lines

I was recently reminded that wrinkles, laugh-lines, crows-feet, stretch marks, and scars make up the map of a life well lived, today, I’d like to officially add finish and start lines to that list! However, if you asked me what my most favorite memory of this year’s NYC Marathon was, I wouldn’t tell you it was the start line or even the finish line, although both were incredibly transformative, I would tell you that it was all the lines leading up to the big day.

I would tell you about the slight scar-line that graces my knee from the time I fell on a 15 mile run down the West Side Highway with Cindy, Loretta, and Paola. I would tell you about the extra laugh lines now residing by the corners of my mouth from runs shared with Erin, Sharon, Jacqui, Lily, Anu, and my boys. I would tell you about the extra wrinkles etched on my forehead from squinting through the dark on super early morning runs with Melissa, and I would definitely tell you about the time that I got at least a dozen extra grey hairs, from the time Loretta, Paola, and I thought it would be “fun” to run across the George Washington Bridge!

I would then proceed to tell you all about the fresh new lines I earned marathon morning. I would beguile you with stories about how absolutely incredible it was to be driven to the start line via police escort (thank you P). I would beg your attention as I told you about how, while butterflies legit danced in my stomach, I watched as Steph Bruce, Molly Siedel, and Kellyn Taylor prepared to toe the line. I’d even add that Molly Siedel (MOLLY SIEDEL!!!) used the very same porta-potty my friends and I did…to shake out those pre-race jitters! I’d tell you about how I cheered so loudly for the wheel-chair athletes that I nearly lost my voice before I’d even begun to run. I’d tell you that those last little lines I earned smiling, cheering, and jumping about were some of my most favorite, because I know for certain I earned them alongside best-friends and greatness.

With the freshest of lines settling into place, it was time for Loretta, Paola, and I to begin THE race. As we marched forward (clad in matching hot-pink and black) onto the Verrazanno-Narrows Bridge, the crowd grew louder, and you could just make out Ted Metellus’ voice welcoming us to the starting line of WAVE 1!

WAVE ONE PEOPLE!!!!

Truth Bomb – if there was ANY way to get spectators to the start line of the NYC Marathon…you would for SURE have more than just 1% of the population running marathons!

With helicopters above and beside us, we crossed the infamous starting line atop the Verrazzano, let out the loudest collective cheer, and threw our hands up for the first of many, many more cameras to come.

Everyone knows that mile one of the marathon is the steepest uphill climb of the whole race, quickly followed by an absolute gift of a downhill; our only goal for these first two miles, was to collect 3 discarded Dunkin’ Donuts pink and orange hats – check, check, check 🙂

At the end of the bridge, Loretta made the decision to push her pace and said goodbye to Paola and I. We told her to run like the wind, that we believed in her, and that we would be right behind her (wink, wink) if she needed us. I won’t tell Loretta’s story, because it’s not mine to tell – but I will say she crushed it, and we are so very proud of our bestie!!

Paola and I forged on, having made a pact long before we toed the line that morning that we would stick together all the way. I cannot stress enough how incredibly blessed I was to know that I would have this fierce, gritty, beautiful-badass beside me for the entirety of the race.

Paola will laugh as she reads this, because even though I have now run this race four times (and am a native New Yorker) I still don’t have a damn clue where I am going inside those five boroughs of NYC 99% of the time. With that in mind, please forgive my course description vagueness – might take a 5th running to cement the map 🤷🏻‍♀️

Miles 1-10 were a blur and felt truly effortless – Paola legit high-fived the hands of every single child that put forth their small little paw, step for step beside her, I smiled and laughed as strangers called out “Go KC!” “Yeah Pink Ladies!” and “It’s the Dynamic Duo!!” “Pay-Oh-La!”

Mile 11, the high wore off, I think at this point I turned and asked Paola just exactly how damn long we were going to spend in Brooklyn, I also definitely told her, that there was NO chance I was going to be able to hold onto sub-10 minute miles for the duration. She was quick to poo-poo my doubts, and said simply, WE GOT THIS; her optimism and faith in our potential outweighing my own at that moment.

