A tour of Del Norte Peak

So far this spring has granted me seven summits of North Twin Mtn (10,500 ft), with lots of steep ups and downs to get there, and one of Del Norte Peak (12,300 ft) for longer durations at lower grades.  I still want to explore trails closer to Wolf Creek, but a series of events have made routes accessible from home more desirable.  This became an opportunity to run my own marathon on the DN Peak's forest roads before bushwhacking to the top.

Just after leaving the parking lot:

An ATV type road forks off at the two mile mark.  They are still pretty muddy and wet.  Follow the road as it turns left:

Up a steeper segment, then get views of the neighboring valley including Blue Ridge and North/South Twin, and start to get views of the Sangre de Cristos on the opposite side of the valley:

Once the road turns south again you hit what I call the "4-mile cattle guard."  During the summer the cattle from our ranch are hanging out on one side or the other of here at ~9500 ft:

The road starts flanking the actual ridge as it continues to ascend at 2-12% grades.  Coming up on 7.2 miles is the turn off that allows a longer approach but also a western (read: snowless) ascent.  Turn before the "7-mile cattle guard", now at 10,500 ft:

The grades of ascent are numerically the same but feel greater because there's less variance, but after another good mile there's a downhill piece that lets your legs get their feeling back.  It also brings a glimpse at the northern face of Del Norte Peak:

The bottom of the hill navigates through a logging area.  I never have figured out if this is commercial or part of the burn protection, but there have been downed trees hanging around here even since last year when Nathan and I last made a full summit and took this route:

Another look on the inside of the bend.  Currently at 10,700 ft:

A bit more climbing as you travel west, then the road flattens for a couple miles while passing what can be camp sites or areas for folks (like us with permits) to collect wood.  At 11.5 miles, after wondering for some time if you blew right on past the peak, is the initial turn towards the summit.  Now at 11,000 ft, there's lots of mud and swampy areas due to continued melt and runoff:

I stayed on the road for something like a quarter mile, maybe a half mile.  Now you are getting closer, 11,300 ft:

And at some point you just have to decide to turn off and bushwhack.  Just keep the top in your view and climb straight up:

The trees begin to thin as you work your way up and increasing incline:

And now the real work begins - 20-45% grades per my GPS watch.  Above tree line is always awesome.  Just over a half mile and another thousand feet of gain remaining:

This was during one of the 45% grade sections.  Eye on the prize while trying to beat the clouds and weather:

I beat the clouds by about a minute, so my proof-of-summit shot meant I stood with my head at the base of a cloud.  13-ish miles completed.  Here is looking east.  

There's a glass jar with multiple registers, pencils, and a few odds and ends left by previous summiters.  Someone also stowed a tequila bottle amongst the rocks, but that is long ago consumed:

Clouds start to thicken, so time to descend.  Looking to whence I came, to retrace my steps back to the bottom:

After retracing my steps and getting back to the logging areas thunder starts to roll in to the south.  I'm in the clear before any lightning chance has sprouted.  Hey, I was just up there:

The long downhill also means less effort and more looking around.  Saw a bunch of cow prints, but also a few elk who had crossed the road between the 4- and 7-mile cattle guards.  Lightning was starting to strike back by the peak, so I didn't longer long:

Below the 4-mile cattle guard, a glimpse at the baby aspen trees filling in areas of burn recovery.  There were much more ashen stumps visible last year:

Once back at the parking lot I had a solid 26 miles, so I went ahead with the silly loop around the lot for an even marathon of 26.2.  Total ascent was just shy of 5000 ft of gain.  Satisfying and peaceful day.

Salida's Run Through Time Marathon - race report

Salida, Colorado, just north of the San Luis Valley in what is known as the Arkansas Valley (named for the Arkansas River), is known for its proximity to Monarch Ski Resort and for its kayaking community.  The town is wedged at the base of hills, with its own town mountain marked with an "S" the same way Del Norte has Lookout Mountain marked with a "D."  But where Del Norte's hills give way to more small foothills with few trails, Salida's quickly become an entire network of progressively bigger elevations that become the San Isabel National Forest.  This was to be our first local race, a mere 1.5 hours from home.  Since our race in Moab I integrated a lot more hill work thanks to the snow melt, so I was hopeful to have a better race.  Or, at least, to not be so horrifically sore afterward.

Run Through Time Marathon course, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile)

Elevation profile, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile).  Blue line = my pace.

The race starts just across the river and railroad tracks at the base of "S" mountain.  Just ahead of us in the glob of a start was a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, two triathlon bottles strapped to his chest (it takes too much energy to pick up the bottle with your hands, so they have long straws so you barely have to turn your head to drink), and two trekking poles.  The race commenced at 8:00am sharp, and but five seconds later the dude already dropped one trekking pole and caused backup while he tried to retrieve it and nearly tripped everyone around him.

The first couple miles are a loop around the base over dirt roads to help the pack spread out.  There's a small climb at a half mile in, during which I realized my Garmin was not set to autolap every mile.  I accidentally hit the interval setting instead, and in disabling the intervals it ended up restarting my time.  Whatever.  (So when looking at the elevation chart, know that I refer closer to the true mileage.  The chart shows everything a half mile before it actually occurred.)

