Response to An Open Letter for a Fall Marathoner

This a response to An Open Letter for a Fall Marathoner

Dear Marathoner,

It’s been a long road. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t scared. I am. It wasn’t so long ago that running a 5k was big deal for me. But I’m also excited, thrilled, and grateful to be about to join the ranks of marathoners.

Training was hard. For a while I didn’t really think I would make it, but I listened when you said I just had to follow the plan. It seemed impossible! Me, run so many miles at a time? I thought I’d surely break - some body part would give up - but I thought I’d keep going until that happened.

Through the miles, the heat, the early mornings, the sweat and the exhaustion, you believed in me. You encouraged me to keep going, to continue the slow buildup that would lead me here.

Taking it one day at a time, run per run, I saw my body change. I ran until my racer back top was tattooed in sun onto my skin. Clothes started fitting differently; the waist was loser, while my thighs were straining at the fabric. One rainy day I realized I’d outgrown my rain boots: my calves had gotten too big for them. It was part of the process of getting legs that would take me across a finish line 26.2 miles away from the start.

I can do this. I can run 26.2 miles. I can run through five boroughs. I can run five bridges. I can run New York.

The race is just days away and I’m swinging from elation to panic. Little aches are popping up everywhere and I have to remind myself you told me this was normal. Though I start tearing up when I see the posters, banners, and flags all over the city, part of me just can’t believe this is happening and that I’m about to run a marathon.

I couldn’t have gotten here it without you. Thank you for leading the way. Your advice and your kind words have helped me and now it’s time for me to trust you again. It’s time for me to believe I can do this.

You’ve reminded me I’ve put in the training and I’m ready. Now it’s time to eat, rest, and stay calm in the knowledge that I am ready. I’m going to honor you by doing my best to stay calm in the days and hours leading up to the start line and by running and enjoying my first marathon.

I will run 26.2 miles. I will run through five boroughs. I will run five bridges. I will run the ING New York City Marathon.

Thank you for running with me, thank you for cheering for me.

Yours,

Majo

20 Miles

Great conditions for fishing? By the time I saw that it was too late for a change of plans. Or sport. With three weeks to go, I was ready to run.

I must have forgotten to wipe my dreams off my forehead before setting out this morning. Today's run was my first 20 mile run ever and my last long run before the taper as I get ready to run the New York City Marathon.

At mile 3 a group of cyclists passed me slowly on a hill. They cheered for me and one of them wished me luck in three weeks. I also got a few "21 days!" cheers and even some runner-on-the-war-path growls. Friendly ones. I growled back as best I could.

How did they know I was training for NYCM? I could've been training for MCM. Or maybe I was just a runner on her usual Saturday morning neighborhood run.

Maybe it was because I was following a good chunk of the marathon course. Or perhaps it was thanks to the marathon ads and banners popping up everywhere. Maybe I just looked like I meant business and that my business was #NYCM.

Whatever it was, I had a blast.

I ran 20M to meet my neighbor from across the street for brunch, about 5M from where we both live. It makes a lot of sense, right?

Often the hardest part about running is getting out the door.

D was going to be in a conference in the city. She was free for brunch but only for a small window of time and she was bringing me a dry change of clothes. All this meant that when I woke up in the morning there was no question. I was going to leave my apartment by 7am without agonizing over it or wondering whether I really wanted to do this, or if I wanted to to this today, or if maybe I wanted to read a book first. Nothing. Just get ready and head out the door. No dilly-dallying. I had to get there on time.

I decided to break it down into manageable chunks in order not to be overwhelmed. I decided to think of it as 5 mile warmup run. Then I was going to run for 10 miles, which I know I can do. Then I was going to do a 5 mile cooldown. Plus, whenever my mind wanted to start freaking out about how much I'd run and how much longer I had to run, I'd tell myself I was going to run all day. Six hours at least, so I might as well relax and sink into it.

Is the last bite really better tasting than all the other ones, or is it just that its being the last makes it more intense? Today I took the intensity away from the last few miles by pretending I was going to run for much longer. That way when I got to the last mile I was rested and relaxed and managed to make it my fastest mile of the run: 2 minutes faster than the others.

There was a wind advisory, but the wind gusts just made it more fun. I was well rested and I think I probably benefitted from the extra effort of running against the wind. My eyes were tearing at times. On the Pulaski bridge I felt I was being pushed into the barrier; as I approached the Queensboro there was a moment where I took a couple of steps but did not move forward, and I shivered when waiting for lights at 92nd. But it was fun! The wind kept me company all the way, whipping my braids around and I'm sure at times it must have pushed me from behind, though I don't remember that.

At Mile 20 there was a surprise. At the corner that marked the end of my run, about a dozen people with posters and matching shirts where cheering for me! They'd kept themselves busy cheering for Avon walkers while I got there and they kept it up after I left, but they were there for me.