With one target down, I'm now searching for a new target run. In the not-too-distant future, I hope.
There is a 10 mile Cherry Blossom Run on April 1st that I'm signed up for. That promises to be a great run. Sakura season is my favorite time here!
And our running group is already talking of the Rock n Roll Half-Marathon in Virginia Beach. That's Labor Day. Do-able, of course, but way too far. Fred, the coach, says try a half-marathon, so I think I'll try one.
So here's a question to Voxers...
Any suggestions for half-marathons in the VA, DC, MD area in the next couple of months? 10Ks?
Thanks!
The rubber has hit the road, and what a road it was! A drenched, soggy, slushy, puddle-filled road that stretched twenty-six miles but seemed like a million. But I’m going ahead of myself..
It’s been over a couple of weeks since the Miami Marathon, and I’m just writing this report.. Aside from being a rather reluctant runner, I’ve been somewhat reluctant blogger as well. Oh well. This blog post is a rather long one, if only for my own purposes.
The Preamble
For a race start of 6:10 am, you wake up at 3:30 or some such unearthly
hour. Fortunately, I was helped by a trans-atlantic call from a friend.
This is the time that I sleep most soundly. It is *not* a time for
stretching, carb-loading, hot shower and rubbing the crusties out of
your eyes, all of which I found myself doing. The excitement of it all
was enough to wake me up. In retrospect, it was a good thing to have
stretched this early, for as it turned out, all the heavens broke loose
that morning.
It pours in Miami, something we all were aware of. Yet, nobody in the group thought of packing a poncho. After a quick gathering at 5 am, the entire group ambled its way a few blocks down to the American Airlines Arena in downtown. It was drizzling lightly; people huddled together under any available palm trees that gave them shelter. It was an odd sight. Runners dressed in all the running paraphernalia complete with accessories - headphones, waist pouches, water bottles, camel backs, caps, goggles, headbands, etc. Odd because it was still pitch dark, and now it started raining heavily.
Our running group went together to the starting point where large, black, stadium-sized speakers were playing music too loudly and a voice blared out exactly how exciting it was to be running on this exciting day. If anyone wasn’t awake by then, they surely were now, and quite annoyed, to boot. We had tacitly agreed to run together, so we stayed together. Still, it was hard to make out who was who. Almost everyone was dressed in yellow singlets, shorts or the orange-white t-shirt, and literally huddled together like shivering squirrels in a tropical rain. And what a downpour it was! For a moment, I thought I was back in the monsoon season in Bombay. Shirts soaked, socks soaked and whatever dryness one could salvage in this tropical rain was appropriately taken care of by the large puddles. In short, totally soaked shoes. If you’ve ever run while in shower, you’d know how it feels.
The Start
After what seemed like an interminable wait, the crowds began to move. Slowly at first. Soon we were over the MacArthur causeway that connects to Miami Beach. And what a sight it was! A sea of people crossing the ocean en masse in darkness. On the right several cruise liners stood tall and majestic, with their shimmering purple lights. The downtown skyline dotted the vista. The sheer energy of the moment was breathtaking. It made up for the early start, the rain and the hundreds of people crowing in front.
My group pretty much kept to the pace. We took our short walks at
designated intervals and it seemed rather silly to be doing so when
everyone was running. That was the plan and so it was. After about
20-30 minutes, the rain stopped. The official cap I was wearing was
very handy in keeping the rain out of my face. It was good to be
running.. it was just a tad cold, but not too much.
We weaved into Miami Beach. By the time we crossed mile 4, we were
entering South Beach territory. SoBe looked a lot like Bombay. Lots of
palm trees, high rises on one side, wide roads, and lots of people!
Most of them had come out for cheering the runners. Water stands were
crowded, with hundreds of paper and plastic cups littering the road.
Runners waiting in line for the port-a-loos or jiffy-johns; some smalls
bands playing in one corner. Others singing or loudly cheering. It
looked like a festival of people with us starring. It looked a little
bizarre.