Suddenly some woman decked out in Salomon gear (read: expensive) wearing Salomon shoes 2-3 sizes too big went sprinting past in a panting fit.  What the heck?  The race just started, lady.  A minute later she was pulled over to the side, hands on knees, huffing and puffing.  I said to Nathan, "I know it shouldn't bother me, but I find that really annoying."  Nathan agreed.

We wound over that first small hill, back down to the water's edge, and toward the "S" hill to ascend singletrack and begin the real race.  Miss Salomon Specialness again sprinted past.  I silently shook my head.  Two guys just ahead of us pointed at her and chuckled.  It was her all out sprint start that made us all react, because that's just downright dumb in a marathon with a supposed 4000feet each of climbing and descent.  Once part way up "S" she was again pulled over, hands on her knees.  Honey, its going to be a long morning....

The trail ascended with the town shrinking in our hind view.  Once on the backside of "S" it winds up and down, in and out, along the waves of topography.  Many parts remind me of the east coast but for the desert dryness and different flora.  The weaving became repetitive, feeling like an M. C. Escher work in much the same way that part of Pine 2 Palm felt.  That's just how mountains build.  The east coast has less of that repetition since they are declining and crumbling mountains where it has all smoothed over.  I felt good on these hills.  Nathan did too.  We were able to run the ups without feeling any rehash.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Mile 8 opened up to a full sized dirt road that was the big, long climb of the day.  Steep enough to make things slow going and occasionally require walking stints, though just shallow enough to run (albeit slowly) and to fool you as to the severity of its actual grade.  Per my Garmin, it varied from 5-15% grade.  Here is where Nathan started to fall back, trying to preserve his stomach and ensure he could finish.  A women slowly passed me midway.  She asked if I ran Moab, and said she kept seeing me on and off throughout the first 20+ miles.  I asked her name: Emily.  She was moving well and I wished her a good race.  Some guys passed me at the base, but I caught most of them by the lollipop turnaround at its climax.  I wasn't very far behind Emily by the turnaround, and we exchanged a high five as I neared the turn and she was on her way back.  Nathan started the lollipop as I neared the aid station at its base.

I paused to refill with water and dump another salt tab into my fluids.  I had to get help to undo the capsule since my hands were cold enough to lose fine motor control.  It only took about 30 seconds total at the station, but it was enough for Miss Salomon Specialness to pass.  F***er.  She was within easy sight as I began the second half of the race, and I knew I could catch her once we hit the upcoming downhills.  In fact, I was looking forward to it.  I wanted to finish in 4:20, and I hit half way right on target at ~2:10, though my new goal was simply to beat her. 

I couldn't remember when the real downhill would start.  The next four miles included another mile of steady ascent within 4 miles of snow and ice.  It would have been slushy and muddy had the weather been 10 degrees warmer with sun, but the cloud cover and high in the 40s kept things pretty solid.  I started walking the icy bits just to make sure I didn't wipe out.  I passed a handful of guys.  I usually wait until I know my pace will continue faster than theirs and until I have an open enough spot appropriate for passing.  Once or twice I softly asked to pass only to then trip once in front.  I apologized each time for being that jackass, wincing at the thought of Mr. Blue Wobble's similar shenanigans during last year's Escarpment.  I ran a good 2 miles with one guy.  Adrian, perhaps?  I let him pass when I slipped a few extra times and decided more food and drink mix was needed.

Now the real descent began.  I still felt good.  We could see the next valley and peaks to the east.  It was a beautiful view throughout the entire course.  I kept reminding myself to keep my eyes on the trail to avoid tripping.  I hit a 120 degree turn to the right that, per my Garmin, then descended at 21% on loose dirt and rocks that acted more like thick sand underfoot.  I paused, knowing that two flags were posted to the right before the turn (indicating a rightward turn) but I did not see any confirmation flags afterward.  Standing with feet in place, I turned my head back to scan for other flags I may have missed.  I reasoned that I'd have seen others leading elsewhere, so turned my head around to continue on.

Without having stepped my footing gave way.  SMACK.  Right knee and right palm hit hard.  I'm really good at this falling-while-running thing.  My Garmin beeped completion of another mile on the way down.  I stood up to walk it off like usual, but my leg would not accept any weight.  That's when the flood gates opened, and all the stress of relocation and acclimating to a new place (both for me and for Nathan) came pouring out.  Apparently I hobbled at a 56 minute per mile pace trying to get down off that hill, reasoning each step with myself that my knee was not showing signs of instability and that now was not the time for a mental breakdown.  See the largest blue spike above.

It took five minutes for others to catch up from behind.  One woman recognized me and asked if I was okay.  By then I was at hobble jog pace, moving slowly on all rocky drops.  My ankle was feeling it too, though I could not tell if it received a little twist when I fell or if it was secondary to a sensitive knee.  A half mile later was an aid station.  I thanked them for being there but didn't stop, didn't even give myself the option.  The leg was slowly warming back up.  I had stopped crying, but I felt very much on an emotional ledge.  I had probably added a good 10 minutes to my total time.  I knew that my previous goals were no longer reasonable, so I went into salvage mode to simply finish.  I was much more cautious on the rocky downhills thanks to difficulty seeing depth and less confidence that I'd clear my foot properly.

