Look, you almost can't tell that I was in a coma! Majo's friend Hong snapped three pictures of me, one harmless one in profile as I was nearing the finish line on the boardwalk, and two post-race. This is the only one of the two that I can show, because I am bawling in the other one and, as it turns out, I am not one of those people who cries artfully, one lone sepia-tinted tear sliding down my cheek, eyes gleaming. My eyes are squeezed shut, and look like I am .5 seconds away from taking a dump. It is seriously one of the most unflattering pictures of all time. I suppose if you are so inclined you can go on Facebook and get to the album and find it, though I promptly de-tagged myself.
Hey, I am a sap, and finishing the race was emotionally charged, I say! Hong actually had to be pretty quick to catch me teary, too, because I only let myself get that way for a few seconds before exhaustion set in and I just wanted to hobble to the baggage claim area and turn in my racing chip. Saturday was lined up so that I had practically no time for self-reflection, 13 miles of running notwithstanding. While other participants stayed behind to have some beers and Nathan's hot dogs, the F train and I had to skedaddle to the best of our snail-like abilities so I could get home, shower, and take six advil. Then it was on to a 3:00 bachelorette party that involved an ill-fated pole dancing class that--while so much fun-- had me feeling about as lithe and sexy as a geriatric lowering herself into a bathtub, and then a full night of dinner and drinking and dancing and refraining from setting my ex-boyfriend on fire (kidding. Look alive, Somerset!)
Consequently, I've been an emotional wreck the past few days. I don't know if it's the initial letdown of not having something to prepare for any longer or that now for the first time since the accident I can let my defenses down, but it's a strange feeling.
I also don't know that I have it in me to work toward a full marathon in the near future, but even if I hold out until next year's Brooklyn half and simply go for five or six mile runs a few times a week, I definitely picked up valuable insight for the next go-around:
1) take stretching and icing seriously during the whole training process or pay the consequences. I started to slack on both fronts, and I ended up tacking at least 10 minutes on my target race time due to walking one mile after a predictable knee revolt in Mile 11. I was lucky I was able to resume running in mile 12 to finish the race, but in retrospect, how stupid: if I had just taken a few more minutes before each training run to properly prepare my legs, I'm guessing it wouldn't have been as great of an issue.
2) never assume that just because you're a newbie, you must be the only person out of 9 thousand something who struggled. I was shocked to read on the Brooklyn running blogs near unanimous agreement that what should have been the easiest part of the race--the almost perfectly flat Ocean Parkway from miles 7 to 12.5--was much harder than Prospect Park and its hilly terrain simply because it was so damn boring and endless. Most of these people are seasoned runners, too, and here they had the exact same complaint about fatigue setting in. Mind boggling! Made me feel a whole lot more relieved, almost like I had "permission" to admit I had a hard time, which is so silly. We're all human.
3) races for the non-elite runners don't look like they do on TV, i.e, it's
okay to actually stop at the water stations and guzzle the Gatorade/aqua and then resume running, instead of pretending you are on an episode of Double Dare by grabbing the cup off of the table while still running, dumping it somewhere in the vicinity of your mouth, and praying you don't break your neck. I must have looked like a giant tool.
4) Kleenex in your sports bra are not going to stay dry, negating their purpose and resulting in the discovery of dozens of tiny spit balls, clinging barnacle-like to the underside of your boobs. Gross!
5) Having friends cheering for you on the sidelines is hands-down better than no one at all. I am so thankful for Cory, Mama, Meghan and Karen for patiently sticking around to watch me circle the park not one but TWO times. I was grinning ear-to-ear, and yes, now that I think about it, maybe crying a little out of appreciation here too. I have wonderful friends.
6) Work on crying more artfully.
So the cow panda went and broke her awesome cow collar that everyone loved, and in a rush for a replacement, Matt bought her a rather uninspiring, simple black collar. It gets the job done but is entirely too severe and masculine--so Matt's given me carte blanche to pick out something more suitable. Cory has vetoed a pink Hello Kitty collar, much to my staged chagrin, but I think something snazzy and red would contrast nicely with her black and white hair, or also something with pigs on it, piggy being her other nickname.