Mile 13.1, the half way point: bridge number two, and the first time we stopped. The KT tape that I had applied to my right foot (as I had every long run) somehow loosened and was balling up underneath my foot – no good. I stopped and pulled it off. Much better…until not a tenth of a mile later, there was not one, but 2 rocks inside of the same shoe. Another stop. It’s here were I truly thought to myself there is NO way I can do all of what we have just done over again.

Doubt…wrinkles….lines….

Fake It Til Ya Make It!

We push forward knowing that Paola’s family and the Queensborough Bridge couldn’t wait to see us! The crowds at this point became our focal point; each time we begin to doubt ourselves, they called to us (by name!) to remind us WE GOT IT! I will tell you it is both much harder to stop running and to continue to doubt yourself, when you can hear your name on the lips of family, friends, and strangers! The power of NYC lies in their collective belief that EVERYONE CAN make it AFTER-ALL!

Up and over the Queensborough Bridge (did you know every bridge is NYC an uphill?) and down onto First Avenue…the crowds are deafening. Truly. You literally cannot hear yourself wonder about the next ten miles and you certainly cannot hear doubt creeping in. My smile was as bright as the sun in the sky that day, we reframed and told ourselves we had just a little “long run” left. Buttttttttt, First Avenue is long, very long, so long that it encapsulates nearly 3 full miles of the race as it brings you from Manhattan into the Bronx and back again.

By mile 18 everything from the waist down was ouchy, however, I can say that since my proverbial “wall” had already happened at mile 13, I was fairly confident I wouldn’t hit another one. What I wasn’t so confident about was exactly how I was going to get from mile 18 to mile 26.2. It was then that I saw the most simple and perfectly timed sign:

TODAY, YOU ARE FINISHING A MARATHON!

In that moment everything fell into place. The lines I’d earned to get to the race, the lines I was earning with each step; smiles AND grimaces – it didn’t matter HOW I was going to FINISH, all that mattered was that I DID!!

Once we got over the LAST DAMN BRIDGE (thank you Emily Litman – she’s there EVERY year!) and rounded the corner into mile 21, the pep in our step picked up ever so slightly.

Paola and I both had spectators all along the course, but I knew that MY people (Andy, Grayden, and Brody) were waiting for me in Central Park at mile 24, roughly twenty-one minutes from where we were.

Then came Fifth Avenue, and, did you know that just like the bridges in NYC, 5th Ave is also UPHILL. Oooff – who designed this course!? – I absolutely asked Paola that at least twice on the climb up 5th and towards Central Park. But, much like 1st Ave, the crowds on 5th were the MOST electric I’d EVER seen or heard them! NYC had proven mile after mile, and especially when we needed them MOST, that it was BACK and BETTER THAN EVER!

Seeing Andy and the boys at mile 24 gave me the strength I needed to get to the finish, and much like Paola had shared her early energy with me, I did everything I could to share my current energy with her.

2.2 miles left, we regrouped, and used the slightest bit of momentum garnered from running DOWN Cat Hill to keep moving.

Left. Right. Repeat. Left. Right. Repeat.

“Ladies in Pink!”

“Pink Power!”

“Paola!”

“KC!”

The line we’d been longing for was minutes away, and I knew we’d be crossing with smile lines STRONGER than ever! But, the best part about that upcoming finish line, was knowing our dearest friends Sharon and Jacqui were waiting to hang medals around our necks (thank you all NYRR volunteers…but especially you two!!)

As I sit to write this now, I can still feel the chaffe line on my back from where my ID rubbed itself into a (painless) memory, I can see the callus on my right big toe, and until a few days ago, I could still see the RUNNING ON HOPE temporary tattoo I’d placed on my thigh.

The map of my body is different today than it was a week ago, it carries stronger lines and more memories, and each reminds me of the life I’m LIVING. Thank you to NYC, to Paola, to Loretta, to Andy, to Grayden, and to Brody for helping me establish all my new lines. ❤️

the answer…

When I think back twenty years, to the events that transformed New York City (and the world) I recall what I was was wearing; cream colored GAP overalls with a t-shirt that matched the late summer sky, and I remember that the cute sneakers I wore by days’ end cut deep blisters into my feet. I remember the green side-satchel that carried my books, my metro-card, and my Nextel. I remember walking out of John Jay College of Criminal Justice, and asking the first NYPD officer I saw, how I was going to get back home. I remember that he laughed. I remember I cried.

