My Attempt at Being Zany at Mile 23

Preeeeetty, eh? I do have that glow of suffering around me, after all.

Thanks to Sarah for sending it ...

Prologue, or Look Before You Leap!

There are about a million reasons why taking the day off of work yesterday was a good idea. Nobody tells you about one of the most important -- the sudden, semi-temporary loss of irony.

Finishing the marathon was exciting and uplifting and metaphorical and, basically, all of the stuff of Hallmark cards. During the race, when you are emotionally unstable and begging for inspiration, you find yourself experiencing the world without the snide edginess that is such valuable currency in real world.

I was running next to those guys with the American and Marine flags, and I found myself thinking "why yes! God bless America, indeed!"

I would have typically appreciated the flags, but my state had me looking at everything with fresh eyes, seeking out meaning like a college freshman in a poetry class.

You start thinking through cliches and song lyrics, one after another, and reproving them in your mind like mathematical formulas. (People who need people are the best people in the world! We should reach for the stars!)

If Philippides had run 30 miles instead of 26.2, who knows what could have happened. All of the art in my apartment might be replaced by posters of kittens dangling from tree branches with the words "hang in there!" across the bottom.

And I love that. It takes a lot to shake up your perspective. I may have returned from the brink of cross stitching the news that home is sweet onto a tea towel, but I like that I took a little break from sarcasm. Sometimes you need a reminder that we just aren't all that special -- there are a lot of universals, and when it gets down to it, that's a comfort.

Alrighty, this is feeling a little touchy-feely for me, so I'm going to have to cut out of here before I have to make use of a defense mechanism.

Physically, I am much better, but still very much in the walking funny stage. Stair and chairs remain worthy enemies. But guess what? I ran a marathon!

26.2 Miles of Blog

*disclaimer*
Nobody is required to read all of this. I accidentally murdered my internal editor somewhere between mile 23 and mile 25. I will never test you on the below novel.


I woke up at 6:30 this morning -- about 4 hours after I finally fell asleep. I was in bed looong before that, but it's hard to get comfortable when your body thinks it's been put through a meat grinder.

I'm not going to lie -- this current situation is not pretty. Every muscle hurts. In fact, I can't tell the difference between muscles, tendons, bones and even skin. There is a generalized pain that reminds me of what it's like to have a high fever. When my lungs expand, like, for breathing, muscles in my back hurt. My sinuses hurt. I'm sunburned. Lowering myself onto a toilet seat is an activity preceded by the gathering of courage; getting back up tests the construction of my towel rack.

If you are lucky, you will get to go through this one day, too, if you haven't already.

Race Day.

So, I started out in high spirits. I showed up to the start more than an hour earlier than necessary. I was excited, but there was definitely a healthy dose of "we better do this before I change my mind."

The Team in Training coaches were fantastic from the start. They answered questions and promised to find us on the route. That would matter a lot in a few hours.

The start cannon for my wave (the slowbies) was delayed by a medical emergency that took place within the first half mile. Ominous.

The hardest part of the first 13 miles was forcing myself to take the walk breaks. After every 4 minutes of running, I had to remind myself that the one-minute walk breaks were non-negotiable, even if I wasn't tired. I skipped two or three, but was pretty loyal to them overall.

Fifteen miles flew by. The crowd was fun and loud and silly. Chatting among my fellow runners was easy and noncommittal. Two guys who ran near me throughout the race carried giant American and Marine flags. Batman and Captain America were also close by.

I saw all my friends between the 10 and 15 mile markers. Some ran with me for a bit, but most just cheered and some sipped cocktails. (I ran up to Katy, Ryan and Sarah and said "do you have anything to drink?" Katy said,"Yes!" and moved toward her backpack. Then she looked sad. "Oh, I only have mimosas." I waited for the water stop.)

The route then headed to Haines Point, which was the beginning of the end for me. Not in a good way.

