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

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!)

Guest Post for Momentum Jewelry 💫

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

• silence is golden •

I haven’t blogged since December, and for a long time it bothered me a lot; like a lot, a lot. I thought about it far more than I’d like to admit (full disclosure: in the beginning, it consumed me), and still, no matter how hard I tried, I didn’t/couldn’t find words to share. I’d sit in front of the screen, at the blinking cursor, sometimes for hours, and wonder why the thing that used to come so easily, had seemingly dried up.

Then it clicked…silence is ok & it doesn’t have to be forever.

When I launched this blog, my timeline was self-invented, I was my own boss, and my audience were mostly (all) those nearest and dearest to me. I wasn’t being paid to share my thoughts, and I wasn’t going to loose friends or family if I didn’t get words onto the screen…it was in fact, ok to be silent; more than ok even. Had I forced, or spilled words onto the screen, I would have jeopardized what I’d worked hard to create; an honest and transparent space to share a little bit of me with you.

The last blog I posted here spoke at length about an intangible loss; one immeasurable by any means familiar to me: intangible things I’d been muted. Silenced as an instructor. The little-motivational-engine-that-could deep inside of me, was stuck 1/2 way up the hill, and it sucked.

But, in time I’ve come to realize; in silence there is growth. I can now say, I am thankful for having had the opportunity to pause, even when I didn’t choose to, and to evaluate where I was and where I want to be. I am now moving onward and upward, loud and clear!

My voice is coming back, on my own terms, and this time I won’t allow anyone to push mute.

shared successes & happy tears

Perhaps one of the most unique gifts running has bestowed upon me, is the realization that finish lines can be crossed from miles away. They can be crossed from the comfort of your own couch. They can be crossed as you wait for another friend to meet you at the end of a race. They can be crossed states and oceans away…

In my brief stint as a runner to date, (it’s only been three years) I’ve crossed the finish line of 49 races independently. But vicariously, and because I’m blessed with so many close friends who also run, I’ve crossed countless others from afar. Just today, I “crossed the line” of the Philadelphia Marathon while making lunch for my kids!

The whole story is not mine to tell; the pace, the specifics within each mile, the thoughts that went through my friends head…not my own, but his finish, his finish brought me right back to my very own first marathon finish. And so, today we came to share a success story that only 1% of the world can call their own.

When I finished my first marathon last year, (after my husband’s text) it was this friend’s text that came through right away, saying simply “I’m so proud of you!” He was with me that day, before he knew he’d run his own marathon, he crossed the finish line of mine.

When I ran NYC again just two weeks ago, I journeyed down to the starting line with 4 dear friends, each with their own amazing story to tell. Two were running their very first marathons ever, another had had NYC on her bucket list since she was a little girl growing up in the very boroughs we were about to traverse, and the last, had overcome physical barriers that many would have deemed impossible (not her!) in order to toe the line.

Not one of us crossed the finish line at the same time, not one of us shared any of the same stories over 26.2 miles, yet that day, in NYC two weeks ago, I crossed the finish line not once, but 5 times. When in receipt of each of those special “I finished” text messages my heart swelled with pride and tears of joy sprang to my eyes; their finish line stories now permanently woven into my own.

I got to vicariously run the Boston Marathon this year; watching my tracking app with a sharp eye as my dear friends got closer and closer to the finish, and again tearing up with pride when they finished! I also got to “run” the Marine Corps Marathon just a few weeks ago, when again two dear running friends towed the line. Four more “finishes” and four more reasons to feel blessed to be a part of this community I’ve come to call home.

Running is a unique sport; it encourages the celebration of your own success stories, while enabling you to celebrate those beside you, behind you, and in front of you. The successes of others never dampen you own, in fact, if your very lucky, the successes of others, continue to heighten your own!

the marathon in the middle

I would be lying if I said that I couldn’t wait to get a race recap up onto the blog, and to be honest I’m still not, so for now, I’m sharing just a little bit of my “marathon in the middle” story.

I ran my first NYC Marathon last year, and officially became a marathoner, afterwards, I was legitimately on top of the world for what seemed like weeks on end.  I rode that marathon high for every ounce of what it was worth; capitalizing on the feel good vibes, and pushing myself to run back to back 5k PRs just 2 short weeks after the marathon. But here’s the (potentially) dangerous thing about a first-time-marathon runner’s high, it can trick you into overlooking the importance of recovery…as it tempts you with its splendour.

Those weeks directly after a marathon, are a super important time to allow your body to rest and recover.  This certainly doesn’t mean you need to set up camp on the couch for good; but a nice 1-2 week hiatus from running is probably a (very) good idea.  Last year, I pushed myself to run again too soon, I own that; I was back running just 4 short days after NYC.  Running that soon (for me) wasn’t smart, and set me up for a 2018 fraught with injury after injury.  However, while that marathon running high last year, pushed me to do some silly things, also ignited a fire deep inside of me, that crushed my “one and done” marathon theory.  January rolled around quickly, and I literally threw my name into the lottery pool for 2018 as soon as it opened.  I then, as everyone who enters to pool does, crossed my fingers and toes until drawing day in February.  Alas, I didn’t get in (Adjusting the sails) but since the desire to run again was so strong, I quickly set my sights on fundraising for Team Answer the Call.

Fast forward to this past Sunday, November 4, 2018, when I ran my second NYC marathon in 4:29:33 (5 minutes slower than my 2017 time…no worries, I’m ok with it, mostly, I’m mostly ok with it).  My training for this year was very similar to last, both had me running about 450 miles total in 16 weeks time…but this year I had all those pesky injuries to contend with, and also had my sights on running 9+1 (run 9 runs with New York Road Runners and volunteer for 1 event) to gain entry to the 2019 marathon.  Insert craziness here, and again, I own it, all of it.  The running bug has got it’s hold on me GOOD.

But enough about the how I got into races, and how I set myself up to run 3 back to back NYC Marathons…let’s get to this past Sunday, and my marathon in the middle.  Sunday’s race didn’t have the splendour of my very first marathon,  and it may not have the gusto (fingers crossed 2019) of my last, what it had was the simplicity of being smack dab in the middle of a first chance and a last hoorah.  It was my place holder marathon, but of course being the freaking NYC MARATHON – it was an EPIC place holder!

Now to be fair and honest, I went into Sunday with hopes of a time (yes, of course a time faster than my 4:24 in 2017) in which I would cross the finish line…and for a lot of the race, that time seemed to be an actual, plausible possibility.  But then around mile 18, 19 or 20, I honestly can’t remember, it slipped away, and, I was ok with it, like actually 100% fine.  The end of the marathon is always the hardest part, no matter who you are, and on Sunday, I was let that pain slow me down instead of propel me forward.  I allowed my physical to trump my mental game, and felt a significant sense of relief wash over me as I did.

I started to slow my pace even more, and took several walking breaks.  I put on a brave smile for a photographer stationed on the damn floor of mile 25 **really NYRR –  a low photographer at mile 25…OUCH!**  I hydrated more, and then finally, texted my husband “I’m fading”…with love he responded: “YOU GOT THIS BABE!!!! LAST MILE…ALMOST HOME!!!”  So close.  It hit then, the reality of it sunk in, I didn’t have the finish I hoped for, but, amazingly I was completely OK with it.   I still had 2019 in my back pocket as my moonshot for NYC, and so when I crossed that line I smiled one big, fat, I did it (again) smile and snapped a selfie, cause it tasted SO DAMN GOOD!

I’ll be back again next year NY, injury free, and READY…and then, you’re MINE!