The downhills kept on for a few more miles.  I could see the tower at the top of "S" hill, so I knew we were somewhere within the finish.  I just kept moving at whatever pace I could muster.  Again the trail wove up and down, in and out.  There was a modest sustained climb that I hiked.  Eventually on the back side of "S" was the last aid station.  "Just over two miles to go!  Keep up that smile!"  I realized I had smiled at them, trying to hide the melancholy I felt.  I just wanted to be done, I wanted Nathan to be okay, and I wanted to can our plans for the day in Salida and instead simply go home.

The want to be done can do amazing things for one's progress.  It helped that was mostly downhill along the switchbacks of "S."  A little out and back along the waterfront, over the bridge, loop back under the bridge, and then pop out next door at the Steam Plant to finish.

4:26:34.

Less than one minute too slow to make the top three for my age category.  Had I not fallen I'd at least have made 4:20 if not faster.  So it goes.

The afternoon after.  The real bruise started coming out this morning.

I hobbled to and from the car a few times to get warm clothes, water, a protein drink, etc, all the while watching for Nathan and desperately hoping to see him finish.  Our car was parked in the lot on the "S" mountain side of the bridge, so I had full view of those coming down the mountain.  I was cold, emotionally labile, and anxious for Nathan.  I kept seeing black long sleeve shirts with black/gray shorts but it was the wrong bag, or the wrong hat, or the wrong movement patterns.  As my nervousness escalated near levels from Moab Nathan finally appeared, walking down the last zig zag of "S."  I moved close to the finish line and waited for him to get through the little out and back and get across the bridge.  He finished with a drawn face, so I knew he was hurting, but he mustered the best jog to cross the finish line that his stomach would allow.

Nathan, finishing in ~5:20.

Nathan's stomach turned sour at mile 14 again, with florescent yellow puke the same color as during Moab.  At least this time was not nearly so bad.  We sat inside the Steam Plant during the awards ceremony.  He had one more puke on the way to the car, but then made the hour and a half drive home without incident, probably because he fell asleep.  Once home he stumbled into bed and slept for a good three hours, and managed to get in some juice and chips in the late evening without incident.

Boston

The weekend preceding the race was filled with foam rolling, tennis ball rolling, echinacea, honey and oranges.  Not the first time my eager anticipation of vacation also precipitated a drop in my immunity, shedding an adrenaline fueled shield that exists to survive stress and conveniently diminishes when your body knows it will soon rest.  Friday morning it was swollen lymph nodes and a deep alto voice but no other symptoms.  I worried about developing strep throat.  Saturday and Sunday brought mild sinus headaches.  I have always run throughout the winter - in fact, I really like running in winter - but usually it is under the guise of an off season.  This was my first winter of pointed training for a big, long race, yet once again I had to forfeit my ego and my pace goals in lieu of taking things however they fall.  A little disappointing, but I was tired enough that just getting through it was becoming a fine goal.

How suddenly the importance of something can change.

*****

My pre-race fatigue became a somewhat emotional mental game for the first 13 miles.  I had a hard time wrapping my head around what is basically a very straight run without much visual change, and a sea of thousands of runners packed in together leading you forward.  No other race has so many of similar ability in each corral, so when the race starts it doesn't expand as faster runners leave slower runners behind and the pack expands - the whole crowd upheaves at once and plunges down the first long hill en mass.  Imagine the drive from Kansas City to St. Louis via I-70, only one car length between each vehicle but everyone charging at full tilt.

The body aches hit at 10k, and the novelty of such a prestigious race wore off.  This was not exercise fatigue.  These were cold/flu/virus body aches.  I was tired.  How then was I keeping my pace?  Thanks to those innumerable downhills.  I used the sighting of Michael Wardian as a distraction, watching him zoom past with Hokas on his feet and a Go Pro camera strapped across his chest.  Another runner behind me commented that he'd rather be doing a trail ultra than a road marathon any day.  I nearly stopped in my tracks to turn and hug him for that, and used the moment of mental relief to remind myself that this race was to be taken one step at a time.  Back to a focus on cadence and salt pills and those things that ultras have taught me, only then for me to catch up to Wardian three or four miles later.  He had obviously slowed rather than my "catching up."  Turned out he was pacing a friend part way, and using the rest of the race to have fun and prep for the Big Sur marathon in a couple weeks. 

I mustered my way to the half-way point, only to get shell shocked by the Wellesley girls.  I knew they were coming, but was not prepared for the scream storm.  They were lined up for an entire mile, only 1-2 girls deep but producing enough noise to deafen those who are hard of hearing.  They always try to get kisses from male runners.  Signs called out "I give tongue."  "Kiss a chemist."  "Give me a kiss job."  I stayed to the other side, on the verge of tears from all the noise.  Memories popped up of a dance studio Halloween party from grade school.  A room packed full of all the kids from the studio competing to see which team can pop the most balloons in a given time by sitting on them.  And screaming.  I stood frozen in place and crying until one of the mom's pulled me into the hallway with the two toddlers who were also too overwhelmed.  Then, mercifully, the scream storm dissipated just as quickly as it began. 

After that, not much could be worse.  Miles started ticking off faster, my mind made peace with the straight race course (helps to be past half way!), Heartbreak Hill became a much welcomed relief from the monotony, and I began counting down the miles until I would see Nathan, Andrea (our wonderful hostess) and Mike cheering from mile 24.  I had no chance of matching or besting my time at Philly, but I was able to finish strong enough to pass many people in the last two miles (holy pulled hamstring, Batman!) for a satisfying time of around 3:17:20.  The hobble of which I so proudly did not have following the NYC Half last month?  Yea.  It was back.  But I earned it.

