of Clinton Hill, Williamsburg and Greenpoint on our way to the Polaski Bridge. The route narrowed, but luckily there was no elbow knocking. Somewhere in Williamsburg two orthodox or Hasidic men tried to cross to the street. There's only one way to cross during a marathon -- you jump in and run diagonally forward and across so that you don't plow into anyone. These guys ran perpendicular to the race. The first man was smart enough that once he stepped onto the street he was committed to getting across and out of the way. The second man lacked spacio-temporal abilities. He was also rather large. Once a third of the way across, he stopped, panicked, ran right-left-right-left in an undecided manner, then ran back to where he began and narrowly missed plowing into a male runner and me. Think Frogger with a prayer cloth. I hope he eventually made his way across unharmed.
The event caused a small gap in the race, enough that my schoolmate Myriah and her boyfriend Jason spotted me. I couldn't hear Myriah, but luckily Jason's voice carried through and they were positioned back from the street's edge crowd and a few steps up on a stoop. I turned and threw my arms in the air when I saw them. The encounters are brief, but incredibly revitalizing. I had no idea where we were, though later Myriah said this was around mile 11.5.
After the Polaski Brige we made our way through Long Island City (Queens) to the Queensboro Bridge, leading towards our first jaunt though Manhattan. The bridges were the only quiet time, with only the sounds of feet and heavy breathing around you. I LOVE the Queensboro bridge. It was probably the largest incline of the race. I welcome the variance with open arms -- we were at mile 15, and finally got to use a slightly different muscle set and give a break to our joints. At least that's my opinion on the matter. I think this is Nathan on the Queensboro, though hard to say if its actually the Polaski. Either way, he's on a bridge. Nathan was happy to see that his weight was still kept forward more over his toes, rather than leaning back on his heels.
After the Queensboro we U-ied left onto 59th street, then left again so as to head north on 1st Ave. Mile 16. Here the supporters were 6+ deep and held back by barricades. The street was much wider than Bkln and Queens, some six lanes or so, so there was ample room. Schoolmate Laura was posted at 68th with extra gels. I was downing gels every 30-40 minutes, and my quicker than anticipated pace necessitated more. I want to say my final gel count was 5, excluding the pre-race Chomps, and I used every single water station. Anyways, Laura had a sign that on one side rooted for me and on the other side rooted for Nathan. It may seem a small favor to hold extra supplies for a runner, but it saved me from blacking out during the last two miles of the race (more on that later). Onward ho. Nathan reached Laura about 6 minutes after me, so considering our times crossing the start he was only 4 minutes back.
Once in the high 80s/low 90s I heard "BUCKHOLZ!" and saw Davis lunging out from the crowd to get my attention. All caps = yelling. Davis: "LOOKING GOOD! HOW'S IT GOING?" Me: "SO FAR SO GOOD!" I was nervous that I had just vocally broken Murphy's Law, since I was nearing mile 18.
Here my mine switched on for the first time in the race and I was talking to myself. Time check: a smidgeon faster than the 18 mile Tune Up race 6 weeks prior. Okay, time to cruise. Don't force yourself slower if you have to fight yourself to do so, but cruise. You're ahead of schedule. (I was holding a 7:30/mi pace -- yikes!). Just cruise. Just cruise.
Not to long from there we entered the Bronx. You only spend a mile or two in the Bronx, but for them its a big party. Spectators were dancing on the side of the road. Wait a sec, I'm in the last portion of the race. How'd I get here already? Don't worry, just cruise.
Then, the 138th St bridge heads west across the East River into Harlem before turning south on 5th Ave. My eyes wandered for a moment up the westward hill that we would not climb -- just beyond that hill was home. Luckily turning south was more appealing than the hill, or else I'd have been inclined to run home and go to bed...
I forgot to mention that 130 bands and deejays were spread throughout the race. The Bronx and Harlem are particularly special to me, and the party is a definite lift. The distance from 138th St. to the start of the park at 110th flew by. After Nathan passed Laura, she went up to 5th Ave at 103rd St. She saw me, but I was on the other side of the road and didn't know to look for her. I was doing okay, not hitting the wall, but I was starting to feel the impact of the previous 22 miles and thus wasn't really hearing anything. Then we hit the small barely-there hill at 102nd St. I was glad for the variance, but I definitely felt it this time. Just cruise. Just cruise. The top of the "hill" is at 96th, and I noticed many of those around me suddenly pulling up with cramps. If I was second guessing my cruising speed before, at this point I was thankful. I was also glad that the most difficult part of the race would take place on my home terf where I knew exactly what to expect from the lay of the land.