Emergency vehicles were blaring past us, and marines with fake cheer directed us around flurry of activity to our right. I looked back to see a man lying on the ground. I couldn't see the paddles, but I saw his chest jump as they tried to bring him back. We all ran quietly for a while. I learned when I got home that the man died.

Haines Point was very flat, boring and windy. I could feel the shin splints in both legs, blisters were accumulating on my toes and I was beginning to feel fatigue. Now, I was living for the walk breaks. I made a deal with myself not to mess with my 4:1 ratio until I hit the 14th Street Bridge, which begins at mile 20.

I don't think it ever occurred to me to quit moving, but my mind was spinning, trying to come up with a way to make the pain less. I tried leaning forward, shuffling my feet, swinging my arms more, looking down, and about a dozen other brands of running voodoo. I tried every mental trick that I had studied, but I couldn't focus well enough to get through a mantra.

At mile 19, Coach John appeared. He asked how I was, and I realized I was about to sob, so I closed my mouth. He got the point, and talked to me like a was a retarded monkey on the brink of suicide, which was the exact appropriate way to deal with me. He described the rest of the route, told me how much I had already done, told me how soon it would be over. He said "if it was easy, everybody would do it," then he was off to help other struggling TNTers.

With Coach John gone, I had to get my breathing back in check. Turns out crying, or trying not to cry, constricts your lungs. I worried that I was close to hyperventilating. Focusing on that -- breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out -- got me through another couple of miles.

On the bridge I had an internal debate about whether I had promised myself to stick with 4:1 to the bridge or through the bridge.

I compromised. When I was nearly over it, I skipped a whole 4 minute run. It was the one and only time I did that.

The next six miles were excruciating. My new system was that I would begin running every time my watch told me the four minutes was beginning again, and kept running until I couldn't anymore (that could take a minute and a half, or could take the full four minutes). The ratio went out the window, but the new system ensured that I didn't give up on running.

Around mile 22, I caught up to a guy who had a music player that was loud enough for those around him to hear. We ran together briefly and chatted a little, and then I pushed ahead.

A mile and a half before the finish, I just felt tapped out. I couldn't begin to think about how great it would be to cross the finish line -- that just seemed too remote, too far in the future. I didn't know if I could get back up to a run.

That's when music guy ran up next to me. "C'mon, we're going to finish this together," he said. This guy, John, totally saved me. This was his fourth marathon, and he had that suicidal-retarded-monkey way of talking me through it. He talked away, chatting about what it will be like to cross that finish line.

When I saw the finish line, I stopped thinking about the running and thought instead about not crying. If I had started, I don't know if I would have stopped. John and I crossed over, and cute marines placed medals around our necks.

My marine asked how I was, and I told him I was trying not to cry. He said "Oh, everybody's crying. Cry!" That made me laugh.

I had finished! For 5 hours and 39 minutes, I fought for that moment. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. As I write this, it's still overwhelming. To reach that point, where you think you have nothing more, and then dig just slightly deeper -- I think that's what keeps making my chest tighten when I think of the race. Or maybe it's just the searing muscle pain.

If you have ever considered a marathon, I would love to be the one to peer pressure you into it. Nobody ever regrets running a marathon.

Best Feeling Ever ...

... accompanied by the worst feeling ever. I'm in a lot of pain, but I have never been so proud. Thanks for being there with me!

I will properly update this later (tomorrow?). I think my last two posts didn't work for some reason, so I'm going to work on that for a second.

Let's Do This Thing

It's 5:30 a.m.

I fell asleep visualizing the race. What it will feel like to go up hills, to fight winds, to ache, to see friends in the crowd, to hear strangers cheer for me, to cross the finish line. I woke up 5 minutes before my alarm clock.

I. Am. So. Ready.

I'll check y'all later. Gimme a call this afternoon, and ask me if it felt the way I pictured it.

If you don't know how to check up on me, look here.

In the words of Clint, from the best movie to ever come out of Austin:

"I only came here to do two things, kick some ass and drink some beer. We're almost out of beer."

