I flew to Philadelphia on Friday afternoon just moments after completing a grueling six week stint of teaching. While enroute, I contemplated how different my preparations for this one had been. I had plenty of time to think as my plane sat on the ground for three hours before it took off. This was the first marathon I'd ever trained for through injury. I did recover in time to get 2 more 20 plus mile runs in late October and my injured psoas was barely noticeable so my confidence was restored. I set my sights on a sub 3:50 marathon. I had decided to run Philadelphia because of Joan Osborne's suggestion and my friend Aron Jaffe had just moved there and I 'd promised him that I would run his first one with him. Aron met me at the airport and drove us directly a unique bar in Center City. We entered Cafe Limbo and were greeted by a slender man in skin-tight leather clothes, a small cap and a spiked dog collar around his neck. Spike showed us to our table where we encountered our waitress. She had her head shaved, had numerous nose and ear rings, red overalls and a black leather halter top. She was indeed an excellent server and delivered our veggie burgers and pale ales without delay. While the alternative music throbbed around us, the bar filled with an assortment of some of the most attractive people I had ever seen. I congratulated Aron on his choice of venue and excellent pre-marathon planning. At Aron's Spartan flat near the University, I became aquatinted with my roommate, Kabush, the 4-foot-long iguana. She was fascinated as I prepared Gatorade and sampled it with her long forked tongue. Fortunately the reptile chose not to curl up with me on the air mattress.
On Saturday we had a short warm up jog around the Penn campus. Then after driving the course, we went to Memorial Hall for the marathon expo. Memorial Hall is a beautiful old structure built in 1876 as the art exhibition hall for the Centennial Exposition. It is in the heart of Fairmont Park, the largest metropolitan park in the US, 3rd largest in the world. The park stretches along the Schuykill River extending from the zoo near the University all the way to the Northeast corner of Philadelphia, almost to New Jersey. About 2/3rds of the marathon course wound its way through this sculpture-filled park, with historic sites such as Boat House Row and ante-bellum mansions. Saturday night we went to a pot-luck Thanksgiving Dinner with grad students, faculty and post-docs from Penn, and had a mighty carbo-loading feast. We made it home early and I slept fitfully on the deflating air mattress and had the dream.
The dream: I was a cross between a feral animal and a Navy Seal. I had a black tanktop, fatigue pants and my skin was darkened with charcoal. The territory I was defending was at the foot of ominous cliffs on the edge of an abyss. The territories on either side were defended by Joe Powers and Dan Danielson. I was nervous and kept running back and forth on the perimeter of my territory, anxious for the enemy. Finally the enemy massed on the cliffs above. The time for the battle was at hand. Before I ran off to face battle Joe told me to "prepare my mind" and Dan said "the weather is the weather."
It was a beautiful day for running a marathon. When we got up early on Sunday it was in the low 40's and clear. By race start it was 45 and partly sunny. We met up with Joan Osborne and the Fast Track runners and agreed on our strategy. My plan was to go out at 9 min. pace, pick up the pace after a few miles to 8:30, then finish strong. My strategy was based on a principal of yoga which teaches us not to try for the maximum stretch at first, or you will never reach it, but to start easy and gradually increase the stretch. In the end you will have stretched far further than you would ever have believed possible. Aron wanted to run 3:30, but agreed to start slow then pick up the pace more quickly. When the race started we were within 20 feet of the front. We did the 1st mile at 8:30, the 2nd at 8 and Joan and Aron took off. I had been focusing all week on not going out too fast, and was sure with Joan's wisdom and guidance I would be able to maintain a slow steady starting pace-- but no, she and Aron took off like rabbits. As soon as I detected the change in their plans I throttled back and ran the first 9 or so miles at 8:15 pace. It felt so good that I decided my goal of 3:50 was not nearly ambitious enough and that I would hold this pace, pick it up later, and breeze to the finish. These sort of thoughts often haunt the early stages of marathon before the reality of running 26.2 miles settles in. The early miles wound through downtown Philly, around Independence Square and up South Street. The only spectators were homeless people and we had to stop and fill water cups ourselves. But it was cool, dry and historic, so who cared.
