Marine Corps Marathon: RUUUUN!!

Just a few feet away from the MCM finish line: Me exhorting Jeanne to "RUN! This is it! You've got to beat me!" Which she did. Photo credit: S.

I got a taste of the Marine Corps Marathon yesterday. I jumped in at the 20-mile marker to help my friend, Jeanne, cross the finish line. It was her first marathon.

It was a beautiful fall afternoon in the high 60's. The sun warmed my legs and shoulders as I looked for her at the 18-mile marker. But I somehow missed her while cheering on other race participants. I clapped and yelled encouragement to the run/walkers, who by then were looking either okay or plain exhausted. "Doing great! Looking strong!" I said. Most smiled gratefully. I only got one dirty look.

Jeanne's entourage: So I ran back to the 20m marker and hoped that the Marine who kept looking my way wasn't going to collar me for banditing the race. I saw Jeanne as she rounded a corner. She smiled as I joined her and another friend, Naomi, who fell in with her at mile 15 to cheer her on.

Mile 20 was tough for the runners. It's on the 14th Street bridge, a bridge that crosses the Virginia and D.C. borders. We're talking a six-lane highway with no shade in sight. We baked on that bridge. And by the time we were on it, at around 1:40 p.m. or so, cars were streaming across the other side.

Jeanne was doing the Galloway method - running for 2 minutes, then walking 2 minutes. Her watch beeped every 120 seconds as a reminder. But as the race wore on, she started walking through her running portions.

*$%&!@!#: So Naomi and held hands with her and started race-walking and did a countdown of 10 big steps: "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5 ...." we would chant, while taking long strides. That went on every 10 minutes until Jeanne got sick of it and started cursing at us. Then would apologize a few seconds later. Then would start cussing at us again. I just giggled.

At around mile 23, we saw Jeanne's nemesis. Let's call her B. As in blowsy. As in big butt. No, I don't have to be charitable. She was in Jeanne's weekend running group. Apparently she complained every step of the way during those Saturday morning long runs. About how the pace group was too fast for her (this from a woman who didn't bother to run AT ALL during the week). About how Jeanne got injured because she was pushed herself too hard. About the sun. The moon. The stars.

Well. We saw her ahead of us at mile 23. She was squeezed into shiny black spandex tights (must've been hot!) and a skimpy black spandex top. He shoulder-length frosted hair was loose - apparently she didn't mind it getting in her face.

I gave her the once-over as she shuffled along. "We can beat her," I said to Jeanne. She threw water on herself to cool down. She was looking a tiny bit peaked. But determined.

"I don't care," she replied, setting her jaw.

Oh, but she did. Just not right then. Noames and I pushed her to jog. And soon, B. was behind us. After the race, after she finally had a chance to sit down, I told Jeanne, "We smoked that woman's ass." She was quite happy with that.

Iraqi wounded: There were about 50 racers in the wheelchair division. Many were soldiers injured in the Iraq war. A handful of runners were also missing a limb, usually a leg. One injured young man had a 12+ strong group of fellow soldiers with him to for the entire marathon. We saw him at mile 25. He looked very, very tired. He had slowed to a painful walk. But he looked incredibly determined.

High-Five!: I didn't mean to cross the finish line. I really didn't. But I was afraid Jeanne would stop running and balk at that last short but steep hill to the finish line. But of course, she didn't. No thanks to me.

With 20 yards to go and people cheering her on, I started raving like a banshee, screaming,'This is it! This is really it! You've got to run it in!"

I'm surprised she didn't reach up and cuff me behind the ear, I was so annoying.

I kept up the maniacal screaming. Then I started running, and yelled,"You can do it - you've got to beat me to the finish line! C'mon! Come ON!"

And she did. Jeanne crossed finish line at 6:30:41. I was right behind her, much to my discomfiture (I so totally bandited this race) and more than a dozen Marines, standing on either side of the finish line, roared encouragement and high-fived me across: Slap, slap, slap, slap. Boy, were they cute.

Then they started steering me towards the medals, and I ducked out right quick. I did NOT earn a medal, and most definitely not one handed over by a hunky young soldier. I'd pretended long enough that I was a real MCM runner. I then hied to the food/drink tents to meet Jeanne and the rest of her friends.

She told me that she hugged the Marine hard who placed the medal around her neck. Then she gave him a big kiss. "Why, thank you," he said, grinning.

I'm so impressed with Jeanne's effort and accomplishment. It's made me want to run a marathon of my own. Mardi Gras Marathon, here I come.