*****

It took me about thirty minutes to get through the finish chute of water, medal, heat shield, photo, food, and past the bag pick-up.  Nathan had been really worried about dealing with the crowds at the family meetup point, so I agreed to meet him on the opposite corner of the street.  I'd dumped a lot of water on myself to keep from burning up (53 degrees that felt like 75) and now I was cold, wet and shivering.  I stood in the sun, looking around and trying to stretch out my hips.  A half hour passed, no Nathan.  Maybe the subway trains were that slow?  Maybe he had to divert to a farther station and walk back?  The ease of not checking a bag was now biting me in the butt.  Twenty more minutes of shivering and I'd had it.  A supporter was nice enough to loan his phone briefly.  Nathan had been patiently waiting at the B in the family waiting area.  *Sigh.*  He ran over and I started towards the train, but when he saw my shivering he made me pull over to change into a dry shirt and my sweater and down vest.  

We got to the Arlington station a few blocks from the finish line, which was absolutely packed and chaotic.  A woman said participants were being allowed through free of charge, but that meant going around the other way through the thick crowds again.  On the platform people were elbow to elbow, waiting for the tiny T trains.  (I swear one individual NYC subway car can hold more than an entire Boston T train.)  T staff kept yelling at people to re-organize how were standing on the platform over and over again.  One runner stumbled on the edge of the platform and fell onto the tracks while trying to see which train had just left the station.  More chaos.  T staff pushed everyone back.  The guy was fine, just clumsy.  Slowly, a C train chugged down the line and stopped at the platform.  No doors opened.  One minute passes.  Two minutes.  

"Why aren't they opening the doors?"  

"What's the big idea here?" 

"WE ARE EVACUATING THE STATION.  EVERYONE UP TO THE STREET.  MOVE IT.  TO THE STREET." 

We did as we were told without knowing why.  Maybe with all the straphanger chaos we had exceeded the station's maximum occupancy and it was deemed unsafe? 

The nearest exit led us to the next street parallel to the finish chute.  We saw no runners.  Nathan speculated that someone passed out at the finish.  Maybe, I said, but you don't usually shut down a race for a cardiac arrest.  Next cross street, just after the finish line.  Still no runners.  A couple argued up ahead, and the man took off running down the street while the woman anxiously dialed her cell phone.  We overheard another runner behind us saying two bombs had gone off, but at that point who knew what was true or speculation or rumors.  Another block.  We waited while ambulances zoomed toward the course.  Definitely no runners, but lots of police. 

"I think the only way we are guaranteed to get home is on foot," I said. 

"But are your legs okay with that?  Maybe the trains are running at the next station."

"Those would have to come from the station we were just evacuated from.  And no way anyone will be able to get a cab at this point."

"But your legs?"

"So far its actually helping." 

To get back to Andrea's apartment we had to follow the course backwards for about 3 miles.  Still no runners, no music, but lots of sirens and people walking away from the race.  On Beacon a national guard directed everyone to get a half mile away.  One more block west and we saw the line of runners held by police escorts, standing in a pack thicker than at the start and extending by the thousands back along the course.  Police cars, marked and unmarked alike, came by the dozens from all directions, racing the wrong way down one way streets, even racing on the course itself before turning off at the clog.  Everyone who had a cell phone was calling/texting like crazy but no one could get through, including Nathan.  Everyone was anxious, many in tears.  Two local runner sopted to not wait in the mass clog, instead turning around and heading toward home.  The woman's Garmin beeped 26.2 just in front of us at a Dunkin' Donuts.  They shared a congrats with perplexed looks on their faces.  A few of the drunken townsfolk nearby cheered for them.  Those slower runners who had not yet reached the clog were oblivious to the events at hand and their impending hold. 

We were walking fast, and I was finally warming up.  A little girl had a little lemonade and cupcake stand.  She saw my emblazoned heat shields, and her eyes got wide. 

"Did you run today?"

"Yes I did."

"Do you need any... thing?"

It was cute and made me laugh.  "No, but I very much appreciate your offer.  Thank you." 

And as we turned to keep walking she yelled out "Congratulations!"  My stomach flipped and knotted up.  The previous four and a half hours now had very little significance.

We got back to Andrea's just after 4:00, with just enough time to change clothes, confirm Logan was still open even though we could not confirm if our flights were on or cancelled, and head out the door.  Had Andrea not already rented and picked up the zipcar then I'm not sure what we would have done.  (Did you know Andrea is awesome?  Because she is.  Totally awesome.)  I shoveled food into my mouth along the drive, and zipped through a heightened security check.  I even got my palms randomly tested for explosive remnants.  I washed my face in the airport bathroom sink, then settled down to try and contact the twenty or so people who had left messages. 