Walking the Plank ...

The anxiety level is at about a seven, judging from last night's dreams. When I woke up, I was just happy that I 1) hadn't, in fact, lost one running shoe, 2) did not accidentally drive my car onto a running path and then hit a turn and flip it over, and 3) I am not suddenly re-embroiled in a break up that took place four years ago. After all that, a marathon doesn't sound half bad.

It's about 2 p.m. now, roughly 24 hours from what should be my final stretch.

I really am excited. Yesterday, I told the lone senator who was on Capitol Hill that I was running the marathon. He said "oh, gosh, why would anyone want to do that?"

When he was walking away, though, he turned around and said "next time I see you, you'll be a marathoner!"

Yeah, that's true.

Last night, it stormed, which was nice because if I can't go out, nobody else should get to, either. I cuddled up with an afghan (blanket, not immigrant) and watched a good-but-disturbing movie about wayward preteens.

This morning, I had a very solemn ceremony for the ironing of D-A-P-H-N-E onto my race shirt (it's pale pink for those of you who will be looking for me). Then, I put on my whole outfit, which felt vaguely Miss. Havishamish, but I needed to do that so I could pin my number in the right place. I have no excuse for trying on the devil horns that I intend to wear tomorrow, except ... am I made of stone?

That's right, my whole Halloween costume consists of these silly horns. It's a significant departure from previous years, obviously. In fact, when I thought I wasn't going to run the race, I busied myself in the creation of my trademark Halloween brilliance. I would have to say this was my greatest sacrifice for the marathon.

I was going to be Evil Spinach -- impressed? Topical, elaborate, creepy, conceptual -- it had all the necessary elements. Next year, it won't make sense anymore, and who wants a year-old costume anyway? Maybe I'll come up with some other leafy green costume.

Well, this is it for now. If I am super on the ball in the morning, I might check in here before I head out, but I don't want to promise anything.

I think this is going to be good. Thanks for sticking with me this far. I'll make us proud tomorrow.

-d

ps
Now it's about 2:30. Maybe at this time tomorrow, I'll be a marathoner.

Holy Crap It's Three Days Away

THREE. DAYS.

That is basically what is on my brain ticker right now. It looks much like this:

"Election's coming up ... hmmm, good Post story on frogs today ... THREE DAYS ... ohhh cute shoes ... feet ... TWENTY SIX POINT TWO MILES ... frogs are pretty cute ... would I be more morally conflicted working at a health insurance company or a horse slaughtering facility? ... man, I sure like coffee ... oh my gosh, three more days ..."

Sorry, that ran longer than I intended, but what are blogs for if not self-indulgent self explanation?

A good friend who ran a marathon a few years ago lent me a great book on all the mental aspects of running. It's all about relaxing and thinking positive yadda yadda.

It's big on creating little affirmations to repeat as you run, and the authors encourage you to come up with your own. There are several rules to this like, keep it positive and short, but what is most awesome is that they RHYME! I love rhyming.

They give examples like "Relax, relax, to achieve the max!" and "I am in control and ready to roll."

So, as instructed by the book, I am trying to come up with my own. I encourage you to post some, too.

"Think less of the hurting, and more of opportunities for flirting."

"If running for you doesn't feel right, try running for reasons like revenge -- and spite!"

"Run fast to live, and to outpace the guy with a shiv."

Actually, this game is a lot for fun without the rhyming:

"It's easy to run fast when you are being chased by rabid wolves."

"I don't have to win, but I do have to beat that guy."

"Quitters never win, and walkers never get to wear bikinis."

"If their stories are inspiring, they better be behind you."

So, You Want To Be a Stalker

I bet marathons are like Christmas for stalkers. They're like tears in the rain.

That's right, stalkers, hide those binoculars no more! Pull that telephoto lens out of your trunk, and set up the ol' tripod! Proudly, proudly wear a t-shirt adorned with your target's countenance! No technology is too intrusive! No declarations of adoration too public!

