NYC is supposed to be a celebration, yet I found myself feeling completely alone...yet awkwardly surrounded by millions of people watching me crumble.
I had trouble figuring out how to write this. My last post ruffled some feathers. But I also don't want to be performative and censor myself. I guess it's important to say that nothing here is directed at any particular person or group - this is more about me and how I process information.
So what happened?
Let's start with the positive. While I didn't hit my 04:45:00 goal, I did set a new marathon and course PR shaving off one minute, with an official time of 04:56:03. The flipside of that - I put in A LOT of work for 12 months, not just the 18 week training cycle...a full year of long runs. And the outcome was essentially the same (insert melty face here).
Per usual, the week leading up was incredible stressful, but not for the usual reasons. Sandwiched between deadlines at work, the city commute felt extra tiring. It was like this big overhaul of projects to the figurative finish line to be able to take the days off.
Additionally, we quite didn't realize the ramifications of the marathon falling so closely to Halloween this year. We didn't want to leave the kids. The kids didn't want us to leave them. They wanted to both come with us...and not miss Halloween events with their friends. All of this to say, the logistics involved, costumes laid out, favors asked...exhausting. All just to feel crummy at the end anyway.
In early October, about a month before the event, I went to the same apparel printer I used last year (did a great job) and placed a new order for this years' marathon shirt. I spent time on the design. And gave plenty of lead time for execution. A week prior to the event, I got an email response saying they needed a little more time, which was odd, because they had a month. But I didn't think anything of - "No problem, just remember I'm leaving Thursday morning for the city." Monday came, no response to my next follow-up. Tuesday nothing. Wednesday - the drop dead date. I emailed, called, and stopped by the store (closed). Now I'm panicking. Besides the design not being done, they had my marathon clothes inside the store. You can't just switch clothes (see: 'nothing new on race day'). It was too late to get the same back-up clothes.
Rob and I were both scheduled to leave Thursday to begin the journey of the expo, volunteer work, and other obligations. In the middle of the night on Wednesday, my son woke gasping for air. He couldn't breathe. He had been clear for a year. No warning signs at all. Rob rushed him to the ER and I stayed home with my daughter. He was discharged around 8am and we all rushed to drive Rob to the train station - unpacked, so that he wouldn't miss his volunteer obligation at the Javits Center. Thank God my little dude is OK.
Another ramification of the ER visit was that I also missed my last shake-out run with Milltown and my planned moment to break-in my new shoes.
Kid in hospital. No clothes. Shoes not tested.
I eventually packed up our stuff and got myself to the city to meet up as his shift ended. We successfully went through the Expo with some Milltown friends. But something just felt off - different. We weren't excited or happy. We were tired and sad.
On Friday we unexpectedly spent the day looking for a printer in Manhattan to have them replicate my design on some older running clothes (shoutout to F&H Print on 29th Street for the rush job).
The highlight of my whole weekend was Opening Ceremony on Friday night in Central Park. The people who attend really want to be there - and you can feel that energy and positivity. We got to dance on the finish line with people from all around the world while a DJ spun tunes.
The next morning we kept our tradition of running the Abbott Dash 5K - the marathon pre-race. I think we're up to number 8 now! Rob's desire to take it easy meant we could run together. When we felt like we were pushing too hard, our strategy was to speak in Italian to each other to slow down. Worked like a charm!
On Saturday evening, we attended a marathon focused mass at St. Francis of Assisi on 28th Street. Just like last year, Father Brian was kind, compassionate, and relatable. As a 61-time marathoner himself, I trust him fully. He told us to "keep pace with God's pace" and to remember our WHY. I cannot stress enough how much I love this church and how I wished I lived locally to be part of it.
Then it was time for the infamous final meal, which we changed up from the traditional. Don't worry - we tested it! Instead of a carb heavy Italian meal, we had sushi instead. I didn't leave the meal feeling heavy or bloated. It was very portioned where I ate just enough, but not past the point of fullness.