Then we hit the quick right-left into Central Park for the home stretch. Oh boy. Feeling it now. My head was feeling funny. I consumed my last gel somewhere around here, thankful to have something to (hopefully) stave off hyponatremia. Lift your knees, keep it straight, no penguin or cowboy waddle-running. Two miles to go. My pace wasn't falling too much, had dropped to about 8:00/mi. But then the head stuff got more intense. I wasn't passing out, I wasn't stumbling, I wasn't cramping. But my vision was getting a little black in the corners, and it keep appearing and disappearing. Oh boy. Keeping going. You're almost there. I started breathing with my mouth as wide as I could muster. Think cross country skiing, where their mouths hang open with gunked saliva and and snot along their upper lip. Their trying to bring in more oxygen with a larger portal. I didn't know what was causing the blackness, but I figured oxygen was in dire need regardless.
Here's Nathan in Central Park:
And here's me. The pic on the left is while still heading south in the park, while the right is once we had exited the park onto 59th St., ran three blocks west, and then re-entered the park for the final .4 of the race. The left looks calm only because my visor's shade blocked you from seeing the exhaustion in my eyes. See my fingers in weird hooked positions instead of relaxed? Distal fixing. The same thing a baby or toddler does when learning an activity for the first time. On that 3 block stretch of 50th St. people were pulling over with cramps one after the other after the other, including one guy 3 feet in front of me. My very ungraceful and uncoordinated attempt to dodge to the side and avoid collision was successful, but lands on the list of most ridiculous moves every performed. The right photo is much more accurate as to how I felt.
I promised myself that I would not even begin to "sprint" (as though a real sprint were possible!) until I crossed beneath the banner proclaiming only .2 remaining. I was thrilled to see that they included "300m," "200m," "100m" banners, as my my mental knowledge of what .2 should be and my depth perception most definitely did not agree at this point.
And then, the finish. Nathan's finish line shots were all from distant cameras. They also got video of the finish. Pumped my fist a few times, then my hands went to my hips, and the video stopped just before getting to see my wonderful 0.5 mph penguin hobble. (No coyboys or penguins allowed during a race, for the same of my knees, but afterwards it is all fair game.)
And, of course, the photos with the finisher's medal. (Side note: I look much more like my older brother in this shot than I ever remember looking before. Huh.)
We left our stuff for after the race, including a set of keys, at our friend John's apartment the night before the race. John lives within spitting distance of the finish. Meant we never had to deal with the baggage trucks. Probably saved us a half hour on each end of the race. The "spitting distance" turned into a 30 minute penguin slog from the race end to finally reaching his apartment. I stopped to get prophylactic ice wrapped around each knee and stayed warm in the heat retaining sheet (i.e. emergency blanket) they give everyone after their photos with the finisher's medal. I was glad John's name was listed on his buzzer, but I completely forgot the apartment number.
John had a lovely spread waiting for us. I am much obliged for the orange juice, how shower (of which I confirmed before hand that John does not pay for water nor does he pay to heat the water -- score!), bagels, salt and vinegar potato chips (Nathan and I ate the entire bag), the nap on his bed, and then the electrolyte drink. Apparently when I walked into his apartment I was, according to John, rather gray and more depleted than he'd seen of me before. That was at about 2 o'clock. By 6 o'clock I was finally in a reasonable enough state that Nathan and I could manage to get home. Nathan was in bed at 7:40. I was in bed at 8. At midnight I got up to take some ibuprofen, but then I slept until 6 a.m. Nathan slept a full 12 hours, and I don't think he stirred once.
The week since has been more of a mental fog than physical soreness. All the walking continues to pay off in that respect. My attention span, on the other hand, was basically shot all week. Feeling normal today in both regards. Gonna go for my first run since Sunday. Here's hoping it helps work out the pesky hip abductor trigger points that didn't appear until Wednesday evening.
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