Logan had stopped letting planes land until security was confirmed, only letting planes leave, but ours was miraculously on time.  Weather slowed our arrival in Denver, with us circling the air for an extra hour.  By the time we picked up our rental car and got to the hotel it was about 2 a.m. local time (4 a.m. eastern).  We were out of our minds.  Trying to get from the car into the hotel without soaking our feet in the slush put us on edge.  We were starving, especially since United apparently does not even give the stupid miniature snacks on a 4-hour flight anymore.  Room service?  Not in our super high class dingy hotel.  Our room card said for room service to call Domino's.  They closed at midnight.  My eyes burned when I blinked.  I silently changed for bed.  Nathan was determined to eat something, anything.  He set out in a fury to find vending machines.  I climbed under the covers, wondering if I should have given him some dollar bills since he may have only had a five.  When Nathan returned, the door opened with significantly less gusto.  I cringed, knowing the result.

"It wouldn't take my five, so all I could get was this one ounce bag of Fritos." 

He tossed the bag on the bed.  I felt awful, but sat up to eat a few as though that might help bring some accomplishment to our travel food fail.  I passed him the bag after a couple fingerfuls, laid back down and cried.  It had been such a long, bizarre day. 

Thankfully our honeymoon could only improve from there.

Train karma and a double taper -- Philadelphia Marathon race report

I needed to leave work on Saturday by 3pm to make my 4:05 train to Philly.  Biggest reason: I needed to get to the convention center before it closed at 7pm to get my bib, since no race day pickup exists.  Any later train would have put me into Philly's 30th St Station at 6:30, so I needed the 4:05-5:30 train.  It has also been a work week where a minimum number of patients per day is now mandated ongoing for numerous reasons (reasons for which I will not get into) so I really needed to squeeze in one last treatment for the patient who had declined earlier.  I left their room at 3:05, ran up to the office, speed-typed a note and plugged in my stats etc, found myself uber thankful for outsmarting myself and doing certain clerical items the day before, changed out of my scrubs, and flew out the door by 3:15.  Usually an arrest-stat is the only time running through a hospital is warranted.  With my duffel slung over my back I ran down 7 flights of stairs, the block and a half via the overpass to the train, and nearly felt like I was back in the 800m start from high school what with trying to elbow my way through weekend mullers to get to the A train.  Time: 3:20.

Mechanical voice announcement, next Brooklyn bound A train is 2 stations away; time: 3:23.  I'm at 168th St, and need to go 5 express stops to Penn Station/34th St.  It's gonna be close.  Update: 1 station away; time: 3:26.  I'm rocked back and forth between feet and trying my best to not be one of those futilely annoying people who look up the tracks for an incoming train as though putting on such a display will make it arrive faster.  Eons later (3:28) it arrives.  It's pretty full, but it rolls.  And for all my jittering I am able to make myself read so as to not check my watch every minute while we get through the windy and slow sections between 168th to 145th to 125th.  Miraculously we arrive at 34th at 3:50.  I speed walk to the Amtrak platform, and I end up with 5 minutes to spare before the track assignment is announced.  The mob forms, we all make it on the train, I even have an open seat next to me, and we take off on time.  No traffic to deal with, no slow and cautious driver who rides the break.  We arrive at all stops, including Philly, on time.  I get to calmly walk to the expo past some amazing buildings like City Hall, and I arrive with one hour left of the expo.

I definitely call that a good start, particularly since my participation in the Philly Marathon is all last minute.  I received notice of having a lottery spot for for displaced NYC Marathoners only 9 days prior, and took a chance on my being allowed to come in at 7am the Saturday of travel in order to leave on time.  Since I don't really do phase training aside from the ebb and flow of long runs according to my next race, I hadn't stopped running following the cancellation of NYC the way many others had.  I treated the extended taper by feel, trying to re-establish better leg turnover with moderate distances and yet not get sucked into over-training at the last minute.  The course is flatter than I'm used to running, and I didn't anticipate needing to train for flat and speedy until late winter for Boston.  Lots of unknowns.

The feel of the Philly M is quite nice.  It's a big marathon what with over 20,000 runners, and yet is nowhere near the headache to get to the start as it is for something like NYC.  They said to get into corrals by 6am in prep for a 7am start.  Really you could get in five minutes before starting and you'd still be okay.  From negotiating an unknown city and unknown start area I got there at 6:15.  There were a few schmucks waxing negative about NYC not giving refunds (helloooo, just because the event was not held does not mean the equipment wasn't already rented for multiple weeks and that all items like shirts, bibs, post-race heat sheets/fleece blankets weren't already paid for and received), but on the whole people were relaxed and happy to be there.  The feel was much more like the NYC Half.  And that was fine by me.

NYC runners were given two separate corrals that fed in parallel to the original six corrals.  Their waves take place every 3-4 minutes (NYC was going to have 4 waves this year filled with some 30 corrals each).  We didn't realize this.  At 7am the elites took off.  I had doffed my giant trash bag in prep to start, and the small shivers turned into big full body shivers while we stood there watching the time clock roll and waiting.  The first age-group corral lets loose.  We waited.  We were maybe 50 feet from the start line with an open expanse ahead, and yet we couldn't go yet.  Four minutes go by.  Full body shivers become full body spasms.  The second age-group corral lets loose.  We still wait.  We get to 7 minutes of waiting.  My hip abductors are starting to cramp from all the shivering.  The volunteers are mistakenly told to let us forward, and before an organizer can correct them we've all started pushing through the breach on one side.  Note to Phillians: you cannot stop an impatient NYC mob.  It's not that we can't listen or can't follow directions.  It's that the directions seem somewhat counterintuitive as to what we judge for ourselves, so we will do as we wish.  Thanks in advance.