I cannot remember the amount of times I had to dial my Dad’s phone number before I got though, or how many times I had to cue up the double-beep of my Nextel before I finally heard my friend Peter’s voice; suffice it to say…countless.

I remember walking, so much walking. Walking downtown through a see of people who were walking up; that was the plan we devised through static filled phone conversations: walk to 1st Ave and then down. Walk until you see me, and I did. I walked and walked until I quite literally walked into the arms of my friend Pete, and then together, we walked until we met my Dad.

I remember the three of us sitting down at the overflowing bar, craning our necks towards the nearest TV. I remember watching in disbelief, as the city we sat in crumbled; I remember for the first time in my life, feeling like I might not make it home.

Despite being far enough away from the events that unfolded Ground Zero, I will never take for granted how lucky I was to have made it home…thousands did not.

What I remember most though about September 11th, are the feelings wrapped up in the days that followed. The absolute unification with complete and total strangers, the overwhelming pride of being a New Yorker and an American. The fact that despite broken hearts and broken buildings, New York was most definitely not broken; we were more UNITED than ever before.

Tonight while I watched one of the tribute stories that flood social media every September, I realized I had found the answer to a question, I didn’t even know I was searching for: Why I run the NYC Marathon…the answer, September 11th.

For the hours I’m out on the course, I catch glimpses of the unification and pride that kept the city afloat for months after the attacks of 9/11. On streets covered in glitter and gold, strangers help strangers and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that New York City, will never be broken as long as we keep the spirit of the lives we lost on 9/11, and of the days that followed ALIVE.

Up and Over.

My freshman year of high school, I “ran” track and cross country…I don’t remember much about those experiences, but, what I do remember is that I liked cross country much better than track, and that I was kind of fast…but also, not fast enough. I definitely remember that I never put in an ounce more than the bare minimum to get from start to finish.

My cross country coach Mr. Houser, was usually happy with my efforts; distance kind of came naturally to me, and I actually medaled a couple races…but my track coach, Mr. Baker (kindheartedly) kept telling me I could do better. He saw some sort of potential inside of me, that I most certainly did not. He once even suggested I try hurdles. I did. It wasn’t pretty.

Twenty-five years later, my hurdle jumping still isn’t pretty…nor, is it intentional, but remembering I’m not a natural helps. When I tried the hurdles way back in high school, I remember the easy part was in the running towards the hurdle at full force (forever telling myself: I got this! ); it was the subsequent jumping over, landing, and then getting going again, that were so terribly difficult. Especially, the getting going again. I had always exhausted so much energy in the build up and execution, that I had next to nothing left to continue on with…

By now, you’re either wondering what in the world I am talking about, or you’ve figured out that my current hurdles are metaphorical. These 2020 metaphoricals, are the biggest, most gigantic hurdles I have ever seen…and they keep coming. This race is no 400 meter lap around the track, it isn’t even the marathon of motherhood, that I’ve spoken about before https://themommythatgoes.wordpress.com/2018/05/14/the-motherhood-marathon/, it is an ultra-marathon of historic proportions, and the whole world is running together. When I am able to take a step back, and remember THAT and couple it with the fact that I am not a natural hurdler (very few are!) I breathe a little bit easier.

Today you might read this post and find my analogy resonates; perhaps it even helps to reshape the way you think of your 2020 hurdles…and then tomorrow another friend might share what helped them…and bit by bit, the more we share, the less alone we feel. The metaphorical hurdles get easier; everything is a little bit easier when we remember we aren’t alone. It seems, Mr. Baker was right all along, I can do better, we can do better…with help.

heavy

Earlier this morning I was texting with a dear friend, about how both of our runs today seemed way harder than we thought they “should”. We lamented on about how we hoped it was a blip, a fluke…or anything that promised not to take up too much space in our happy little running bubble. As we continued to text, it occurred to me that a year ago, we were both knee deep in marathon training, and while summer running wasn’t “easy” then either, it was different. I took a moment before I sent my next text, and briefly thought a little more about last year vs. now, then I sent this: “let’s (both) remember we have a shit ton weighing us down these days, not just tired legs.”

