Philadelphia Marathon Weekend – Part 2

Here it is..all the details of the Philadelphia Marathon weekend and my final post of the year.  Part 1 can be found here.

Half Marathon & 8K

After leaving the expo, I got my race items ready for the Half Marathon and 8K because they were on Saturday morning.

The problem was, I had no idea what to wear! I brought options, but I couldn’t decide.

Saturday’s forecast called for cold temps and partly cloudy skies. Sunday was cold temps and rain. But how much rain? All day? Just the morning? The afternoon? How cold are we talking?

When I awoke on the first race morning, all my clothing options were laid out for me and then I just made a decision and prayed I wasn’t going to be a frozen popsicle before the race started.

I’ve done cold weather races before, but this was a special kind of cold for me.  It’s a chill that cuts through your bones and thankfully there was a wonderful oasis called the Warming Tent waiting for me at the start.  I felt like an ooey gooey cinnamon roll all nestled in a hot toaster oven. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t know what corral I was supposed to go in because I didn’t have a color assigned to my bib so I just hovered around in the back. 

I gave myself a time estimate of when I needed to finish the half marathon so that I could be back with enough time to get to the start of the 8K. I was giving myself a cushion so I wouldn’t be stressed out.  By starting towards the back, I ended up chopping off a 30-45 minute cushion; something I didn’t realize until it was too late, but it is what it is and I would just need to work through it. 

The corrals slowly inched their way up toward the start line and when I made it, I looked over to my right and saw Des, Meb, Bart, and Bill all cheering on the runners.  

I reminded myself to relax because: 1) it was cold and my body needed to warm up, and 2), I still had another two races to get through.

But the clock was ticking and I needed to make it back in time or else I’d be heading over to the Runner Solutions table to tell them, “I missed the start of the 8K…”

I slowly ran to warm up, but besides having Hot Pockets in my gloves, my body never warmed up.

I didn’t have actual Hot Pockets. It’s what I called my Hot Hands Hand Warmers.

And I just want to say thank you to Kate the Great for this recommendation. She posted about them and even though I was already thinking about getting some sort of hand warmers for this trip, she mentioned how good these worked and she was right! They made my hands all hot and toasty.  Hence, the reference to Hot Pockets which seems odd for me to even call them Hot Pockets because I’ve never eaten a Hot Pocket in my life.

Side note: I never wrote texted or posted anything about Hot Pockets but I did say it.  Well, one day shortly after returning home from my trip, I see an advertisement for Hot Pockets on my phone which tells me something….my cell phone is listening.  Spooky, right?

Anyway, my cold body which had cinder blocks attached to my legs ran as fast as it could but I almost felt like I was running backward at times.  

I didn’t want to keep looking at the clock or my watch, but it was difficult not to do so.  Time was moving faster than I was and I began to get nervous about missing the 8K start. 

I tried to relax and take in all the sights because I had a feeling Sunday’s rainy marathon was going to be more difficult.  I wanted to take more photos but I didn’t want to take my hands out of their warm gloves. 

Running through the streets we passed the Cathedral Basilica, City Hall, where the Liberty Bell is and Independence Hall, through quaint neighborhoods, and residents coming out with their boomboxes and cheers. There weren’t too many spectators out along the course, but where there were some, they had a lot of energy. 

I heard stories of runners turning their ankles on the potholes and the streets sure did have their share. I wasn’t expecting the cobblestone near Independence Hall and I didn’t recall hearing that mentioned in the short course preview videos.  It wasn’t a whole lot, but it was enough to be in a running groove and then you’re like, “Oh whoa, where did this come from?”

Parts of the city reminded me of running through the streets of Brooklyn during the New York City Marathon, and the fall foliage was beautiful. 

I couldn’t wait to see the Patti LaBelle mural which luckily I got to see during the half marathon because I completely missed it during the marathon. 

When I made it to the Fairmount Park area, I could see people running down the hill, and from the looks of it, it seemed you’d make a left turn and head right back, but not the case. You run up, and over, and around, and then you run down and onto Kelly Drive which is lovely, but it just goes on and I was ready to be done with this race because the clock was ticking and I needed to get onto the next one. 

When I finally finished the half marathon, I grabbed the medal made a mad dash through the food line, and then was hit with a wall of people. Where am I and where do I go?  I didn’t know! 