Yeah, so on that note, here's the low-down on how to watch me from afar. Or near. Just don't cut me into little pieces.

The whole Marine Corps Marathon website is pretty incredible, but I will give you the highlights.

Here are the tips for anyone who wants to cheer on the sidelines.

Here is a super-fun and totally terrifying (if you are me) map of the course. Click on the triangle next to "MCM Course" and then put checks in boxes to see where stuff happens on the course. This can answer gnawing questions like, where will Daphne drink Gatorade? Where will Daphne see her time so far? Where will Daphne eat Clif Shots? Yes, it is indeed a fascinating window into the marathon experience.

Combine that with this elevation map for some sense of the level of pain I am suffering at any given moment. (See those little bumps at Miles 5, 13 and 19? Turns out they are not little.)

Oh, but that's just the beginning.

Here is where you can get email and cell phone updates on where exactly I am. Seriously. Just put in your email address and make up a password. Then, put in my last name (email me if you don't know it, and I will consider the likelihood that you will chop me into little pieces.) If you have trouble, just let me know.

If you are on site, you can actually track my every move as explained here.

I really hope to see as many of you people as possible on race day. If you can't make it, that's cool. I mean, we had a good run, right? I'm sure we will both make new friends.

Keep in mind that I will be slowwwww. On a 4:1, run/walk ratio, you can expect me to do between an 11 and 12-minute mile for the first half. As for the last 13 miles, who the hell knows? I'll probably just go as fast as my little hands can claw at the ground.

This One's For You, Mom

My friends finished the Chicago marathon yesterday, and somehow that took me from "high on optimistic anticipation" to "spiraling through waves of abject terror." That is, I'm a little nervous now.

So, that is one explanation for the distinctly not-me decision I made this weekend: I made an acupuncture appointment.

Now, acupuncture actually falls in the category of stuff I like to use as fodder for making fun of Mom, but, apparently, some things are more important than that (nobody was more surprised than me).

Basically, if enough people told me that wearing a Little Bo Peep costume and sleeping in trees would get me through the Marine Corps Marathon, I would be like "do you guys know where I can find a petticoat?"

Hence, at 6pm today, send me some good thoughts. Because I will be a nervous little pincushion about then.

See, This is How I Will Drive Us All Batty

Now the forecast looks perrrrfect: 43-54 and no rain! That will change about 1,000 times this week, so I will try to drop it now.

If you were wondering ...

The forecast for Oct. 29 is rain. Seven more days ...

Drop What You Are Doing, And Obsess Like Me

Just so you know, tomorrow is when I start to cross the line into craaazy. That's because tomorrow is when the "10-day forecast" will actually cover Marathon Day.

Weather is pretty much all I think about now. We must pray for brisk. Cold, even. Just not warm. Please, please, not warm.

The Coolest Number Ever

So, here it is: 25864. That's me. That's so me.

It's my bib number. It's also the zip code for Layland, West Virginia, Population: 518.

Last year, this kick ass number was proudly worn by Thomas Cleaver, who was 57 years old. That would make him 58 now, assuming his heart held out.

No, it doesn't hurt my feelings that there is no chance on earth that I will beat or even approach the time of my distinguished predecessor. Hey, we're all on the same team here. Plus, I picture him as a crazy fitness guy who has exercise machines in his house and weighs all of his food.

I Forgot the Best Part

In the novel I posted yesterday, I somehow failed to recount the actual tipping point, whereby I realized that I must find a way to run the marathon.

My good friends Angela and Steve are set to run the Chicago Marathon this weekend. They have been incredibly supportive of my efforts, constantly checking in on my injuries and basically giving me an outlet so that all my other friends don't start avoiding me so they won't have to talk about that damn marathon business again.

So, since they wouldn't have their friends cheering for them in Chi-town, I decided to whip up a care package for them. On Thursday, I sat down to create before-the-marathon and after-the-marathon CDs, and immediately found myself in the Bell Jar.