As runners we attribute a bad run, soreness or slowing down to an accumulation of miles on our legs. This year however, it would be unwise to allow ourselves to forage on with the same mindset; this year, we need to be gentle and remember it’s not only our legs that have taken a toll; it’s our hearts, our minds, our souls. We are perpetually, pandemically tired, and the thing we love to do most, the run, even on the best of days (pre-pandemic) makes us more tired.

Each time we’ve laced up to run and “escape” for a moment, or a mile, or an hour these last several months, there was no option to unload the weight of the world from our hearts and souls; so, we’ve carried it. We’ve carried it on top of tired legs weak from both stagnancy and perpetual motion, on top of tired arms aching to embrace family and friends outside our front doors, and deep inside of hearts still so very hopeful.

We are totem poles of tiredness…

We are totem poles of strength…

and, we will be ok.

Guest Post for Balega – Running with Kiddos!

https://balega-socks.implus.com/news-and-blog/2020/august/take-your-child-to-run-today

Assumptions

When I first read about the 24hr Ultra Yeti Challenge on Instagram at the end of March, the NYC Marathon was still boldly circled on my 2020 calendar, and my mental well-being was about as far from “ultra” ready as one could imagine.  I absentmindedly clicked like on the “cool post” and kept scrolling, but something made me comeback the next day and turn my like into a save.  

As days turned into weeks, and weeks became months, it became evident that Covid-19, was going to eat up any and all running goals set forth for 2020.  To be clear, in the grand scheme of this devastating pandemic means absolutely nothing; except that for me, running goals are what I employ to keep my anxiety-optimism scale (mostly) balanced.  Having a race to look forward to when my over-thinking-over-analyzing-brain begins to spiral, helps remind me to break things down, as I would in training.  So, on June 24th, when New York Road Runners made the absolute right call, and cancelled the 2020 marathon, I flashed back to the aforementioned saved post.

On June 25th, after having been in quarantine for the better part of 3 months, I wasn’t happy about it, but it had become routine.  I no longer wondered if my kids would survive home-schooling; they had.  I no longer questioned how to get groceries; I went out and got them.  I no longer thought there was a chance I’d be running 26.2 miles in 2020; I wasn’t going to.  But, could I really run 30 miles in one day, 3 month later, was I now ready for that kind challenge? 

Over the course of the next couple days, and after having watched a couple Instagram friends (Yuma & Jacque) ROCK the 24 hour ultra, I started to dangle the idea out to a few friends.  Might anyone be interested in running 5 miles, every 4 hours, for 24 hours WITH me?  A few friends laughed and quickly, but politely declined; but two friends, two friends didn’t say no.  Glimmers of hope swirled in my head, as I began to see this goal take shape.

In my heart, I felt the only date that made sense to go for it was July 28, 2020, the 18-Year Remembrance Day of my brother, Greg. I assumed only naturally, that I would need to harness the power of his spirit, to guide me through what would be one of the hardest running challenges I’d ever faced. I asked my running partner if the date would work for her, and then, I waited.

The next day, Melissa (my yeti-buddy) texted: “Bob, took off work to watch the kids; it’s a go!”

My training plan for this particular challenge was different than any marathon plan I’d ever employed, for a couple reasons, but mainly because I only had a month to work with.  I kept all of my runs “easy” and focused on maintaining 20-24 mile weeks.  In addition, for the entire month of July, I challenged myself to do a 2 minute plank each day, and enjoyed a Peloton workout (stretch, strengthening, yoga) every day as well.  I knew I needed to increase core strength, while being super careful not to overdo it, and risk injury.

July 27th: hydrate, carbs, organize 6 outfits, hydrate, finalize routes, carbs, husband psyched to take care of kids (lol), kids psyched to see how many steps mom gets, hydrate, 274ish texts between myself and Melissa.