That time cushion I thought I had between races was completely gone. 

I could feel myself heading into panic mode and there was not one volunteer, or a sign to point me in the direction I needed to go. 

I made a right turn.  Nope, not it.  I looked over and saw people running on the other side of the fence, running in the opposite direction of how we ran at the start of the half. 

I quickly scurried off in that direction and saw a woman who looked like she could be associated with the race.  It was the walkie-talkie that gave it away. 

“Where does the 8K start?” 

“Right down there.” I thanked her and took off.

The gentleman was waving us through and as I crossed over the start, I flashed him my half-marathon medal as if this was the ticket he needed to see before I could go.  He just kept waving his arms for us to keep moving. 

I was probably one of the last few runners to start but I didn’t care.  I made it, but my legs were getting tired and they didn’t want to move any faster.  

At this point, I wasn’t in any sort of hurry to get done.  Yes, of course, I wanted to be done, but I had to keep in mind that I had another 26.2 miles to get through the following day so my strategy was to not burn out my legs entirely because I could already feel their tiredness. 

I walked a lot if not most of the 8K. I saw so many participants walking and it was fantastic!  It’s such a great distance for those who don’t want to do the half or even run.  People were walking in groups and with families, and children. Kids were in strollers! And I restrained myself from booting them out and having their parents push me.  That would’ve been bad, right? 

My only regret here is I didn’t take any photos. We were along Boathouse Row and the area was gorgeous, but my hands were so cold and I was tired.  

When I finished the 8K, I grabbed my second medal along with the mylar blanket and thought, had I had that cushion of time in between these two races, my body might’ve frozened up so I’m glad I went straight into the 8K from the half. And now it was time to prepare for the marathon.

Marathon

The big news was the rain.  The question was how much or how long was it going to be around? 

Waking up on Sunday morning the rain was already pouring down, but eventually lightened up by the time I got to to the start.  

I headed back into the Warming Tent but it was filled and super hot that it wasn’t too appetizing.  As one person described it, “It’s a cesspool in there.”  Uh yeah, forget it.

My body felt tired, but nothing out of the ordinary from doing 18 miles the day before.  I’ve done back-to-back long runs in training so running on tired legs isn’t entirely new, or unfamiliar. 

I lined up at the start all ready to go, and yet, my body wasn’t. 

From the moment I crossed the start line, my body felt off. I couldn’t get any sort of running rhythm going and then I realized something.  The soreness wasn’t soreness.  This was something different. 

I expected some aches, but nothing I couldn’t run through. The thing was, I couldn’t run. 

I would run a minute and then pain crept into my right calf muscle.  I’d walk to shake it off.  Maybe I need to retie my shoes. Perhaps stretch it out. Warm up a little more. 

I’d start running again and a minute later, the pain returned.  From the very moment I started the race, every time I ran, my right calf felt like a knife was being stabbed into it.

If I have to run a minute and walk a minute, I’ll do that, but I couldn’t even get to a minute of running. 

The length of time I’d run before feeling pain in my right calf went from 1 minute to 30 seconds, and by the time I got to mile 5, I was down to 5 seconds and then, to zero.

I couldn’t run, but it didn’t stop me from trying. I knew eventually I had to face the facts here and accept what was happening, or not happening.

I felt down. I was sad and frustrated because with every ounce of effort I took to run, I was knocked down.  

Around mile 10, I was walking next to a gentleman and I asked him if he’d done this race before.  He said he had, and then I asked him, “Do you happen to know what the cutoff time is?”  

He said, “I don’t believe there is one.  Some folks finished after 8 hours last year.”  

Hallelujah! I love this race!

There was a strong possibility I might be one of those people this year. 

As I continued walking, I was slowly accepting this was how my race was going to be this year.  

If you can’t run, then walk. If you can’t walk, then crawl. Just keep moving.

While it’s not exact, it’s what I remembered from the Martin Luther King Jr. quote and I repeated it to myself. 

I can walk. It doesn’t hurt to walk. 

When I reached mile 11, the volunteer who was directing us where to turn, asked me how I was doing.  “I’m struggling a bit,” I said.  He said, “Take in the garden to get your mind off of it. You’re doing great!”

At that moment, the tears came and I started to write the post in my head.  You know, when you’re having a tough run or race and you start to write what you’re going to say to explain what happened.  ”Well I tried, but it just wasn’t my day…”. You’ve written the outcome before the story even ended. 