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The first challenge came at about mile 9 when we passed the zoo and headed up into Fairmont Park. It was major hill by Chicago standards, a non-hill to runners from places with topography. We snaked around Memorial Hall through the horticultural center and past the Japanese house which featured beautiful landscaping and authentic 17th century architecture. It had warmed to 50 and the slanted morning sun was pleasantly warm but not hot. I was feeling great, so strong and smooth when we came to a big downhill out of the park down to West River drive along the Schuykill River. I let my self run out and went with gravity. I was relaxed and ran down the hill covering mile 11 to 12 at sub 8 minute pace. When I hit level ground I felt the sharp stabbing pain in my groin-- striding out downhill had aggravated my injury. My psoas tied up and impeded my right knee lift so I shuffled along for about 5 miles. I met some gents from Delaware who told me that I passed them at Ben Franklin's grave. They asked where I was from and kept referring to me as "Chicago". By mile 17 the pain had subsided and I began to push the pace. We hung together running about 8:30 until about mile 19. As we neared Manayunk and ascended another hill, the Delaware boys pulled ahead of me. By mile 19 I was running alone along Kelly drive, no spectators and few runners. But in Manayunk, a village along the river, the streets were lined with spectators and it was festive. Nothing like a few cheers to spark you up. Despite the hills in Manayunk, I made the turn around at mile 20 and was feeling pretty strong. The long down hill out of the village was a relief and I was pushing the pace. At mile 22 I began to chant "22 miles and still going strong, 22 miles and still going strong." I breezed past the Delaware boys who yelled "go Chicago". They must have thought I was delirious. Perhaps I was.
A marathon is not a vision quest, but it is an illuminating experience. I entered the mystical zone about mile 24. My pace dropped to a crawl, I began to experience intense discomfort and the mere 2 miles to the finish seemed an insurmountable objective. As I struggled I began to breath deep, pushing my stomach in and out, trying to "belly breathe." I reached deep into my tool kit to find what ever I could to help propel me to the finish. Yoga thoughts of the suitcase handle on my chest pulling me forward, concentrating on form, keeping erect, breathing, swinging my arms, pushing my aching tired body forward-- whatever I could do to finish. I commented to myself that a marathon is really a very hard thing to do. But it is at that moment, when you want to stop, to walk, to quit, to give up-- but don't-- that defines the marathon experience. The pain is both physical and mental. Mile 25 lasts forever; it seems like a whole marathon yet to run, though the finish is only a few minutes away. I told myself that this one was nearly finished, that I should savor these last few moments of exquisite anguish because soon I will see the finish line and it will be over. Then I experienced that moment of intense clarity. All the training paid off, the mental gymnastics and physical effort of the past 3 hours and 50 minutes propelled me to this point and a huge rush of energy exploded inside me and I kicked, sprinting the last 50 yards to the finish line. As soon as I crossed the line and stopped, my legs went rubber as I clicked my watch off. A volunteer righted me, put the medal around my neck, wrapped the foil around me and walked me to the water. "Drink!" she commanded.
I was woozy for only a few moments. The water restored me. I checked my watch, 3:51:20. A PR! I realize I should feel elated with the time, but I mostly just felt tired and a little disappointed not to have broken 3:50. I found Aron in the medical tent. He ran an enviable time of 3:42, but his first marathon experience was punctuated by intense blistering. Just like my last marathon, I ran this one with a first time marathoner who ended the race in the medical tent.
When we arrived at the start in the morning I made an off-hand comment to Aron and suggested that after the marathon was over that I could run to the top of the stairs of the art museum just like Rocky. He reminded me of this suggestion. So, with my medal flapping against my chest, I ran up the stairs, and raised both my hands triumphantly when I crested the top. I was sorry Rocky's statue had been relocated because I could hear the Rocky music pounding in my ears. Nevertheless, it seemed to take fifteen minutes to walk back down the stairs.