July 28th: I’m up before my 3:50am alarm has a chance to startle me, the adrenaline flowing through me has already begun to fill my cup.  As has become customary before a big race, I open my Instagram account to share my story, only today, I don’t start with a selfie, a race bib, or a glimpse of a crowd. Today I load a favorite photograph of my handsome brother, Greg, and silently, ask him to help keep my cup full.  I let the tears drip down the bridge of my nose, and give myself permission to feel.  I simultaneously embrace the ache of missing him and the excitement to “find him” out there on the run.  

Run one was terrific, 4:30am comfortable pace, and hot as hell already; Melissa and I effortlessly ran back and forth in front of my house several times, our route consciously chosen in hopes of avoiding wildlife. We watched the watched the sunrise, and smiled as our 24 hours had officially begun.

Run two (8:30am), was enhanced by the socially distanced guest appearances of two dear friends, Paola and Vicki; their enthusiasm and excitement propelled us, and left us drenched in both sweat and happiness by runs’ end.  When I got home, my husband asked how I was doing, and without skipping a beat, I replied: “Great!” (and meant it!)

12:30pm – run 3 at a blistering 91 degrees and 88% humidity, it was literally the least ideal conditions for a run!  We were prepared however, and again had running reinforcements, when we arrived at Rockefeller State Park, Sharon and Lily were waiting.  We powered through another socially distanced run, relying on our friends to bolster our moods, and happy that they were there to (mostly) take our minds off of the intensity of the sun.  This run was definitely not as easy as the first two, but we embraced necessary walk breaks, and laughed often as Sharon side skipped, and Lily longingly gazed at the hills we continued to refuse to run up.  Perhaps my favorite part of the run however, (don’t laugh) was when it was done!  I’d brought jumbo watermelon slices for us all, and let me tell you, I have never had anything taste so wonderful in my whole life!  Again, when I got home to shower and change, my husband asked how I was doing, and I replied “great” and meant it!

Run four – 4:30pm, a new (and thankfully very shaded) route for both Melissa and myself was suggested by Sharon and Lily during our mid-day run, and we jumped on it; curiosity was definitely on our side.  The route started downhill for half mile, and at the bottom we instantly agreed to run out a bit more than necessary, so that we could WALK up the hill on our return.  Apparently runners’ math isn’t our strong suit, and after running the necessary 5 miles, we still somehow had an entire mile more (rather than just 1/2 a mile) to walk back to our cars…thankful for the virtual company from: Selena in California, Rita in Canada, Meagan in Australia, Jen in New Hampshire, Lisa in New York, and Carrie in Texas, who helped carry us up that hill.

Melissa and I spent some time again eating watermelon by our cars and stretching (as we had vigilantly after each run), and I remarked that I was so surprised at how well I was holding up.  I had really expected the wheels to be falling off my bus by now; having been plagued by my fair share of running career injuries.  I told Melissa I was convinced that in addition to the few hour breaks between our runs, it was my brother who was clearly carrying me through pain free.  At this point 20 miles into the day, rather than looking forward to the end, I was actually looking forward to running more!

Run 5: without a doubt, my favorite run of the day!  We chose to run by the Croton waterfront, and found ourselves running right alongside the setting sun.  My descriptions will not do it justice, hope you enjoy the photo, and if you’re local GO see one for yourself!

Throughout the day, Melissa peppered questions about Greg into our running conversations, allowing me to reminisce, and her to get to “know” him. I told her about the night he died, and how there was this epic thunder and lightning show that night…but it never. I told her how, 18 years ago we all joked through streaming tears and broken hearts, that the show was Greg’s arrival into Heaven. I told her about this, and then, we turned a corner on the path, and I watched as the sky lit up, and the second best lightning show I have ever seen in my life unfolded.

Greg.

When I ran 26.2 miles for the first time in 2017, I vividly remember getting to mile 21, and thinking there is NO way in hell I can run another step, I was deep, deep in the pain cave, I was banging on the “wall.  I remember looking up to the sky and begging Greg for help, and then when the very next song I heard booming from the street corner was Avicii’s “Hey Brother” …the pain melted.