I even began writing this blog post.  Don’t forget to mention that I didn’t hear one Hall & Oates song along the course at all! Not one! Unacceptable!

And I also contemplated ending my race.  

We passed the finish line and it would’ve been easy to hop out right there and call it a day, but deep down I knew that wasn’t going to be an option here.

I didn’t travel this far and plan this race for so long and have all those lovely little stars line up only to say, “Well you know, I gave it a go, but it just wasn’t meant to be.” 

Besides I had no reason to stop.  I couldn’t run. But I could walk. It doesn’t hurt to walk!

In one of the few instances I looked at my phone, I saw my wallpaper. It’s of Rocky raising his arm and pumping his fist into the air with the quote from Rocky Balboa:

“It ain’t about how hard you hit, it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward!”

And as I passed that beautiful Rocky Statue, little did I know how hard I was about to get hit.

The rain started up again and somewhere between miles 14-15, I was in a heavyweight fight with it.  

At one point, some guy running on the other side about to finish yells out to me, “Keep your head up.”   I know he meant well and wanted to be encouraging, but did he not see the gale force winds on my side of the street and every drop of rain was pelleting people in the face like tiny little daggers?

I even saw a runner up ahead of me who had their hat fly off their head.  It flew right off!! 

A few times I tried to run, but each time the pain would hit and I’d imagined the fibers of my upper right calf muscle being shredded and pulled apart like you’re about to make spaghetti from butternut squash.  I stopped trying.  Was this some calf strain-pulled muscle thing going on?  I don’t know.  I’ve never felt this before in my life, but it was obvious something in my leg wasn’t happy.

But I was ready to be done with this race, and I still had 10 miles left to go.  I took a couple of minutes to adjust my sails by removing my water-soaked gloves with the hot pockets in them because once those suckers get wet, they’re useless.  And by the amount of gloves and other hot pockets I saw on the wet ground, I wasn’t the only one.  

The rain and wind were the hardest during the next 4 to 5 miles and by the time I reached somewhere around miles 19 and 20 it lessened up to a soft drizzle and when I made the turn to head back just after mile 20 it had stopped with only the wind and chill remaining, and one glove.  I lost one of my gloves somewhere back there.

All I could do was focus on getting to each mile marker and do the mental math of calculating what year I should be done by, all the while feeling bummed I didn’t get to see my family or Gerard who was somewhere out there cheering on his runners.

But the finish was all I wanted to do and I stopped caring about the finish time because after seeing a few people being carted away on vehicles because they were either injured and/or on the brink of hypothermia, my only goal was to finish this race no matter what the time was.

And I did finish!!  I collected my 26th marathon medal and the Freedom Challenge medal and the first thing I said was, “I FEEL LIKE ROCKY!” I truly did.

But you want to know what the true miracle is here?  After 44+ miles in cold temps, rain, and wind, I didn’t get a single blister!! Not one, single, blister!  I’d like to thank my Injinji socks, RunGoo, and Brooks Adrenaline trail shoes for helping with this. Once I heard rain was in the forecast there was no doubt I was going to take my lovely trusted trail shoes. (Side note: I’ve heard these have been discontinued so now I’m sad and heartbroken and need to find new trail shoes. We’ll talk later.)

The Philadelphia Marathon was one of the most challenging races I’ve done and I’ve done my share of especially hard trail races in the heat and rain, but I had to pull a lot of out myself for this one.  It was a struggle from start to finish and I fought for every step of that race, but I couldn’t have been more grateful for how things went for me even if I didn’t understand it, or didn’t like it.

So thank you Philadelphia for being my 26th marathon. You made it memorable, to say the least, and you will always have a special place in my heart! And thank you to all the wonderful volunteers and spectators who were out there in those same weather conditions helping and cheering us on.

And thank you for reading!

p.s. In case you’re wondering, I had a week off from running after the races and when I returned, all that pain in my right calf wasn’t there, and I can only hope it never returns.

p.p.s. In case you were wondering how huge that Freedom Challenge medal is, I tried taking a great photo of it in comparison to the dime, nickel, and quarter.  Hopefully, it gives some idea.  You should’ve seen the look on the TSA agent inspecting it.  “Yeah I did some races,” I told him.  He just smiled.