Surviving My First Marathon- Part I

The day of the New Jersey Marathon dawned cool and overcast. When the alarm went off I jumped out of bed, my heart pounding with excitement and a little bit of dread when I remembered that today was the day I had been training six months for.

I dressed quickly in the darkness, inhaling a granola bar and tossing an apple in my gym bag for later. I drove to my brother’s house around 5:00 am. He opened the door for me, his face wreathed in a huge smile.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to wake anyone.

“Almost,” I replied, following him to his car with my bags. “I’ll be ready by the time we get there.”

“Better be ready soon,” he said teasingly. “Unless you want to back out?”

I glared at him. “I’m not backing out.”

He laughed. “Just checking.”

The race course was only an hour away at exit 105 on the Parkway, and as we cruised in the early morning light we caught up on conversation and events in our lives since the last time that we'd run together two weeks earlier. I pinned his bib to his running shirt, smoothing the crinkly material with my fingers as he drove.

We were both excited, although I'm not sure who was more so- me because it was my first time running a marathon, or him because he was running my first marathon with me.

That's how my big brother is.

We reached our exit an hour later and to our consternation, we had to wait for yet another hour to get through the traffic light that would ultimately take us to our destination.

The frustration of waiting in that long line, combined with the overpowering nerves for the upcoming run almost succeeded in taking away our overall feeling of excitement of the race, but at last we were through.

Volunteers for the race directed the long stream of eager runners temporarily trapped in cars to a parking spot in the vast lots around Monmouth County Racetrack.

First, I toed off my warm boots. Then I removed my comfy blue sweatpants to reveal pink spandex shorts that I had chosen to match my socks and my shirt. I had an entire new outfit to wear for my first marathon, and the bright colors were a reflection of my new outlook on life ever since I began running.

Next, I applied a substantial layer of Thermacare to my shins before pullng on my hot pink tie-dye compression sleeve socks. I have found that the socks help to prevent shin splints tremendously, especially during long runs, and my mom gave them to me several days earlier for good luck.

 I applied Vaseline to the soles of my feet, slid my feet into the special moisture wicking socks, then squeezed baby powder into my sneakers before slipping my feet inside them.

Vaseline was also applied liberally to the sensitive skin beneath my sports bra. The last time I had done a long training run the skin had been rubbed nearly raw by the material. I wasn't risking that again.

There was a chill in the air on this gorgeous May morning, but I took off my jacket and left it in the car as we climbed out. It called for sun and a temperature close to sixty today, and I didn't want to have to run the full distance with it tied clumsily around my waist.

I grabbed my water bottle, checked that my Shotblox were in my brother's waist pack, and then quickly followed him to the path that would take us from the parking lot to the start of the race.

Due to the traffic at the light, we only had fifteen minutes before the race started so we dashed for the line of porta-potties standing like sentries across the lot from the starting line. People milled around us, some of them spectators, most of them runners, and I was amazed at how many people were crazy enough to run 26.2 miles.

Kind of like my brother and I.

I was careful to walk slightly behind him so that he wouldn't see the back of my t-shirt before we reached our corral. I was going to surprise him with what I had written on the back. As we stood on line, I turned so that he could read it.

"Running-great! Running a marathon- awesome! Running a marathon with my big brother- priceless!"

He was grinning from ear to ear when he was done reading it, and he insisted on taking a picture of my back to post to Facebook. There was a suspicious glimmer in his eyes and I looked away because I knew that if I saw his tears my own would begin.

Not only had training for this marathon over the past several months been extremely physical, with long grueling hours of asphalt and sweat both during the week and on the weekends, but also emotional, as my brother and I grew closer and bonded over Shotblox and ten milers.

Finally, despite my last minute feelings of panic, a trace of denial, and the overwhelming feeling that this whole 'running a marathon' idea was completely nuts, I stood shivering next to him in Corral D, meant for those who would finish the marathon in five hours and thirty minutes- which was my goal. I figured if I didn’t make it under that this time, I would know what to do for the next marathon I was crazy enough to sign up for.

All around us people were smiling and laughing, extending good wishes to strangers and friends alike. After a few moments I relaxed enough to smile back at people, and to thank those who complimented me on my shirt.

 The DJ played music to bolster our spirits and our energy. As marathoners filled in the corrals the beat of 'Wild Thing' and 'Born to Run' had us all moving around to the beat and some people were even singing out loud. I was soon squeezed between my brother and a man who smiled at me reassuringly.

"Your first one?" he asked.

I smiled weakly and nodded. He gave me a thumbs-up as the announcer asked for twenty-six moments of silence to honor those affected by the tragedy in Boston.

You could've heard a pin drop as over a thousand runners and spectators bowed their heads respectfully.

The first notes of the Star Spangled Banner began to play and we all removed our hats and sang. There was a definite tear in my brother's eye now, and I took a deep breath so that I wouldn't give in to the emotion that was clogging my throat. I wanted to keep my mind clear so that I could focus on the run ahead.

He held up his fist so we could touch knuckles. “Let’s do this thing,” he said, encouragement and excitement lighting his eyes.

I smiled back at him, feeling the burn of determination smother any lingering embers of doubt. “Thanks, big brother,” I replied.

Finally, it was time. The first three corrals moved through the start gate. Each runner had a micro-chip on their bib that would track their run. It seemed to take forever to move forward, while in actuality it was only minutes before we were stepping over the blue electronic bump, taking our first step of many thousands of steps that would eventually, hopefully, lead to the finish line.

As we jostled and merged and began to run with the crowd, I realized with horror that my body didn't feel right. I had been tapering for three weeks and I feared that I had forgotten how to run. The last time I had run was four days earlier.

My feet felt like blocks of concrete, there was extreme discomfort in my shins, and I couldn't catch my breath. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort just to put one foot in front of the other. The air seemed to push down on my limbs, preventing me from moving any faster.

Forgotten were all my training runs, in which I had managed to run fifteen, seventeen, and even twenty miles with no problems. I was panicking! We were just starting the first mile and there were twenty-six to go!

"Bob!" I gasped, feeling as if I was running underwater. "I can't do this!"


…to be continued...