NYCM2005 - Ellen Hasbrouck Race Report

Race Report

New York City Marathon

Sunday, November 6, 2005

This was the first time I ever set out on a marathon course with a real
time goal in mind. Oh sure, I've had ideas or "guidelines" in my head
before, but I never actually thought much about trying to beat a certain
number. But this time was different. I didn't run the marathon last year
because, frankly, I just didn't feel I was in shape enough to do it. I was
pretty bummed out about it--NYCM has come to be part of our fall tradition
and I hated to miss it-- but I decided to use that as the catalyst for
getting in shape for a 2005 marathon. I worked hard at it. I ran, cross
trained, ran some more. I lifted weights. Ate right. Lost weight. And lo
and behold, I got faster. Who knew?

The thing is, I really didn't know (and still don't) what the "right"
number was--as in what time I should aim for. My best marathon to date was
back in 1999 at 5:46:57. I thought I was at least in shape to beat that so
I rounded it down a little and came up with 5:45. Very scientific. I
picked up a pace band at the expo with all the splits I would need to
achieve 5:45. I never really thought about what it meant in terms of pacing
but it looked cool when I taped it around my wrist. And even though my
little wrist band suggested to me that I would need mile splits of 13:09 to
reach my goal, I told Ken that I expected to run, "oh, you know, around a 12
minute pace. But, you know, we can start out a little faster than that.
Because, you know, it's going to be hot, so, like, I might slow down
later". I could probably stop writing this right here because it is so
painfully obvious how it will end, but what fun would that be?

I was very calm on Sunday morning. I had more or less accepted the fact
that the day was going to be much hotter than I would have liked but that's
what I had to work with. The bus ride to Staten Island was sort of
eerie--there was a dense fog hanging over the city which made it all seem a
little surreal. We got to the Verrazano Bridge just in time to see the
first (early start) marathoners cresting the top of the bridge. I first saw
Harriet, then Shelton and Bo go by--no doubt happy to be heading down the
other side of the bridge. Their race was already underway!

Once we arrived at Ft. Wadsworth we still had a couple of hours to kill so
we looked for Daniel's pink penguin banner. We found the banner, but no
Daniel and no penguins. Ah well. We plopped ourselves down anyway and
eventually Daniel returned for a few minutes before heading off again on
another mission. Abe popped in for a bit too, but didn't stay long.
Finally we decided to walk around a bit. I love this part of the
experience--it's so amazing to see 36000 runners preparing for their
marathons. Some were stretching, some were sleeping, lots were greasing up
and stripping down. And me? I was just looking at the sky and wondering if
we could really get so lucky that the fog would stay with us and keep the
temps down for the day. Ha! I think I must have spent my last lifetime
kicking puppies and pushing old ladies in front of streetcars because my
weather karma seriously sucks!

After the obligatory portapotty stop we were ready to hand our bags over
to the fine folks in the UPS trucks. Oh yeah, and don't forget that we need
to put several tattoos on our faces and arms. That will definitely make us
faster! I was wearing my NY Flyers shirt but opted not to put my name on
it. I love the spectators but it is just exhausting to have to acknowledge
them every time I hear my name. A few "go Flyers" would be welcome though!
OK, so we are now finally ready to line up. Unfortunately we exited the
baggage truck area on the wrong end and find ourselves at the very very very
back of the line. People are packed so closely together that there is no
possibility that we could work our way up to my assigned corral which is
pretty well forward of where I was. Bummer. We heard the cannon sound from
about 3 states away and the rumor eventually reached us that the race had
started. I could have guessed that anyway because suddenly the fog lifted
and we were bathed in
sunlight. Hot humid sunlight. Of course NOW it's time to run.

About 20 minutes later we actually reached the starting line. And started
to run. And run. And run. And then we ran some more. The first eight
miles were sort of a blur. There were hordes of spectators and bands
everywhere and life was fine. We were running an even 11:30 pace. It felt
easy. Remember my 5:45 pace band? The one that told me I should be running
13:09 miles? Hahaha. No, I was too smart for that. We reached mile 10 in
1:57. I was thinking "Ellen, you're a Kenyan in disguise. You have so got
this running thing going on". I should have been thinking "Ellen, you're a
moron. You are so screwed".