When I ran the “ultra” this week, I assumed I would have to do the same thing…I assumed I’d be calling out from deep in the pain cave to get through, except that I didn’t.  In fact, I didn’t have to call out to Greg once during my 30 miles because, from the moment I started until the second I finished, I felt my brother with me in a way I never have before.  He gifted me a 24 hour pain free, hot as hell thrill ride…I think, I got a taste of what it was like to live life his way. Silly me to make assumptions about Greg…even now!

The last run of the night was meant to be at 12:30am, but Meissa and I pushed it up to midnight so we could get to sleep sooner.  We had loops of the Croton-Harmon train station parking lot on deck: one big fat loop was equivalent to 1 mile, so 5 loops until the “Finish Line.”  I put my 20 Miles of Smiles playlist on speaker, and side by side we ran.  The first two miles (miles 26 and 27 on the legs) went by rather quickly, the next two were more laborious; I was absolutely thrilled when my watch finally beeped to signal the last mile, and even more thrilled that my legs responded when I told them to GO!  I assumed I’d be crawling through that last mile, and yet I seemed to be flying ~ my 30th mile was my fastest of the day.

Running an “ultra” taught me not to make assumptions about things I think will be hard, but rather to keep my eyes open for the gifts hiding within. Thank you, Greg…

And, thank you to my yeti-buddy, and dear friend Melissa, without whom I could never have done this challenge! I am so proud of you!

And, to my husband Andy, and our boys Grayden and Brody, who I love madly!

I had the best time!

After the congratulations and the all too common “how many miles IS that?” lots of people want to know how long it took to run 26.2 miles. For two years I answered in numbers; 2017 was 4:24, 2018 was 4:29…but this year, when asked, my answer will be, “I had the best time!”

Full disclosure, I won’t being saying I had the best time because the clock reflects that (it was in fact my slowest @ 4:37:04), but I also won’t be omitting the numerical answer out of shame; I’ll be answering it was the best time, because I had the most fun!

On Sunday, I ran the TCS NYC Marathon for the third year in a row, with my best running friend and training partner; side by side, step for step, smile after smile, I watched her become a Marathoner. Admittedly, it was not my original plan, nor was it hers, but halfway through mile one, on the top of the mighty Verrazano it became clear, that it was meant to be.

Loretta and I met when our boys were in pre-school together back in 2015. I was a new runner then, just starting out, and knew nothing about the benefits of running with friends. It wasn’t until the summer of 2016, when by chance at a birthday bash for a sweet little 5 year old, Loretta showed up in a brand new pair of running sneakers, and I asked “do you run?”

In an instant, we were no longer just mom-friends (not that there’s anything wrong with that), we were running partners. At that time, I was in the midst of training for my second half-marathon, and Loretta happily embarked on many of my regularly scheduled training runs. Before we knew it, she was no longer able to say, I only run 5 or 6 miles…

2017 – Loretta’s First 1/2 Marathon Finish Line (with me)

Time kept on going by, and Loretta kept right on running alongside me. In 2018 when I started training for my second NYC Marathon, while simultaneously going for the 9+1 NYRR series for 2019…Loretta did the same. She trained with me all the way up to the 18 mile mark, and secured her 2019 marathon spot too.

We began our training for 2019 together in early July. We ran countless miles together and many apart as well…Loretta even got to do some of her training runs while on vacation in ITALY!!! Long runs got longer, hot days got hotter, tired legs grew weary…but we never gave up. Injury threatened to take us out of the game towards the very end, but once we surpassed/got used to running in pain, (with doctor approvals) and nailed that last 20 mile training run (together of course) we were confident.

Fast forward to 11•3•19…she was meant to run wave 3, I was wave 2; we knew we wouldn’t be running together. But life happens and plans change and orange is orange 🤫🤫🤫 and up we went together to the top of the Verrazano, where began the best, most fun (albeit it hard) run of my life.

On Sunday, I watched my best friend and training partner become a marathoner literally one step at a time and WE HAD THE BEST TIME!

(race recap coming up next…stay tuned!)

help is not a four letter word

I’m the first to admit that I used to SUCK at asking for help…and while I’m still not necessiarily good at it, I am, for the most part, ok with it. I am (mostly) ok with putting myself out there and being vulnerable enough to admit I cannot do something alone, and thus need back-up. But getting to this place…it took years.

