The Charleston Marathon Experience

6:45 AM the alarm goes off. I slink out of bed, and throw on the clothes that I had picked out the night before, following Hal Higdon's advice. Knee high neon socks of various hues, sky blue running shorts, a royal blue t-shirt, and a long-sleeved 5K Dog Trot shirt I figured I'd toss when it warmed up. And of course, my Asics and my new Garmin running watch. The yellow bib ticket with my city and name had been placed on the t-shirt the night before. I then ate the cardboard peanut butter chocolate chip Cliff bar, (cardboard more because I did not feel like eating, not because it necessarily tastes bad), and washed it down with some cherry/grape juice.

I hopped into the car on fresh legs, and headed to East Bay street in Charleston, SC. My uncle dropped us off and we quickly realized that it wasn't just cold, it was NY cold. It was freezing! So we briskly walked (I refused to run more than I had to, knowing what was to come) to the Harris Teeter 24 hour grocery store down the street. Lovely store. Right before race time, we headed to the starting line, found a crazy Australian lady in a chartreuse running jacket holding a sign that said 4:30, figured that'd be our best option, and fell in line.

They gave a little political speech, talked about the primary coming next weekend, sang the national anthem, and we were off. At a very leisurely pace.

We ran down East Bay, toward the battery, then up King Street all the way to North Charleston. And if there is anything I will remember about this race, it was:

THE WIND.

Oh my goodness. I remember watching an episode of The Biggest Loser where the contestants ran a marathon. The winner finished in over 5 hours, and they showed the wind whipping around the desert, forcing the contestants to stop in their tracks. I used that image numerous times during my training, figuring, hey, if they can run a marathon, so can I. So I had a very vivid picture in my mind, and this Charleston wind wasn't much different. I swear, without exaggerating (although, I love a good hyperbole), we probably ran at least 18 of the 26.2 miles INTO the wind. My cheeks are still red, three days later.

At first, I thought it was because we were next to the harbor. Then, I figured, well, we can't go in this direction forever. Boy was I wrong. The wind kept coming.

Around mile 11, the half marathoners started speeding up, shouting and frolicking in their tutus. It was all I could do to stay on pace and not get caught in the frenzy. The course split, and about two minutes later, I see "Tom" sprinting towards me. At least, that's what his bib said. Poor Tom in his glasses and middle age-appropriate outfit was really sprinting. At first, I figured one of his friends or family members probably got hurt. Then I realized Tom had a motorcycle in front of him. Guiding him. Tom was going to win! And I wasn't even at mile 12 yet. Well, so much for a chance at the gold. But I chugged on. And on. And On. Like a bad Journey song.

I felt great. The wind wasn't quitting and neither was I. I felt alive. I felt proud. And then I hit mile 17. Ughhh mile 17. The panic of, "well, in my last training run, I'd be about a 5k away, but now I'm 9.2 miles away" began to set in. I turned to Brad, "What if I hit the wall at 17?" He replied, "Keep running." Okay. Nothing else to do. Then, miraculously, at mile 20, I began to feel better. I felt strong again! I can do this! I'm so close!

And then, the Charleston Marathon played a dirty, dirty joke.

A switchback for the end.

Why? WHY IS THAT EVER A GOOD IDEA?

So, at mile 21, we had to run to 23 1/2 facing those that were ahead of us. Listening to crowds cheer "You're almost there!" to people who WERE almost there. And I still had 5 miles. Which, at the end of a marathon, is a LOT.

Well, I made it to 23 1/2. The turn around. I'm still running. And then, I turn to face victory, the last stretch, and what do I get? WIND. In my face. Stronger than ever.

Sigh.

I wanted to cry. I didn't want to run into the wind. I wanted to run across the finish line. The last few miles were the worst I've ever run. My legs began to break down. Even the coca cola the roller derby girls offered me did little to lift my spirits. The one pretzel I grabbed wasn't satisfying. I was in pain. I watched the 4:30 lady skip past me, cheering louder than ever. I felt like I was in a movie watching her dance away from me. Comedy, I'm sure. It looked so funny; sort of like slow motion.

We ran the last half mile. We crossed the line! 4:35. Not awful for a first time. We took a picture at a Finisher sign. We got our medals.

And they offered us rotten bananas, brown apples, and shrimp and grits. We searched for liquids, and finally found a small table that had water in Styrofoam cups. And that was it. They had run out of beer, not that that was my first choice. So I swallowed some shrimp and grits, and contemplated my first marathon. Rather uneventful at first glance. I didn't feel changed; I felt hungry.

I went home, showered, and ate an entire Hawaiian pizza. Brad had a Mighty Meaty. (C/O Mellow Mushroom)

So, do I feel different? Do I feel changed? Have I experienced life? Well, I've certainly done something most people will never do. And that is pretty awesome.

So would I do it again? Yes, I guess I would.

My students asked me if I "won." I teach high school in the Bronx. They were serious. I told them I won by finishing. They asked me my time. I told them. They asked the winning time. I told them. They looked at me funny. "Why'd they give you a medal?" they wanted to know. And I suppose, it's the same reason they get a diploma. Because sometimes finishing is winning. It's all about setting goals, big or small, and accomplishing them. Take that, Charlie Sheen.