And so, some 8 minutes after the gun, we are off.  I hadn't realized my feet were numb until then.  No matter.  By a mile into the race I was feeling much better.  By 4 miles in I had removed my arm warmers.  Philly is relatively flat, plus it has narrow streets what with being an older city, so it makes you feel really fast.  Each corral is quite varied in terms of ability, so the faster crew from NYC played Frogger for the first 6 miles.  I ran on the sidewalks a lot.  I think the other issue was that even though we may have been ahead of many slower marathon corrals, all half marathon corrals had already been released so you had to get through all run-walkers and those who prefer to run in groups of four though do so in side-by-side fashion.  But because Philly was that much more chill than NYC there was plenty of space and opportunity to jump on the sidewalk during the first few miles if needed without clobbering pedestrians.

I had 6 salt pills with me, and I was glad I had them.  In my freezing frenzy I started faster than advised, averaging ~7:10 miles.  By the time we hit half way I was already feeling heavy in my legs. So I upped my intake from 1 pill per hour (based on the amount I was sweating) to 1 pill every 30 minutes.  Yet another time when Traprock memories loomed.  I had two gels with me, one intended for mile 20 since it has a mega caffeine boost.  I downed a gel every 5 miles, and luckily Clif was the gel sponsor and I was able to pick up two gels mid-race for use at mile 10 and 15.  My pace was slowly decreasing with each 10k, and I had to keep redefining my cruising speed to avoid imploding.  I had enough rest stamina-wise thanks to the double taper, but my legs felt like they were two weeks overdue from a break from the roads.  So from the halfway point to the end was all about hamstring mitigation.  I kept doing the math, and I wasn't so sure I could hold pace enough to equal last year's 3:21 pace.  Pre-Sandy I had hoped for 3:15.

This is when the 50 mile experiences really helped.  You still have your mind intact, and you've experienced something way more painful than the current predicament.  By mile 20 I had to force myself to relax into a short though normal stride, but I was able to minimize the peg leg bad form that was starting to wreak havoc on my left leg (the side with more chronic patellofemoral and ITB stuff) and my right hip flexor out of compensation.  Math check: If I could hold 8 minute miles, then I could just maybe get within reach of 3:15.  Four miles to go, and my stride is getting smaller and smaller.  Solution: arms!  This will sound judgemental when I'm not meaning to be, but those who think you don't run with your arms have never really run before.  This point during NYC 2011 was when tunnel vision started setting in.  Thanks to the salt pills this year was just dying legs.  The 8 minute miles were holding somehow.  It sure as hell wasn't easy.

Other memories came back from the NYC Half, which was total complete desperation at the chance to finish under 1:30.  With so much stiffness and fatigue you can't suddenly unleash a manic beast, but with one mile to go I probably looked like I fist pumping my way to the finish line in my penguin waddle-sprint.  But, miraculously, my body complied.  I was able to pass those who had passed me four miles earlier and were now paying for it.  And I managed to squeak in under 3:15.  I couldn't straighten my right hip for another half hour while baby stepping through the finish festival, but I was very, very happy at being able to revive the end of this year's race season into a personal best.  It also means I get to up my seed at Boston in the spring.

Eventually I picked up my bag and changed clothes, which was a 15 minute ordeal.  Some NYC runners were meeting a restaurant/bar north of the finish line, so I slowly meandered north to keep myself moving and hopefully get warm again.  I got there an hour before the room was reserved, so I sat at the bar and watched football while sipping warm coffee and eating a treat of french toast (which I realized I hadn't had in years).  In the end the other runners were much later in getting there, and I had to leave for my train before they even started to head over.  But it was a nice little place with good food, and I actually enjoyed the quiet of sitting with myself in reflection of the last year as a whole.  And when I got back to the train station my train was on time, people actually line up for trains in Philly (Did you read that correctly?  They LINE UP.  I almost fainted...), and when I got back to Penn Station 10 minutes early an A train arrived exactly when I hit the subway platform.

Everything went smoothly for Philly, and the race was a surprising personal success.  It was a nice way to end the year with a bang, and a good solid effort to make me want (and thus comply) with a few weeks worth of yearly off-season. 

Longest taper ever.

Numerous marathons throughout November and December opened their doors to those left race-less by NYC's cancellation.  I am one of 3000 lucky enough to be selected via lottery for the Philadelphia Marathon this coming Sunday. 

NYC's cancellation was not that big of a loss to me since my big race for the year was Virgil Crest in September, plus that was by far the more appropriate decision under the circumstances.  But I realized that after a taper period I will be too antsy to allow myself a genuine rest period unless I have a race to exhaust myself.  I may have knees twice my age nicknamed the Old Ladies.  I may be early to bed and early to rise in total opposition to all others my age, and I may scoff at going out if it means leaving home after 7pm.   But, for better or worse, I am still the annoyingly energized puppy that needs lengthy, daily constructed play time so that I don't chew up an entire closet's worth of shoes.  Or in Sadie's case, yoga blocks and shoe laces and foam rollers and the box spring and power cords and.... 

So be it.  Philly, here I come.  Who knows what result will come from the double-taper, but it will let me finally take my off season before the slow build up Boston.