So while I sit here tonight, as I have myriad nights in the past, and wonder why someone near and dear to me who needs help, won’t accept it…I am reminded I too, was once hesitant to do the same. The conditions surrounding my inability to ask for and believe I was worthy of receiving help don’t mirror those of my friend’s current situation; but our shoes are so closely sized, the heartache is palpable.

Despite my best efforts and the most well-intentioned heart, I cannot save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. It’s not the first time I’ve learned this lesson, and I’m quite sure it won’t be the last, but, I repeat, I cannot save someone who doesn’t want to be saved…at the end of the day, the only person I CAN save, is myself.

Last week, my youngest brother and I went to listen to Chris Herren share his story of recovery (go peep here: https://herrentalks.com/about/) and so much of what he said radiated deeply. That night though, after close to two-hours of listening, I wrote down just two things I wanted to be sure to take home with me. The first, I’ll hold close, the second I’ll share with you tonight: “sometimes you have to be ok with loving someone from a distance.” Hard truth. Full stop.

I’m reminded of that tonight, as I feel depleted and helpless. I’m reminded that just because help was refused…doesn’t mean I can’t love from afar in order to protect myself and hold hope. Hold on to the hope that, one day, in our society (for my friend) it won’t be so scary to ask for and accept help. One day, although HELP is a four letter word, it won’t be perceived as such.

Asking for help is ok.

Accepting help is ok.

Holding on to hope when HELP is too scary is ok.

I’ll keep on loving from afar, always.

Guest Post for Momentum Jewelry 💫

https://momentumjewelry.com/blogs/news/brooklyn-mom-on-the-run

Brooklyn Half Race Recap

“You’re insane!” – that’s the most popular phrase I’ve heard on repeat the past few days when I told people what time I planned to wake up for the Popular Brooklyn Half Marathon.  In case you were wondering, the answer was 3:30am.

But here’s the thing: I wasn’t alone, it wasn’t the first time, and it likely won’t be the last…although I may have sworn off of this particular race for logistical reasons (I also may have had my fingers crossed behind my back when I did).

When logistically the hardest part of your training cycle is getting to the start line the day of the race, it’s safe to say, you’ve done your training right.  I’ve just recently begun to create my own training plans for 13.1 mile cycles, this particular one began the day after I completed the NYC Half Marathon in March (which I ran for fun and did not race).  My plan focused on keeping a very solid weekly base (never below 20 miles), and slowing increasing my long runs week by week.  I incorporated yoga, some Peloton bike work, and of course, rest days.  Ninety percent of my long runs were done at a slow, conversational pace, my weekly runs varied a bit more, and I aimed to push myself about twice a week.  Living in Westchester, and knowing this course was predominatly down and flat, I didn’t stress about hills, as it’s nearly impossible to escape them here.  I poured 225 miles onto the pavement  in preparation to run thirteen-point-one.

Race day. 

I’ve already mentioned I woke up at 3:30am – insert anxiety – rolled over and turned off the alarm before it woke me up.  Looked out the bedroom window to the most amazing full moon and the brightest star.  Obviously, I made a wish…  Hopped into the shower, cause that’s always part of my race day routine, and was dressed and ready by 4:15am.  I kissed my husband goodbye; he replied with his staple “have a great race, be safe, love you!”

By 4:35am I’d met three members of my #runsquad (Sharon, Erin, and Lily) and we were happily on our way to B-R-O-O-K-L-Y-N!  The ride went by quickly, as we laughed, and told stories of how we’d never do this again, and then laughed again, cause we all knew that was likely not true.  We arrived in Brooklyn with the rising sun, and about 28,000 other running hopefuls.  Did I mention this was the POPULAR Brooklyn Half…they mean it!

