Two years ago today I completed my second marathon! Woohoo! This anniversary – coupled with the fact that I’ll be running the Pittsburgh Half Marathon this Sunday – reminded me that I never did an actual recap of the race. Hey, better late than never, right? (I had bestowed Hurley Awards for that race, but that post wasn’t an official recap. Hurley Awards are given to people, experiences, elements, etc., that I notice during a race but that may otherwise go unrecognized.)
In order to recap my experience at the 2016 Pittsburgh Marathon, we first have to back up to May 3, 2015, the date of my first marathon (also Pittsburgh). It was an extremely hot day, and I didn’t have a very good race and I walked a lot (you can read about it here and here if you’d like). So to get the monkey off my back, I signed up for that race in 2016, which would be on May 1. I’d have no goals other than wanting to run the whole thing.
Now fast-forward from 2015 to Friday, April 29, 2016. I was packing to leave for Pittsburgh the next day…and I was FREAKING OUT. Rain was in the forecast for Sunday’s race. I started panicking about everything (and I mean EVERYTHING): What was I going to wear if the weather was bad? How would I keep the essentials (electronics and shoes, mainly) dry? What if the race got canceled? And what if I failed again? What if I couldn’t do it? I kept trying to pack, but I ended up straight-up crying each time, caving under the pressure I’d put on myself to do this marathon successfully. So I called my mom, who was going to be going along to cheer me on, and whined to her. She got me to calm down, but the doubts remained.
It’s funny: I wasn’t nervous for my first marathon, but (in case it wasn’t obvious above) I was for my second. Before my first one, I didn’t know that it was possible not to meet my goals. For my second, I was keenly aware that it was possible. And so I was nervous.
But I was also smarter, having learned from the previous year’s mistakes. When Mom and I arrived in Pittsburgh (after a great trip where we kept the mood light), we went right to the expo, just like the previous year. But unlike that year, we didn’t spend as much time there. I got my race packet and looked at the Wall of Names and the official race gear, and we got out of there.
My identity for the next morning’s race
Me with my biggest on-site cheerleader
Walking across a fake bridge the day before running across five real ones
Locating myself on the Wall of Names
Race gear in tow, we headed to our hotel. We made it a low-key night (another change from the previous year) by packing dinner and not doing more walking than was absolutely necessary. Mom went out for a 6-mile run, her last long run before she ran a half marathon the following weekend. I obsessively checked the weather for race day, which seemed to be improving.
I hit the hay early and set my alarm for early (probably around 4:30 a.m., although I don’t remember). When that horrible alarm sounded, I started getting myself prepared for the day. I ate breakfast (toast with a light spread of peanut butter, along with a banana) and packed all my stuff, as Mom would have to come back to check us out of the hotel before I was done with the race. The latest forecast made it look like the weather was going to hold, so I got all decked out in the race outfit I’d originally planned to wear. I put my iPod in a resealable bag in my SPIbelt, just to safeguard it from any rain or fire hydrants/squirt guns I’d encounter along the way.
Still mentally asleep but trying to do breakfast
Ready to go!
As Mom and I walked to my corral, it felt good to stretch my legs and get them warmed up for what they were going to experience over the next few hours. I’d been texting my college friend Nicole, who was doing the relay and was going to be in the same corral as I was. She told me where she and her team were in the corral, so I said goodbye to Mom, left my phone with her (so I wouldn’t be too encumbered), and entered the corral. I tried looking for Nicole but couldn’t find her; I have no idea what would have happened, but I suspect there were two separate parts of our corral, and we were not in the same one.
Before I left Mom to enter my corral
Standing in the corral, I tried to keep calm, but my brain was going haywire. It didn’t help that at that point it started to rain – more than just a drizzle. I questioned my wardrobe choice, but at that point there was absolutely nothing I could do other than try to keep warm. Thankfully, the hard rain didn’t last long and was replaced by more of a drizzle.