The idea was for the music to get them excited about their marathon, but it was actually getting me excited about my marathon. Which, of course, was immediately followed by an intense desire to stick my head in the oven, since I was operating under the idea that I was going to be sidelined.

I started thinking, what am I going to do on Oct. 29? Will I cheer on the race route? Will I sulk at home? I couldn't bear it.

That's when I started cooking up the plan to create a last test for myself on Saturday, and the rest, as they say, is recorded in my previous blog entry. Hooray! Thanks Ang and Steve!

-d

Who put the ON in Marathon?

ME! Thats right, kids. In one week and five days, I am going to somehow traverse 26.2 miles.

I know you are totally like, Where the hell have you been? I heard the rumors. I know you guys crossed out the "Daphne Runs Marathon" notation on your calendars.

It's ok, I'm not mad. I was right there with you until about Friday, when I suddenly realized that I am farrrr too bad ass to not follow through with this.

A summary:

So, the injuries were piling up. We finally got my left leg working properly, and then my right leg was all "not so fast." I couldn't run at all. I was doing all these exercises and going to PT every week, but running just hurt. So I waited and waited until I finally just gave up. On Oct. 3, I announced to a few people that I wasn't going to be ready in time.

I started trying to decide whether I could be ready in time for the White Rock Marathon on December 10, but I was scared to sign up. I couldn't stand the idea of dropping out of two of these things. It was awful, and I was fairly depressed.

On Oct. 6, I was bumming out my friend Charlotte about it while we rocked out to an 80s cover band specializing in metal/glam rock. Just so you have the full picture, I was a wearing a Poison T-shirt and guitar earrings. H-O-T. She mentioned that she was thinking of running the Army 10 Miler that Sunday on the Galloway system, with a ratio of 4 minutes running, one minute walking.

I was signed up for the 10 Miler, and I figured, now I don't have to be careful anymore, since I'm not doing the marathon, right? I mean, hey, what am I saving myself for? So I said I'd do it, too.

Anyway, I was shocked to find how much easier the 4:1 business was. We sailed through the race. My leg did hurt toward the end, but never very severely. It was like that one minute of lighter impact seemed to keep it in check.

So, on Friday (the 13th), I decided to give it one last shot. If I could run at least 15 miles on the Galloway system Saturday morning, I would run the marathon. Friday night, I skipped what sounded like a real fun party. I was serious.

I mapped out a 16.44 trail and hit the road at about 10:30 (original plan was to take of at 7:30, but am I made of stone?). I would like to note that this route is further than I am usually willing to drive.

Friend: "Hey, Daphne, I hear there's a hot new restaurant in Silver Spring -- wanna go?"
Me: "Nah, too far."

Anyway, the first 10 miles were total cake. The weather was perfect and I was in a fantastic mood, even though I was mostly going uphill. By about mile 14, I was totally overjoyed, because I realized the I was totally up for the marathon. Also, I had the sense that the downhill portion was near. Little did I know that I was hopelessly, pathetically lost.

So, I did not, in fact run 16.44 miles. I ran 18.67 miles. Actually, I stopped running all together for about that last mile, because I was desperately trying to find my way again. Eventually I found the metro. Who the hell ever heard of "Wheaton?"

I had a party to attend that night, so I needed to be able to, like, walk. So, I had myself an ice bath. That experience gave me what I believe is a small sense of what it is like to be a cat. (Dear childhood cats, I am so sorry about the baths. I didn't know. Love, Daphne.)

Anyway, it worked, and I was totally ambulatory for the whole night. The next morning was laughable. I felt like I needed to borrow one of those rolly-boards from the Vietnam vets downtown, but how was I going to get downtown? Anyway, ibuprofen, stretching, and about 7 hours of reality TV fixed me right up.

So, there it is. In one week and six days I can (and will) call myself a marathoner. I will be slow, but I will finish. If you can come out to cheer me on, please do. More info on that to come.