Bizarrer still was a sight to behold. Four ladies dressed in nothing but near-nude glittering, shimmering dancing clothes — if one could call them those — doing a Rio-style samba to a catchy tune. That put a extra spring in the step. M, one of the group’s more vocal members, shouted “Yeah, now that’s entertainment. We need them at every mile!”. I shook my head. Where in the world could you find samba dancers at 7 in the morning?
Such happy thoughts abounded until we reached mile 10 on the Venetian Causeway, heading back into Miami area. Energy was still high, and it was time to do the next 10 miles. Change of pace to a slightly faster one.
The Pain
By this time the sun was out and it was getting hot. We doused ourselves with water to keep our bodies cool. It was now quite fun to do that. Yet, the shoes were still soggy from soaked socks. I felt a pain in my toes as they bumped against the front of the shoes. The 2-week old shoes were slightly loose, and the soggy socks had made it difficult to maintain proper traction. As a result my feet kept sliding inside the shoes.
A couple of miles along the way, a pain shot up my right knee. I stopped, felt the knee. It looked all right. I stretched for a moment and ran again. It was nearing the half-marathon mark. Bands played tunes, people cheered in the streets. Susan’s family showed up to cheer. Her brother had a couple of bags of salty chips and all of us quickly snatched handfuls of it, thankful for some food other than the sweet gu. It was a big outdoor party.
The road split into two: the left for half-marathoners, straight for the full. Soon after the split, it seemed only a handful of people remained in the race. It looked as if the race dried up. My right knee / leg ached again. I slowed down, then picked up speed again. I was running without a running watch (!) so had to rely on others for pace info.
Another couple of miles later, the pain got worse. I stopped for a minute, and stretched. The knee flexed correctly; nothing seemed broken, so I started slowly. Each step felt like a struggle. The left leg seemed perfect, just the right one had some trouble. Managing to run slower, I signaled the group to go ahead and ran behind, slower.
The right leg, which had been aching a couple of weeks before even if mildly so, had been a bit of a trouble. I was hoping it would behave, and so had reduced my exercise intensity to pretty much light cross-training for a couple of weeks during the taper phase. Now these cramps and aches were the last thing I needed.
After another couple of miles or so, it was quite painful. I found it hard to run, although walking was okay. So I decided to fast-walk, and get some rest. Thinking about it still raises my heart beat now. Pretty soon I met with Laura, also in the pace group, who had troubles with her left leg. We fast-walked for a bit, then ran-walked when possible. By this time, we were in the massive residential areas of south Miami.
South Miami looks distinctly like Bombay, except the houses are bigger.. more like small mansions. Big driveways adorned with crisply cut grass, dotted with palm trees, large and small. Characteristically, many of the “suburban” folks had come out of their houses and were cheering from their front verandas. One little girl - 5 or 6 - offered bottled water. When we politely declined, being well inebriated at water stops earlier, she complained to her mother: “I told you, nobody is buying our water!”, and stomped away.
I was dying for some salt. All my salt packets had withered in the morning rain. I asked coach Fred, whom we saw at some mile marker, and he could only spare one little pack. Oh, well. By this time Betsy, who herself had some cramps in her legs, had joined us.
After what seemed like an interminable million miles, we were nearing the end. Just before the last few hundred yards, there is a little bridge you cross to get to the finish line. It seemed like a cruel joke to place the bridge near the end, on an otherwise flat course.
I managed to run the last few hundred yards, with each step seemingly sending a dagger through the heart. We could hear the group cheering by the sidelines. That always puts a smile on the face… And thus it was over, after some 6+ hours.
***
As the Bard (almost) said, All’s well that ends… I couldn't agree more.
In retrospect, there are several things I could have done differently, apart from running in the rain. I’ll save those for another post. For now, I’m happy to have finished it!
On to other targets...