I started to queue my music up, only to have my iPod tell me that I had to connect to WiFi to access my music. After being momentarily unsettled, I messed with the device a bit and found a version of the playlist I could actually access sans WiFi. I was saved!
Soon, my corralmates and I started shuffling forward toward the starting line. The previous year I had felt so ready for this moment, but this year I felt so unsure. The sight of the starting line ahead gave me a jolt of something – adrenaline, maybe – and I told myself that I was going to do this (most likely).
Ready, probably!
As we waited to start, the announcer got us hyped. Soon, our corral was unleashed into the streets of Pittsburgh, and I started my watch as I crossed the line.
The starting line, pre-runners
Running is strangely emotional. I spent the first few minutes of the marathon choking back tears, a mix of trepidation, nostalgia, and that old “I can’t believe I’m able to do this” emotion. The logical part of my brain told the emotional part to shape up; there was no use spending energy on such nonsense when I had a marathon to run. So the tears stopped, and my feet got moving.
No matter what, I wanted to run the whole 26.2 miles, so I didn’t have a set pace other than the vague “not too fast.” In fact, I congratulated myself with each passing mile for how slowly and methodically I was running. After a few miles, the rain stopped, and, other than one or two light sprinkles over the next few hours, the race was without precipitation.
I knew I’d be seeing Mom around miles 4, 14, and 19 and at the finish line, of course. About 44 minutes into my run (I told you I was taking things methodically), I was crossing the bridge around mile 4. Although I was running well and feeling good, seeing Mom gave me a boost, and I tried to carry that boost with me until I saw her again at mile 14.
About to wave at Mom (and from the look of things, the girl in the blue jacket appreciated Mom’s enthusiasm too!)
For the next 8 miles or so, I just enjoyed Pittsburgh. Bands played along the course and kept us moving. The neighborhoods were out in full force, cheering us on and just being energetic. As early as mile 5, I started seeing handmade signs about the neighborhood Homewood – “Only 12 miles to Homewood!” and “Homewood is only 9 miles away!” The West End is always fun as well; we ran through this around mile 6 or 7, right after crossing the West End Bridge, which offers spectacular views of Pittsburgh.
My enjoyment of the city stopped – or paused, rather – right around mile 11-point-something, when I was crossing the Birmingham Bridge. I knew that a familiar nemesis was waiting on the other side: THE HILL. See, after this bridge, half marathoners split to the left and marathoners go off to the right, where a long, gradual, increasingly steep hill awaits. Half marathoners have an awful hill of their own to deal with after the split, but at least they’re almost done with the race. At the top of the marathoners’ hill is the mile 12 mark, after which they still have 14.2 miles to go.
At the marathon/half marathon split (this was taken later…)
I gritted my teeth and plodded to the top of the hill, trying to be encouraged by and not annoyed with the employees from a local running store who were jogging up and down the hill to offer words of support. But I made it, and soon(ish) I crossed the timing mat at 13.1 miles.
Splits:
10K – 1:08:32, 11:02/mile
13.1 – 2:26:26, 11:11/mile
It always blows my mind to have completed a half marathon and still have an entire half marathon to go. (Yeah, I know, that’s how math works – a half and a half equaling a whole – but seeing that in practice in a marathon is just really something to wrap my mind around.)
Shadyside was the next neighborhood at mile 14, and I was so happy to see Mom.
I don’t look happy, but I think that’s because I hadn’t noticed Mom yet.
Theeeeeere we go! (Do I look like I’m having fun? Good.)
She even popped out on the course and ran with me for a very short bit (I think to get the above picture?). This moment was captured by Creeper Duck and one of his accomplices:
I love this picture because it shows how incredible and supportive my mom is!
And, of course, I enjoyed the Steelers-themed drumming group in Shadyside:
Here We Go, Steelers!
At approximately mile 15.5, I ran past the intersection where I’d stopped the previous year to stretch and then to walk. I felt so victorious. “Yeah, I OWN YOU!” I muttered. I had my redemption – partially.
