#ingnycmarathon

Decisions, decisions. 

Deciding to raise money for a non-profit organization was one decision.  Why not?  It all started off with entering my credit card information, promising a minimum of $5,000 by November 3rd to Playworks via CrowdRise.  If not, the difference would be automatically deducted at the start time of the race.  No problem. 

And there I was, at the starting line in Staten Island with tens of thousands of runners with over six thousand dollars raised.  The hardest part was over.  Step after step across the Verrazano Bridge and eventually running all five boroughs with my meniscus torn in both knees and plantar fasciitis.  Peeing at a gas station pump in Brooklyn to a tree off a highway in Staten Island and behind a truck, my territory has definitely been marked all over NYC.  No doctor gave me their blessing to walk without a boot, rather run a marathon for that matter, but despite the odds, I made up my mind to run anyway.  Decision made.  Still in a boot, a man at the Marathon Expo sold me some expensive piece of technology for my plantar fasciitis that I believe helped me run without tears.  That was the universe staying on my side.  26.2 miles and 50,740 runners later, I stepped foot over that finish line and damn it, I did it. 

It's still pretty surreal that I just ran my first real race and at that, my first marathon at that.  This was truly a test of faith and of endurance.  Thank you to everyone for the calls, greetings, texts, shout outs and status updates marking this marathon as a day to remember, an event to be proud of.  I wish I can post everyone's text messages just so you all can feel the warmth of every word I've been reading the past few days.  I thought I was "done" after getting tenure and turning 25, but just when you think you're done, you've only just begun.  Life will continue to ask more of us, and we give it.  We're limitless when we choose to make a difference in this world.  A lot of people have reminded me to never lose that fighting spirit.  I won't.  I promise. Decision made.

If you've been inspired to run a marathon or half marathon, or even run at all (Um, if Rachel wants to run the Disney half, I think there's hope for everyone) after watching the ING NYC Marathon or reading this blog, then I'm proud of you.  You are amazing. Decision made..and that's the hard part.

My love goes out to my running team for holding my hand through each difficult moment, every shout of encouragement and receiving "crowd love."  I probably would not have made it without such a support squad and hand squeeze and goo squeeze.  You are remarkable with hearts made of gold.  Congratulations to Ms. Amanda for running as fast as a Kenyan and making first place in her age bracket.  Thank you to Playworks and Melba Toast, especially my sissy Priscilla for her constant reminder that everything will be just fine in my times of high anxiety.  No goal could have been achieved if you didn't take the opportunity to dare yourself to be another team leader for such a profound non-profit organization.  Thank you to my family and friends for standing to cheer in the cold at the entrance of the devil's cave.  The last ride through Central Park would not have been as pleasant if I didn't see your frozen faces.  You guys are my life.  Thank you to every donator and person that tracked us at every mile, to every person that told me that I can do it.  I can't wait for the next challenge. 

I'm a marathoner! Plain and simple. This was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Seriously. The half Ironman was a cake walk compared to this marathon.

So what happened. 

I sensed by the second mile that something wasn't right. And at mile 7 I knew this was not going to be a fun run. By mile 12 in Williamsburg when I finally got to see my friends all I wanted to do was slip under the police tape and hang with them. 

I actually got out my phone around mile 15 to call my boyfriend and tell him I was throwing in the towel. But when saw all the comments, tweets and likes of support and it made me put away my phone and continue on. 

I'm pretty sure I overtrained for the marathon and by the time I actually had to run the thing, I was spent. Lesson learned. 

Be committed, not attached.

I knew by the half that I wan't going to meet my goal time. I've been known to be really hard on myself for missing goals but I'm trying to change that. I was running a marathon, the New York City Marathon and that should be savored.

I was committed to finishing in my goal time but was not attached to it when I missed it. I tried to stay in the moment and take in every second of the race.

You only get one first marathon. And when that first marathon is also the biggest race in the world as well as through the city you love, it would be a real shame to dwell on things you can't change. 

If I was looking for my fire, I think I found it again.

My first thought this morning, after wondering why it felt so bright and cold in the house despite it being only 7something AM wasn't the long run scheduled for today (and subsequently canceled).

My mind was in New York.

It was my first time watching an international caliber racing event on television in full, or at least as long as ESPN2 aired coverage. I was so excited -- it was as if the Olympics were on TV!

I didn't think I could get so emotional just watching. I felt pride, excitement, and joy as the camera panned across the hordes of runners waiting their wave starts, as the wheelchair division was shown powering through, and the professional women and men's divisions began. I also admit that I felt a bit of FOMO, especially knowing that I had acquaintances running and several friends in Manhattan and Brooklyn likely spectating. If ING NYC was on my run bucket list before, it is definitely now at the top of my list.

I even started to tear up a bit, especially at the coverage about the importance of this year's race in the wake of Hurricane Sandy and Boston. New York is my favorite city. Magical, mystical, a big city made up of town-like neighborhoods and boroughs, multicultural, home to an impeccably efficient subway system, the city of dreams that never sleeps; there is always something new to discover. Fall is my favorite season. Seeing the iconic shot of a sea of brightly-colored runners traversing the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, and later, the brilliant autumn foliage in Central Park made me so happy.

I was rooting for Ethiopian-born Bronx resident Buzunesh Deba, aiming to be the first New Yorker to win since 1976, to maintain her lead in the women's pro race but also marveled at the seemingly effortless, graceful way in which Priscah Jeptoo floated past to clinch the women's title. Her lithe gazelle-like frame belies her 5'5" height -- I could have sworn that she is at least 5'8".

The men's race was no less exciting. I appreciated the collegial way in which the pros, as they were introduced, greeted each other and settled into the pack before the cannons went off at the official start. I ended up leaving the house for errands and was elated to see Geoffrey Mutai finish first but was puzzled as to what happened to Meb Keflezighi, who was a total class act despite not finishing on the podium.

My mom woke up toward the tailend of the coverage, and she had thought the noise emanating from the living room was pre-Saints vs. Jets hype. Nope. I was still entirely fixated on the race. Her first reaction when I told her what I was watching? How dangerous a race with 50,000+ runners is, a prime target for terrorists. Good morning to you, too.

I didn't say anything but took comfort and satisfaction in the fact that the ING NYC Marathon is back to stay, and that this year's race went off without a hitch, a celebration of LIFE in general and running as a community, healing outlet, and sport.

11 weeks to Houston. Cowabunga!

p.s. Every time I promise myself to set aside money for "real" clothes (my brief wish list consists of Warby Parker sunglasses, a pair of Frye boots I've wanted since before college, monogrammed white pajamas, and replacement nude fishnet stockings), I end up drawn to athletic gear like a moth to a flame. Oy.