11 days

Eleven days until the 40,000+ sized flash mob that is the marathon.  Mission for the next week and a half: keep calm and carry on.

A coworker says I cannot go by "Ms." once married.  Apparently I have to go by "Mrs."  Why?  Because Mrs. means you are nice, while Ms. means you are not nice.  I make pointless arguments about wanting my "title" *ahem* to reflect me as an individual rather than "Mrs. [Husband's first and last name]."  And since she cannot remember Nathan's last name, her attempts always end up rhyming with my last name.  The hyphened version ends up being "Buckles-Ruckles."  I actually think its cute.  New nickname, it seems. 

Merus had her two-week checkup with the new vet.  She responded very well to the antibiotics, the infection is gone, her gums are the closest to a normal pink since who knows when, and she has voraciously eaten her way back to a realistic (albeit still somewhat light) weight.  Plan: symptom management if/when they arise in the future.  Gingivitis, when chronic like her's, tends to be chronic regardless, so that's the best thing to do since amputating their entire mouth is not an option.  So far so good.  Last night she tried to steal away with homemade chickpea-lentil-curry crackers.  Crackers.  Seriously.

October has brought much of the rain we could have used over the summer.  And we've had genuine autumn weather for more than the usual two weeks.  Love it :)  But when it isn't raining, the moisture in the air has produced some lovely sunrises and sunsets, like this (worth it in full size):

Not back for the camera on my phone, right?

NYC Marathon race report

The primary adjective for which I can describe the NYC Marathon is MASSIVE, requiring one to drop their voice low and gesture with wide spread arms.  It is by far the biggest event I have ever been a part of.  Think of a rock concert in a huge arena, with people separated just enough that you can sneak through for 26.2 miles.  That's about how it felt the entire time.  Previous races there's always some song playing in a loop in my head -- none of that here.  No need for any mental operations, what with the endless distractions.  Pretty sure that's the main reason I was able to hold the faster pace than originally anticipated.  But, hey, I'll take it.

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.

Count down to tomorrow

Picture me jumping around like a big nerd.  Yes, that is my normal.  Big deal.  Now amp it up to the third power.  Me on race day eve!  I think I've even managed to exhaust the kittehs.

*bounce*bounce*bounce*bounce*

Check my previous spectator post for links to following racers online or on your smart phone.  I think the apps are free unless you want the fancy version.  Skip the SMS text thing.  Both Nathan and I start in the first wave at 9:40 a.m.

Me: bib #12503, orange, wave #1.
Nathan: bib #10343, blue, wave #1.

The kit: white visor, light blue cap sleeve, black shorts, white calf sleeves, silver and blue shoes.  Black arm warmers will get removed once am warmed up.

Marshall Ulrich was at the expo yesterday in his own tiny booth off to the side.  He was plugging his book about his race across the US (San Fransisco to NYC). Apparently he will be at the half way point.  I would LOVE to get a high five from him.

Also, Michael Wardian will be in the elite crowd.  If you remember the results from the TNF Kansas City 50k, he's the one who swamped everyone even starting a half hour after the rest of the field.  He was easily cruising at twice my speed when he sailed past me. 

Big pre-race thanks to Laura (schoolmate, a.k.a. my Subconscious) for planting yourself along the course with some extra gels and N's allergy backup.  Same thanks to John for offering your place for bag storage and post-race meetup so that we don't have to mess with the super chaotic bag drop.

Now back to paper writing.  Deadlines are not sympathetic towards marathons....

NYC Marathon spectatorship

One week from tomorrow!  I can barely contain myself.  

I've had more people say they'll come support me than I know what to do with.  I'm not used to it.  Only twice have I had supporters in the crowd since high school -- Nathan at miles 5 and 13 of the NYC 1/2 Marathon last March, and my family at mile 28 of the TNF KC 50k last August.  But my history of spectators is a little odd.  You'd think with a dance background I'd be used to it.  For whatever reason I was the high school kid with paranoia at being watched.  I was okay with my parents/family coming to watch, but I didn't want to know where they were sitting.  Apparently I've been this way since toddlerhood when I'd stop dancing like a maniac to Fraggle Rock the moment I realized my mom was watching.  I have a rather tenacious superego, so maybe it was too much to have others watching at the same time.  I also know that during high school I enjoyed running track but became extremely tired with the pressure of competition.  

Gladly, recreational running is completely different.  I am no longer paranoid, and my running is dictated by the "old ladies."  Yet I'm still not used to people wanting to camp out for my sake.  So when school friends ask me where they should post themselves, I get a little stumped.  

Thus, I've collected info from and added my own thoughts related to the NYRR website's Spectator Guide.  Most friends of mine live in Brooklyn, which is the first third or so of the race.  Typically, the halfway point (mile 13.1) is when a runner can start to predict what may or may not unravel their race, and mile 20 starts the epic, and painful, final push.  I usually watch from mile 21 just on the Harlem side of the 138th St. bridge from the Bronx, partly for the convenience, but partly because that's when the elite race becomes interesting.

This map is the official NYRR course map, which includes all mileage markers and nearby subway stop info.  For a downloadable/printable PDF version of it, go to the course info page, then look on the right beneath the photo.