I don’t remember where this was, so putting it here seems good… (Also, the dude on the far left looks how most marathoners feel at some point.)
Despite my feelings of victory, my legs were aching. My tired legs carried me through the long-awaited Homewood, with its high-fives and loud cheering section and people out grilling (which smelled delicious, by the way). And despite the fact that I’d been looking forward to seeing greyhounds as part of a motivational station somewhere between miles 16 and 19 (I think), not even they couldn’t take my mind off the burn.
When I saw Mom along the long, gradual incline leading up to mile 19, she could tell I was hurting. “I’m ready to be done,” I said pathetically as I trotted up the hill, grabbing a cup of water from a volunteer and dumping it over my head.
Totally fake smile
Cooling off just before mile 19 (no, it was not actually as dark as it looks)
One of the spectators along this hill held up a giant foam finger and yelled, “HIGH-FIVE!” I like high-fives, but no way was I going to spend energy reaching up that far. So I held my hand at waist level and replied, “Low-five?” He smiled and brought his arm down for a low-five. Thank you, kind sir.
After I left Mom behind for the last time before I’d see her at the finish line, the mental battle really began. You know, thoughts like this: “Would it really be so bad to walk now? You’ve gone farther than you did last time.” “Maybe just a quick walk break.” “Just think how good your legs would feel if you walked.”
I pushed those thoughts off, but they intensified after I jogged past mile 20. “Now you’ve run farther than you ever have before!” (My training program takes me up to a 20-mile long run.) “Now you’ve set a personal record for running distance, so you really could walk now and it would be OK.”
I was SO TEMPTED. But I remembered my disappointment from the previous year and my goal to overcome this year. So I closed (and locked) the door to those thoughts and kept trotting along. I was going to run the whole thing.
Splits:
15.3 – 2:53:21, 11:20/mile
20 – 3:53:25, 11:38/mile
Two enthusiastic thumbs-up and two ridiculously tired legs!
At one point, the course took us on a street paved with bricks. I thought, “Hey! I remember this from last year!” In 2015, even immediately after the race, I could hardly remember anything after mile 19. But in 2016, I was surprised how much was familiar to me in those later miles: neighborhoods, intersections, roads, stores, etc. Woohoo!
Somewhere around mile 22, I was running through a neighborhood and there was a little girl cheering on the left side and a little boy on the right side. The girl was chanting, “NO MORE HILLS!” I’d studied the elevation chart, so I knew that wasn’t true! So I laughed and said, “I wish!” I was running on the side where the little boy was, so I jogged over and high-fived him. Then he started shouting, “NO MORE HILLS! NO MORE HILLS!” Lies! All lies!
There comes a point in every long run where I start thinking way too much about icy beverages and popsicles. It’s true. Thankfully, some people – to whom I am forever indebted – were handing out freeze pops not long after I passed those hill kids. I grabbed the first freeze pop I passed – a red one. And then I saw a someone holding out a grape one (MY FAVE), and I took that one too! So I ran the next little ways with freeze pops in each hand.
Untrustworthy vision during a marathon is a legit foe, my friends. Still clutching my freeze pops (at this point half consumed), I made my way up a small hill to where the final relay exchange was. I knew my friend Nicole was running the last leg of the relay, so there was a chance she’d still be at the exchange. I looked intently at the groups of runners…and I saw her! So I started yelling, “NICOLE!” and waving my freeze pops in the air. Wellllllllll…it definitely wasn’t Nicole. So I put my head down, returned my freeze pops to waist level, and booked it away from the relay exchange as fast as I could.
