Nothing like waking up at 5 am after 2nd shift to drive to Boston to catch a flight to MIA for... the very first marathon.
Fact: There's a Miami Convention Center, and then there's a Miami Beach Convention Center. The right one requires a school bus that meets at a 5 dollar petting zoo(mind you, Kevin has a mustache and is on a public school bus) that'll transport you to the right one which took an hour but was worth it for the simple fact that we walked in to Will Smith singing "Welcome to Miami". We had to jet to Tre to have a early bird-esque 5 pm pasta dinner and a keg of water as the manager alerted us we were in the middle of a pub crawl/club with blaring DJ music. He also told us good luck and even had the chef come out to ask us how the food was.
One CVS trip to load up on water and it was time to sleep facing the noisiest street. A fear of sleeping through my alarm woke me up on the hour, every hour (this is probably some sort of literary thing like an irony).
Race (Early) Morning:
Humidity/ low pressure headache + 9 hours of sleep in the past 2 nights left me feeling the same as that time I travelled to Hong Kong. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw an Aaron that I hadn't seen since the only time I pulled an all-nighter. Zombie Tang was visibly nervous for the first time at a race. I knew coming in you can't fake your way through a race let alone a marathon. This was the best training/ running span I've had for 6 months and I still felt scared. It definitely helped that before the race started, Knapp recognized this and said to just have fun which I took to heart and it helped me adjust my mindset at the half way point.
Pre Race:
The team of 8 runners assembled in the lobby at 5 and walked the 0.4 miles to the start. We were fortunate enough to break in a hidden set of portapotties with no lines (This is turning in to a new team skill). On the way, we spotted Coat Man, (relative of Day Man?) a guy wearing a coat with flag football flags off the coat, sunglasses, a mustache?, and a platter with a champagne bottle taped to it; this was to be Kevin in the future if he left his mustache on forever.
After a quick team picture before the sun rose, we all lined up in our respective corrals. Lauren and I were facing the American Airlines Arena and the
Freedom Tower (the yellow tower) in corral E for 30 minutes until the race actually started. Ms. 5 hour energy took my mind off the race for at least a little bit. Our corral began snaking it's way to the starting line where I nervously tied my shoes again and Lauren ran to the bathroom pre-race.
Race/ Sticking to Goal A:
As we crossed the starting line around 6:15, one thing was clear: people do not know how to assess their estimated finish times. There were walking hordes for the first 5 miles or so and I tried desperately not to weave in and out. Runners with the race shirt on (race fashion faux pas) were the red shirts from Star Trek as they were used as targets to pass along the way. I did shoot for open pockets for unencumbered running whenever I could but would eventually find a wall of human impeding my way. My GPS watch (thanks, parents) would let me know I was any where from 11:00 minute pace to finally reaching my goal of 9:15 pace. By running based on goal pace and not effort, I hoped to put myself at goal and hopefully click in to pace at the halfway point.
Let me say, crossing the bridge towards South Beach with the sun rising and Empire of the Sun's "Walking on A Dream" on the headphones, wow. Whenever my body wasn't actively breaking down, I looked around and soaked the surroundings all in.
The water stations. This has been a sore subject for the runners I spoke to outside of the team. There were a couple stations that flip flopped where the Gatorade and water were, thankfully the cups corresponded with what drinks were hidden inside. This is always an issue but this race brought on a new onslaught of potential problems: water bags. Yes, water bags.
In theory, it's a great idea: you can hold it longer, no water spills out, you can spray it on yourself during the run, just rip the top corner like a grenade.
What actually happened: a slew of water bags tossed in our direction helped to recreate what it's like to surf under a wave while on land. People I talked to said they got tagged by essentially non-explodable water balloons. But wait, there's more. Step on one of these bad boys and it's loud gun shot noise, insta-puddle with lawsuit written all over it, like a grenade.
I would say if you did a Ctrl + F of my thoughts during this race, you'd find the words "brutal" and "dog fight" as 50% of the words in there as these two words swirled over and over again in my brain.
Reaching the half way point, I remember the crowd getting louder, the restaurant we ate at last night popped up, and Wiz Khalifa's "Black and Yellow" blaring on my ipod. The half way point, temptation crept in and the thought of shutting it down here felt like such a great idea.
The 7 Stages of Grief:
I put myself at the half way point within goal time with a 2:00:33 half way point. The problem was that I was red lining the whole way since my HR monitor had me at my max the whole way.
I needed an all out miracle and they were fresh out at the mile 13 marker. I knew I had nothing left, quads were blown out and stage 1 of grief hit me with shock and denial that today wasn't going to be sub 4 followed by stage 2, pain, literally hitting me . Stage 3 of bargaining with pacing kept me doing mental math on the fly with "maybe I'll see 4:15 if I drop my pace to XX:XX, which turned in to 4:20, then 4:25..."