Still - something felt off. It's like something wasn't passing the vibe check.
Sunday morning bright and early (well not bright, still dark out), we began the trek to Staten Island. Subway, Ferry, Bus. It was nice to have a Milltown group together in Runner's Village across different waves, colors, and start times. The time went by really fast. It felt like we would send someone off - bathroom, snack, water, clothes. And then it was already time to prep the next person! There was no one left to prep me - I was the last man standing. But I did have Megan to walk into my corral!
The next 5 hours were hard. Really hard. Even though my goal was 04:45, my corral had the 04:25 pacer - which was my projected time in Corral A, the very front of Wave 5. My plan was to hold back until they all passed, but that's not what happened. I spent months warning newbies about that New York energy. Sometimes chasing goals is about discipline, and other times it's about taking risks. In that moment, I took a chance on myself to see how hard I can push it. I held it for about 11 miles - then things fell apart. My pace started to drop - I was really tired.
Then something new happened. In my exhaustion, I was fixated on all the faces on the sidelines. A good place to look for motivation and cheer. The humanity I spoke of earlier. I did find the humanity, but it wasn't directed at me.
What I saw was families and friends with matching shirts. Big signs. Children hugging parents. Gaggles of girls screaming like sorority girls for their friend. Dudes acting like kids hyping up their bro. And I was completely and utterly alone. I had a panic attack.
This has never happened before to me while running. In fact, I run to prevent these things. My breathing got shorter, my ear started ringing, my pulse jumped, my vision got fuzzy. I couldn't help think of Gio gasping for air just a few days prior. I don't know how long it lasted - maybe a few minutes. The memory is not super clear and I kept running through it.
When I 'came to' and began regulating my breathing again, I immediately hated myself for being weak. So I cried - in exhaustion and self hate. My thoughts included...Why aren't you good enough like these other runners? Why didn't people show up for you?
You're not worthy to be loved. You're weird and unlikeable. You look stupid doing this. You don't belong here. You're fat. You're ugly. Tears rolled down my face.
Maybe that's what I deserved for saying I could do this alone.
But I kept going. Again, I looked at the strangers on the sideline. But this time, I engaged with their music. I gave people high-fives. While I mourned the life I'll never have, I also decided to absorb the kindness of 2 million complete strangers who became my friends that day.
Some bright spots - all the support from the running community. Milltown repping. Bauer and the Athletic beer. Rich's megaphone. Taking a wide turn in Brooklyn and seeing Fred and Kara. Crazy Will in his usual spot in Central Park. I am thankful for all those runners who get it.
The first time I stopped to walk was around mile 20 on the Willis Ave Bridge into the Bronx. Suddenly, the sweetest older black woman told me "follow me baby girl". I began pacing this angel through mile 24, until I lost her in a crowded spot. This woman, this angel, gets full credit for my miraculous comeback out of the Bronx into Harlem. I wish I captured her name or bib number.
I did NOT hit the infamous wall on 5th Avenue. I got back on track and my pace stayed extremely consistent through the end. The cumulative damage was done, but the curse had been broken!
Our parents came for the first time and brought the kids to 59th Street before the final turn at Columbus Circle. I would be lying if I said I really saw them. I told the kids that I saw them - but it was a blur and crowded. Rob was already there and said they were completely exhausted. I also did not see Rob. I felt really hurt by that.
Here we are 2 weeks later. I don't think I'm any wiser. My toes are bruised. My heart is bruised. I'll never know why people didn't show up for me. The post-marathon blues are hitting me hard like a ton of bricks.
I'm happy for Rob's new passion. Heck it's my fault! But I know in my heart that we both cannot run it next year. We simply cannot. One of us should be out there cheering with the kids...and the other should be running the course. The question will be - how do we decide?
In the meantime, I already have a few races lined up to look forward to this winter. Ted Corbitt 15K in December, SRC 10 Mile Run to Moriches Field Brewery in January, and the Manhattan 10K in February. Frozen toes await me.