So let's see. It's now blazing hot. There is no shade. Mile 11 passes
in over 13 minutes. Huh? What's up with that? No need to be
alarmed--we're back down around 12:00 the next mile. But mile 13? Back at
13:00. I wasn't liking this trend so much. Still, we reached the half at
2:38--13 minutes ahead of my pace band--and I smugly told Ken that "all we
have to do is average 14:00 miles after this" like that was the most
ludicrously easy thing in the world. Well they say that pride goeth before
a fall and I was at that moment teetering on the edge of this big mother
precipice called "you went out too fast". So my two miles in Queens(miles
14 and 15) were spent on attitude adjustment. Of course, Ken's attitude
adjusted seamlessly as it always does. My attitude spent a good deal of
time hissing, spitting and bouncing off the walls before I accepted the
inevitable. That would be: forget what happened in the first half of the
race, you have a new reality now and that reality
is really seriously ugly.

Mile 16--the uphill portion of the 59th Street Bridge was like watching a
horror film where survivors are being led away from the scene of some
catastrophic event. It was very quiet and everyone just had this look of
grim determination as they shuffled along. We actually tried to run a few
steps but it was like we hadn't gotten the memo that said we had to walk.
very. slowly. At least it was shady as we lumbered ever upward. We saw
Shelton and Bo at the top. They were smiling and joking and probably
signing autographs. They obviously hadn't gotten the other memo--the one
that said that marathoning is serious business and you'd better look really
scary. Mile 16 passed in, let's see...that would be 15:05. Whoops.

Mile 17 got us downhill and onto the relatively open expanse of First
Avenue where at least we could maneuver a little in the event that we
somehow got the urge to, you know, run again. However a portapotty stop and
a tragedy that put my sunglasses on a collision course with Ken's foot (Ken
was unscathed, my sunglasses were dispatched to sunglass heaven) earned us
another 15 minute mile. Whoops again.

At this point I was definitely singing the crash and burn blues. I was
drinking gatorade at every stop and filling my water bottle with it to drink
between water stations but I still didn't feel like I was getting enough
down. I couldn't even entertain the prospect of eating one of my powergels
because I was nauseated at the thought. This was the low point of the race
for me because I had to try to figure out if I felt crappy because I had
just run 17 miles on a hot and humid day or whether there was something more
dangerous (ie electrolyte issues) going on. I kept doing this systems
check: Dizzy? No. Disoriented? No. Swelling? Not much. Feeling like you
want to slap somebody? Yeah. OK, that's not electrolytes, that's the
bite-me zone and it means you have to keep going. And so I did.

One of the things that always amazes me about the marathon is that I can
cycle through my whole range of emotions many times in the course of the
race. So after hitting my low at 17 miles things got better. Not
"transported on the wings of angels" better, but good enough that I could
start to appreciate the day again. First Avenue is known in NYCM lore as
the venue for the screaming hordes and they were there. Screaming. I
started finally to relax enough to enjoy it. There was a zone where they
handed out little green sponges which were so welcome to rid my face of the
salt and grime I felt embedded there. There was the Powergel zone manned by
my NY Flyers teammates where we got a block's worth of "go Flyers". I was
able to suck down a tangerine gel and felt as victorious as if I'd baked it
myself. Then there was the Sponge Bob Sponge zone. This deserves it's own
special mention because it's not often that I see something this
ill-conceived on the course of the NYCM.

The Sponge Bob sponges weren't little green sponges. Maybe they were when
they were born, but when nourished with water they grew up to be boulder
sized yellow obstacles that completely covered First Avenue for a block or
two. Even at the best of times I'm not that coordinated, but after 18 or 19
miles of a marathon my body knew only one function and that was placing one
foot in front of the other. Trying to dodge these huge yellow pillows
wasn't in my skill set. It was like trying to run through one of those ball
pits at Gymboree after having a few too many tequila shots (not that I'd
ever do that). I'm guessing that it was all an elaborate set-up for
"America's Funniest Home Videos" and I can look forward to my 15 minutes of
fame.