You can follow runners and hopefully better predict when they'll land at various mile markers with a smartphone/iPhone using the Mobile Spectator App ($2.99 from iTunes App Store or Android Market, available October 28).  Follow by computer using TrackMyRunners, available race day without signing up ahead.  More info on both.

Last year my friend and I used what likely was a trial version of the iPhone app to track a runner we were mutually, Big D, following as well as two other runners I knew, L and C.  Big D, the first to arrive, came as predicted by the app.  L and C were to arrive in the next 30 and 60 minutes respectively.  I started cheering and waving my signs when the app located them on the Bronx side of the bridge, just in case it was off by a few minutes.  Minutes went by.  I alternated between focused crowd scanning and light scanning while waving signs.  No L or C in sight, despite the app claiming they would supposedly come off the bridge at any moment.  We rechecked her phone multiple times, and eventually the app showed L and C way past our location.  I missed both L and C completely, likely from the software getting overloaded with users. So, hopefully all the bugs have been worked out this year.  BUT!  Scroll down to see a chart I made of expected times so that you hopefully don't need the app.

A few more recommendations based on my personal history of spectating and running:

• Pick your clothes as though its 20 degrees colder than actual.  You're standing around for potentially multiple hours, meaning not creating much heat.  If in the 50s I was usually happiest with thick wool socks, long sleeve shirt, wool sweater, down sweater, and a stocking cap to wear as needed.  If in the 40s I added wool long underwear.  Easier to take off layers than to add those you left at home.
• Bring a stadium seat, the Sunday paper, or a few layers of cardboard so that if you want to sit on the sidewalk or curb then you don't freeze your butt on the cold concrete.  
• Bring a thermos of hot tea/coffee/hot chocolate.  
• Think about how visible you are to the runner (signage, positioning), how easily you can spot your runner (knowing their shirt/hat colors), which direction the runner is headed (are you on the corner that they are turning away from, or are you on the far side just after the turn?), and whether or not you are back lit by the sun which would hinder their recognizing you.  I will post a picture of what I plan to wear as the day nears and the weather report becomes more accurate.
• The aforementioned Spectator Guide includes a few tips for those camping out for the morning/afternoon.  Of those meant for the sake of runners: "DON'T say 'You're almost there!' You should only use those longed-for words if you're holding the finish line tape."  Last August I told my family NOT to say "Three miles down, only 28 to go!" or "It's all downhill from here!"  My brother caught my Dad on video saying the downhill comment just as I started ascending Hospital Hill, and he was lucky I didn't hear him through my mumbling and huffing.

Lastly, a few things to note before interpreting the paced ETA chart...

• These are the actual times you might expect me at various mileage points.  It give a range of my faster days and my slower days, so that you know the window at which to hopefully expect me.  Use the phone app or the online thingie to see how the race starts out.  For the first 8 miles you'll get info from runners crossing timing mats every 5 kilometers.  At and after 8 miles, every mile will also have a timing mat.  The course map marks miles with squares, kilometers (in sets of 5) with pentagons. 
  
• I'm in Wave 1, which starts at 9:40 a.m., though I'm assuming that my corral will reach the start at 9:45 at the earliest.  It might be later.  
• Runners from previous years describe not running much for the first few miles.  That said, initial miles may be slower depending on how the start works out with the masses.   
• Notice on the map that the three sections of the start (blue, orange, green) take slightly different routes before converging a few miles into the race.  I am orange.  Nathan is blue.  On the long stretch of 4th Ave in Brooklyn, orange is on the west side of the street while blue and green are together on the right.  They all converge at mile 8 in downtown Brooklyn.
  
• I'm shooting to average 8:00 per mile, but I still recommend staking out your vantage point with time to spare before the 7:30 ETA.
• If I end up running most of the first 10 miles faster than 7:30 per mile pace, this is very very very bad.  Expect me to blow up half way through -- my average pace will progressively lengthen, and I'll end up with an 8:30 per mile (or likely even slower) pace by the end.  Also expect me to be in pain by the time I reach mile 20.  I'm hoping to avoid this as much as possible...
  
• What am I shooting for?  An average of 8:00 per mile.  I'd like to say I am capable of controlling my excitement to start out conservative so that I work my way into full race pace.  In reality, I'll be reminding myself constantly to slow to a good cruising speed.  Harder to do than it seems.  My reasoning?  If I manage to not blow up and I have a good race day, I'd land just under the cutoff to qualify for the 2013 Boston Marathon.  Heart isn't set on it, by any means.  Would just be cool if it worked out, and my Tune-Up 18 Mile race times indicate that its possible (*knock on wood*).  Ultimately the day will go however my knees and energy and stomach dictate.
  
• I WANT to stop for a hug and a high five from everyone.  But if things start to hurt, or if momentum becomes difficult, or if I've lost too much time from stopping earlier then I'll need to continue without pause.  If I feel like making the Boston cutoff is possible but I'm at risk for losing it, that will change how much I interact with friends posted along the latter half of the race.  If friends are posted at a dozen different locations along the way, I will be less inclined to keep stopping.  To stop and restart that much gets super hard after a few times.  
• Even if I barely see you, believe me -- it helps ENORMOUSLY.  Some days the mental race is harder than the physical race, which is where these brief encounters make all the difference.  If I have to keep moving and cannot stop, you'll probably be able to read it on my facial expression.  Give me a high five with your whole heart, cause I'll need it.