 

The first thing we do upon departing the car (after Erin and I douse our fair Irish skin with sunblock) was set out to the nearest Starbucks and will locked doors to open at 6am, with hopes of a bathroom that wasn’t a porta-potty.  Alas, this particular Starbucks opened at 6:30am (I mean, seriously Brooklyn?!), we were OUT of luck; porta-potty here we come.  We march towards the security gates, whilst still on the lookout for other parts of our run squad (PJ, Loretta, and Paola) and make our way to the never-short-bathroom-line.  We tell more running laced stories, tie shoes tighter, stretch, and remind ourselves of pacing goals as we wait.  PJ, Erin’s cousin finds us, it’s his very first race EVER – his bright eyes are hopeful reminders that anything can happen out there.  His excitement is both refreshing and encouraging.  A short while later, Loretta finds us, and we all excitedly talk about how the weather gods have blessed us, with the most perfect day for a 13.1 run.  We remind each other to have fun, and enjoy the race, we hug and split off into our respective corrals.

 

Loretta and I remain together in corral J, and within minutes Paola finds us…it’s truly amazing that in a literal sea of runners, you can still find “your people” when you need to.  We stand and chat some more, the 7am race start time has come and gone, yet moving we are not.  This isn’t unusual however, as unless your an elite runner, you never actually start a 7am New York Road Runner race at 7am.  I begin to get myself settled into my space, plug in my headphones, stretch a little bit more, remind myself of the goal I’d set long before this morning came (Goal A – 1:52, Goal B – 1:55, Goal C – 1:56:15), and then I looked up again to see another familiar face: The Bad Ass Lady Gang Leader herself, Kelly Roberts!

Bad Ass Lady Gang Leader and Me!

For those of you who don’t know who she is, I will insert this link, and leave you to explore her awesomeness: https://shecanandshedid.com/aboutkelly.  Seeing Kelly, was the last sign I needed before I ATTACKED this race with all I had.  I walked up to her, told her she was my good luck charm, snapped a selfie, and knew this race was MINE.  #shebelievedshecouldsoshedid

 

 

Having run this race last year, and knowing my real goal was to beat last year’s personal record (PR) time of 1:56:16, even if it meant by 1 second,  I quickly grew comfortable in my Brooks and Balegas.  Where I normally don’t feel warmed-up until mile 5 or 6, I was good to go from the start, that being said, the start is a nearly one mile downhill, so ya know there’s that.  The miles began to tick by quickly, and my positivity laced playlist sent sweet motivational melodies into my ear-pods (yes, of course, song one was the Beastie Boys’ “No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn”).  Mile splits – 8:31, 8:37, 8:06, 8:26, 8:31, 8:40…that’s it, I’m out of the thick of it, all the big hills are behind me, but can that be I think to myself.  I’m on track to pull something off I didn’t think I could, and I felt good, like really, really good.

Some will find this next part hard to believe, but I had a harder time running the second half of this course, as it was technically net downhill, and mostly flat.  I wouldn’t say that I love hills, but I do love that they provide an opportunity for my legs to shift muscles, and balance the work between hamstrings, quads, and glutes…I am not a proficient flat runner, at all.  Yet I know if I can hold on to my current average pace of 8:29ish I can pull off my A goal, better yet I might be able to surpass it!  8:11, 8:29, 8:18, 8:13, 8:25 – I keep thinking to myself how am I doing this, my feet begin to hurt a little bit and its getting hotter with sun beating down, but aside from being out of water in my personal bottle, I am still felling ok.  Better than ok.

Between mile 11 and 12, I veer right and grab for a water cup to dump into my own bottle, my pace hiccups at 8:31, and I know I’m so close to the end.  The last 2 miles are hard, my legs are tired, I am hot and the toll of the day is beginning to weigh on me…but I was NOT about to slow, I was too close. My last mile was an 8:14 and the last 200 yards of the race were my slowest, but even with that, I crossed the line of the POPULAR Brooklyn Half Marathon with a 1:51:04 and an average pace of 8-freaking-28.

I’m still not sure how I pulled it off; if it was the star I’d wished on that morning, the amazing support of my husband and sons and their go-mommy-go good luck video, the network of running buddies who shouldered my hopes and dreams with as much importance as their own, the Kelly Roberts selfie, my Momentum Jewelry motivational wraps, my brother’s initial ring (GWP…wear it every race), the perfect weather, the POPULAR course…my theory is this: sometimes it’s just your day, and if you never give up, it’s bound to happen more than once.

Thank you Brooklyn…I might be back next year (don’t laugh girls!)