High Plains Runner

Mile-High City: I was in Denver for much of last week, hence the paucity of posting. I was there for work, and the long days (starting before sunrise, coming back to the hotel waaay after sunset), left little time to play on the computer. Much to my dismay.

I did get in two very quick runs of 4 miles each and one 20-minute upper-body weights workout. But other than that, it was all hustle and flow. I was on deadline, and I filed one story with minutes to spare after jousting with - then placating - a recalcitrant and obnoxious source.

I must say, though, that I wouldn't have gotten ANY exercise had it not been for the excellent trails around my hotel (the staff gives out small, plastic cards with 3 and 5-mile trail routes created by Runners World) and its new and very smart-looking gym.

An 0ft- forgotten afterthought: I usually disdain hotel gyms. With the amount of travel I do, I've seen a lot of them. Many are small, cramped affairs, with threadbare carpeting and equipment that would have been new during the Reagan administration. They almost always lack free weights, and the air-conditioning is either set on "stun" or doesn't work at all.

Props to the Westin: But at the Westin Westminster hotel (I swear, I'm not getting paid for this), the monitors on the half-dozen brand-spankin' new treadmills doubled as televisions (not that I can watch TV and run at the same time, but anyway), there was a good variety of weight machines, which were in excellent condition, and enough free weights to satisfy the Governator back in the day.

I was actually a bit north of Denver, as all of the hotels I looked at downtown were sold out. So I was only 20 minutes away from Boulder. I tried out two new Boulder restaurants, both of which were excellent, especially the first one.

If you're ever up that way, try Frasca, which specializes in the cuisine of Friuli-Venezia Giulia, in Italy's northeast region. Both the chef and sommelier come from the venerated northern California restaurant, the French Laundry. Also, try Sunflower, an organic restaurant whose food is so good it's not a chore to be gastronomically virtuous.

Marine Corps Marathon Debriefing Soon: All right, gotta get to work. I promise, by the end of the day, I'm going to post about my foray into yesterday's Marine Corps Marathon. I ran the last 6.2 miles with my friend, Jeanne, a first-time marathoner, to provide some entertainment and a gentle shove now and again to get her across the finish line. Which she did. Way to go, Jeanne!

Better Late Than Never

Me, finishing the last training run before the Army 10-miler. Hain's Point, Washington, D.C. Late September, 2005. If you peer closely, you can see the Washington Monument behind me. Photo credit: P.

Hello, Stranger: Well. I'm not sure what to say at this point about not posting for more than week - other than to say that I feel extremely sheepish. But friends, I have been constantly thinking about blogging. Life off the 'Net just keeps beckoning.

But what is important is that I have kept running. Take today, for instance (and for those of you still waiting for a debriefing of the Oct. 15 Baltimore Marathon Relay, hang on, it is coming).

I ran 15 miles this morning. I didn't mean to. It just happened. I planned to run only 13.1 miles with P., a new running buddy. I've only run 13 miles once before in my life - about a year ago, when I thought I was going to run the Las Vegas Half-Marathon.

The furthest I've run recently was the Army 11.3-miler (but I meant only to run 10) several weeks ago. So I was skeptical on whether I could keep up with P., who recently ran a hilly metric trail marathon (16+ miles) with an average 8:30/mile pace.

But damn it, I was going to try.

It was a fine October morning. Crisp air, blue skies, and the leaves finally starting to turn here in the Mid-Atlantic. P. and I ran down the Mt. Vernon trail, which borders the Potomac. The day was bright and the sun glittered off the river.

We started at Belle Haven Marina. I'm guestimating that we set off at a 9:15/mile pace. He and chatted, or rather, I gave a long monologue and he interjected questions every once in a while. At around mile 6, I said, "So, where's the turnaround?"

P. replied, "It' s just up a little ways."

Me, feeling perky despite not having breakfast and loving the sunny day: "Mm, okay."

Is 15 the new 13.1?: Well, P. tricked me. That wily so-and-so. Did I mention he was a lawyer? We ran 7.5 miles - all the way to Mt. Vernon, for God's sake, before turning back. For a total of 15 rolling miles with several hills in the middle and a killer one at the end. Luckily, he brought enough GU for the both of us, and we stopped at the midway point for a minute to eat it (banana flavor) and gulp some water.

We slowed a bit between miles 8 and 13, then sped up for the last 2.5 miles for about an 8:30 pace. By this time my hamstrings were burning, and my right knee ached just a little, as I was running on a slanted surface ( the trail canted downward on the right).

As you may know from previous races, I tend to swear a like a sailor when a run starts to really get tough. Heroically, I managed NOT to cuss in front of P.