The good ol’ brain gets in on the deception too at some point. Not long after the relay exchange, I was running along on a long section of flat road, and I was absolutely struggling. Honestly, I was frustrated because I knew that if I was having problems on flat ground, I was really going to struggle once more hills popped up. But then a random spectator shouted something like, “You’re almost at the top of the hill!” And I looked up…and I actually was running up a hill, not on flat ground like my brain had been telling me! Silly brain…
One moment of victory came shortly before mile 23 (I think) when I was running past the Church Brew Works. It was at this point in 2015 that a race photographer had caught me walking (and looking intense yet struggly). This time, though, I ran past that spot. I love the difference between the two photos:
2015 on the left and 2016 on the right!
(Side note: I enjoyed listening to the people in the 2016 photo with me. The girl was explaining to the guy what it means to hit the wall in a long race. Someone tell me how this guy had presumably trained for a marathon and had never heard of that concept before!)
I don’t really remember what I thought about those last few miles – other than “Can I be done, please, so I don’t have to do this anymore today?”
“Am I done yet? No, but I need to not look like I’m suffering too much.”
I could see the marker for mile 23 up ahead, and some spectators, trying to be encouraging, shouted, “Less than 5K to go!” Well, if that wasn’t a big-time lie! At least the hill kids probably just didn’t know. But these ADULTS could see that we weren’t yet at mile 23, and even if we were, we’d still have 3.2 miles to go, “less than 5K (3.1).” Math, people!
My brain made me retreat into my own little world for a while, so I wasn’t aware of the agony of each step. But when I finally returned to reality around mile 24, I noticed that my music was no longer playing. Had the battery died? Had some water ruined the iPod? I had zero energy to investigate, so I decided that it was just going to be me, myself, and my thoughts for the remaining few miles. (Turns out I just hadn’t put the thing on repeat, so it had reached the end of the playlist and stopped.)
It was with great joy that I passed mile 25. After a while, the course took us back into the city. I was almost done!
Kind of misleading, though, because the downtown part seemed to take FOREVER. Every time I’d approach a corner, I’d think, “This is it! The finish line is just around the bend!” Aaaaand no.
But, despite the fact that I was on the slower side of things, the crowd support was still strong, with random strangers cheering us on and encouraging us. I just love Pittsburgh.
Every day I’m shufflin’…
And then I saw Mom! I was SO HAPPY to see her, even if I didn’t/couldn’t express it at that point. I handed off my water bottle and SPIbelt to her so I’d be unencumbered as I crossed the finish line, which at that point I knew was around the next corner.
My brain and heart were MUCH happier than my face looks.
I’d been saving up my energy, not wanting to deplete myself too early. But when I rounded the corner and saw that finish line ahead, I picked up the pace. I knew, without a doubt, that I was going to accomplish my goal. I was going to cross that finish line having run, not walked, the previous 26.2 miles.
“Is that a finish line I see?”
“It is! It is a finish line!” (I would not recommend this running form, btw.)
I kicked it in as hard as I could, grateful for the downward slope leading to the finish line.
And – BAM – I crossed it.
I hadn’t walked a single step. I had run every single one. For 5:17:45.
Medal and snacks in tow, I made my way out of the chute to meet up with Mom. And as soon as I saw her, the emotions unleashed.
I was crying because I’d met my goal, of course, but it didn’t occur to me that she didn’t know I’d run the whole thing! So she was wondering if I was crying because I had ended up walking! Finally I managed to get out something like, “I didn’t walk!” And we both cried.
I can’t put into words the feelings of relief and accomplishment. I lowered myself onto a curb just outside the chute (and sat there for a very long time, I might add, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get up and actually walk anywhere) and just let those feelings and experiences swirl around in my brain and my heart.
Probably tearing up again. It meant so much to me to have accomplished this.
The road to accomplishing my goal was a long one. The hours of training. The early Saturday mornings every week for months. The need to run in all sorts of weather. The increase in amounts of laundry (let’s be real). The dietary structure and timing. It was all difficult. I didn’t always like it. But it was all worth it when I crossed that finish line knowing that I did what I set out to do.
I’m a two-time marathoner. And I don’t quit.
Operation Life 