Stage 4 of loneliness set in as I was pondering how much a taxi ride would be until I realized I had no money on me and the fact the whole city was closed. That sweet medal? Ok with not getting one. It was walk for a minute, run/jog, repeat. Goals were changing on the fly, the brain was working on a makeshift definition of what completing a marathon should be.
My chest hurt and I was perplexed as to why until I glanced down to realize my shirt had a patch of blood on the right side from what I had thought I was immune to: chafing of the nipple, at an Andy Bernard like-level. It may have been the obscene humidity/ soaked shirt throughout or the fact I used a brand new shirt (a racing no-no).
I had to take off my shirt to ease the pain and tried tying it around my neck but finally resorted to wearing it somewhat like a scarf around my neck. All the sweat and water bag showers helped wash out of my running shirt the most embarrassing blood I've bled to date.
Stage 5 of positivity returning came as I jogged past a tall walker with what looked like a gun shot wound in his lower back. It was not until this walker shouted at me did I realize it was Kevin, who apparently laid in a pool of blood? while stretching during the race.
We lamented and shared our experience and kept each other going, spilling in to stage 6 of rebuilding and making sure we finished alive instead of worrying about the pipe dream we had of finishing sub 4. Despite all these obstacles, I was smiling ear to ear, most likely delirious. During this time, a group of female supporters with funny signs in black forced Kevin and I to run during our bottoming out of sorts.
Stage 7 came when near the end of the bridge, a black cop said to us that no matter how we finish, just finish. At this point we had done an obscene amount of walking so I could do nothing but agree audibly and laugh. Especially considering two grown men walking, one with a mustache and another with no shirt and a HR monitor on that doubles as an A-cup bra. I feel like that trio is the start of a bar joke: "So a cop, a shirtless asian, and a mustached man walk in to a bar..."
Somewhere in there, I finally felt what I had so naively thought would never happen to me in that I hit the wall around mile 23. I had 2 granola bars in the gas tank and even then, I felt my stomach growling and everything stopping. Such a strange feeling. Whenever we'd try to run, my left calf would cramp up and my legs just stopped.
The last mile:
As we neared the end and there were more people cheering, Kevin told me a couple miles out that he'd run the last mile. I really felt like I had nothing left but the shot of adrenaline and the fact that we could turn this last mile in to somewhat of a race and recover any dignity in our "race", I tried my hardest to catch up to Kevin and as the final 0.2 miles arrived, I caught up with him to his surprise as he did his best Jason Terry impression at pumping up the crowd as I had my hand on my ear and had my other fist pumping. I finished to U2's "Beautiful Day" and Grand National's "Talk Amongst Yourselves (Sasha remix)".
Post-race:
The rendezvous point was at the designated butt of the only statue near the finish line. Since we finished 45 minutes after our goal time, Sean was not there and was busy packing due to check out time closing in. It's a good thing Kevin and I finished together or I would never have hobbled back to the hotel on time.
That was the hardest and most rewarding medal to earn. Upper body held up thanks to lifting during the training. My quads, the part behind my left knee, and the fact my legs sometimes stop when I am walking means a break from running for a bit. While thankfully I never had to use the restroom during the race (shockingly), I went afterwards and basically peed out apple juice even though I took every water station and hit them hard in the second half of the race. Dehydration is no joke.
My body basically shut down for a day, I was surprisingly not hungry and had to force food down knowing that I should eat after a marathon. I was in some strange state of limbo that required no food.
I checked in to the Beacon Hotel on South Beach at 3 pm(great service there, would go back), watched Bulls-Heat and Spurs-Mavs and laid in bed until breakfast the next day. Walked around the next day, had coconut water, a cuban sandwich and a banana shake and chatted it up at the Clevelander with some fellow marathon runners from Atlanta with IT band problems too; running, the international language of pain.
GPS Watch:
Helpful in pacing (if you can't pace aka me).
Unfortunately, I should have gone out based on effort instead and maybe that could have saved me from blowing up multiple times.
It told me I was redlining the whole way at around 171 bpm.
I now walk around like a Thriller music video extra thanks to the race. Walking downstairs? OUCH. Activities of Daily Living just went out the window post-race.
Despite the huge divide between expectations and reality, I am ready to tackle another marathon.
Race notes:
Miami's likes: coconut water, clubbing, DJs, and artesian water.
Enjoyed the pineapples and random strawberries at some water stops.
Miami is a party at all times; I went to zero clubs yet saw 2 DJs before the sun went down; the race and at the restaurant before dinner.
Rejected race report title:
Red Badge of Courage-in reference to the chafing
Now part of the 1%-referring to the # of people who complete a marathon in their lifetime
Notes for the next race:
-Arrive at a destination race 2-3 days ahead to get used to the weather/ sleeping situation
-Don't work 2nd shift the night before