But the best thing on First Avenue? Karen Bingham! There she was, all by
herself, cheering us on. That was when I knew my day was turning out ok
after all. I stopped and gave her what was probably one of the foulest hugs
she's ever had but it improved my spirits immeasurably. Do not ever
underestimate the power of a friendly face on the side of the road on
marathon day. Thank you Karen.

Somehow we found ourselves in the Bronx. Amazingly at 20 miles we were
still a few minutes ahead of schedule and I began to hope that we could
still make our goal. I was feeling way better by now and was high-fiving
little kids and enjoying the sights. The crowds were way bigger this year
than I remember in previous years in the Bronx and there was plenty of music
to send us on our way. We had gotten ourselves on a pattern of run a few
blocks, walk a few blocks by then which was giving us splits at around 14
minutes. Some a little faster, some a little slower, but I knew if we could
just continue on like that we'd be ok. It was getting cloudy by then and
consequently it felt a lot cooler. Ken had given me a packet of salt which
I put in my gatorade and that seemed to do the trick as far as getting the
hydration part working.

There were very few people doing any running at all by then. As we made
our way through Manhattan for the second time we were passing almost
everybody. It wasn't that we were moving so fast, it was that everyone else
was moving so slowly. Judging by all the pace signs we saw on people's
backs (rule 1: Never do that!!) it was a day that disappointed a lot of
people. For us at that point it was just a matter of relentlessly moving
forward. There wasn't a lot of glory in it but we were getting the job done
and I was honestly satisfied that I was putting out my absolute best effort.

We reached 23 miles at 5 hours even. Even in my brain-dead state I could
calculate that we needed to do a little over 3 miles in 45 minutes to meet
our goal. We could do this, but we did have to keep moving. My sister and
11 y/o niece Katie met us during mile 24. I was thrilled to see them--I
knew they'd be out there but our late start had put us behind the time I
told them to expect us and I was afraid that maybe they had given up. So I
got big hugs from Katie and big hugs from Barb and one of them gave me a
power bar that was made out of some titanium-like substance such that when I
tried to bite into it almost broke my jaw. I didn't want to seem ungrateful
so I hung onto it until we were out of their field of vision and then tried
to find a place to get rid of it. Now here's where marathon brain-fry
really comes into it's own. I refused to run until I could figure out how
to lose the power bar and I could not conceive of a method to do so. So I
stood absolutely still in
the middle of the course dithering about what to do with the stupid power
bar, even as Ken was gently suggesting that we might want to run. Run? But
what about this power bar? I can't, you know, just throw it away. Ken
finally yanked it out of my hand and threw it on top of the two-foot pile of
other race detritus that was sitting on the side of the road. And that's
why Ken is allowed to make executive decisions. And that's why I shouldn't
be.

Central Park. Is there anything more wonderful than running DOWN Cat Hill
with the crowds cheering and knowing that I'm really, truly, absolutely
going to get that PR? OK, so I'd cycled back through my emotions and was at
the highest high. Leaving the park for that triumphant run up Central Park
South was just magic for me. Then it was back in Central Park and just up
one. more. hill. And there it was. The most wondrous sight in all of
marathondom. The finish line. :-) Ken had stuck with me every step of the
way(yes, he really IS that nice) so I grabbed his hand just before we
reached the mats so we would finish it together. Looked down at my watch
and saw 5:43-something. Ecstatic might be an understatement.

The rest is sort of a blur. We got medals and space blankets and little
bags of food. We walked about 100 miles. I saw Daniel and Bonnie
Singleton. Why didn't anyone tell me Bonnie would be in town? We walked
another 100 miles. Got our bags from UPS. One of the powergels I'd pinned
to my shorts was leaking and it glued the space blanket to every part of my
body that it touched which must have looked completely bizarre but didn't
strike me as odd until much later. We crawled 100 flights of stairs down to
the subway to claim our free rides home (the things we'll do for a free
subway ride!). And then we climbed up 100 flights of stairs. And so the
journey ended exactly where it started but I had gained a medal, a marathon
PR, a sticky space blanket and a grin that just won't leave.

I know I have a better marathon in me and eventually I will sit down and
work out the details of how I am going to prove it. First, though, I think
it's time for me to learn a thing or two about pacing. Anybody want to
help?

--Ellen in New York where of course it cooled down 20 minutes after I
finished my race