For the first 14 miles. With a little over a mile to go, I was feeling tired and really, really wanted to stop running. I didn't quit, but I did say, quietly, though somewhat exasperatedly, "Fu**k."

P. looked at me. "Excuse me," I said, having the grace to feel slightly chagrined. "Sorry."

He just kept running.

At the end, my legs felt as stiff as two sticks of firewood. But otherwise, I felt fine (ahem). Actually, I did feel all right after a drink of water and a minute or so of stretching. And I was ecstatic that we ran the 15. It took us about 2:20, or about a 9:20/mile avg pace.

He kept joking that after the 15, then we'd do another mile at a sprint. Ha. Though if P. had done that, I most likely would have followed. Not that I'm competitive, or anything.

23rd post, 5th sentence: A bit tardy, but per David's request, here 'tis (in red): From July 3, 2004
"When did Mary Stuart Masterson get breasts?!! She's both sinewy and voluptuous in the Kennedy Center's rendition of the modern classic play, "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof" by Tennessee Williams.

"The gamine actress, memorable as the tough-but-tender tomboy, Watts, in the 80's film "Some Kind of Wonderful" ... vamps it up as the sultry, sexually-frustrated girly-girl Maggie - a character Elizabeth Taylor memorably seared onto celluloid in the 1958 screen version of "Cat."

"Masterson's Maggie has a muscular feline grace. When she turns and slinks to the back of the stage, the muscles on her back undulate and ripple underneath the thin slip she wears through most of the play."

Damn slideshow: I apologize once again for the slideshow NOT going through on your e-mail. If you still want a copy, I will MAIL one to you. But you've got to give me your mailing address.

Don't worry, I won't stalk you. Or worse - make you run with me.

Slideshow and Baltimore Marathon Relay

Sorry about the slideshow link, y'all. I'll fix that over the weekend. Also, you'd think it would be simple to e-mail the show to interested folks, but my dears, it is not. At least not for me. I have to reconfigure a few things on E.'s computer (which has the ProShow Gold software), and some of the things I need E.'s help on. And right now he's too busy to do it. So please be patient. This weekend I will have time to do that.

Hey, did I tell you that I'm running the Baltimore Marathon relay tomorrow? I'm on a four-member team (3 women, 1 man), and I have the second leg, which is the longest at 7 miles, but also the flattest. I'm recovering from a cold (MAJOR sinus drainage), and I've only run twice this week and twice last week, so I feel a bit out-of-shape. I'm not expecting a PR - but I will try!

Expect a full debriefing here over the weekend.

Experiment

Okay, I've made a web version of the wedding slideshow as I have to reconfigure a few things on this computer to e-mail it to people, and I'm too tired to figure that out right now.

Let's see if this '>works.

Wind and rain be damned

The last of our reception guests is leaving today. It's been non-stop socializing at night with family and friends and working like a dog during the day since last Thursday. Someday soon I will be able to post more often than just twice a week. Perhaps in November. But ask me then.

The outdoor reception we held on Saturday to celebrate our wedding (which was in August in Hawaii) went well - better than I expected. It rained buckets that day (parts of Old Town Alexandria - where we were - flooded). But we held the party on the second floor stone terrace of a historic house/museum, which was protected with a tent with sideflaps. So we were quite cozy. Also, the floating candle centerpieces on the tables cast a lovely, flickering glow, the pan-Asian-influenced food was fabuloso, and the jazz band swung hard despite the wind and rain.

Also, the slideshow I made - of me and E. as babies to adults, and which also included wedding photos - was a big hit. A week before the reception, E. and I scanned about 200 photos. Then he was supposed to givethe photos to a professional, who would edit, caption and arrange the photos, as well as add music to them.

But at the last minute - literally 5 minutes before he was supposed to drop off the photos with the slideshow/video dude, E. said, "What the heck are we paying all this money to this guy for? We've already done some of the work! Let's do the whole thingourselves!"

Before I knew it, E. hopped into his car, drove to Best Buy, bought a DVD burner and slideshow/video software ... and gave them to me. Apparently, he seems to think I'm some sort of technology savant. Kind of like Rain Man, except with computers instead oftoothpicks and numbers.

Which is hilarious. I mean, hello?! Look at this blog, for example. Is this the plainest, most visually boring blog you've seen or what?!

After freaking out a little bit - I had so much to do before the reception - I buckled down to work. I've gotta admit - I love a challenge. I edited the photos down to 115, making sure I had a good assortment of family photos and pictures of E. and his Oxford friends, arranged them in chronological order, typed in captions, added several introductory slides and fade in/fade out features, searched high and low forsongs from my CD collection and on the Web, then cut and pasted portions of them to go with the pictures.

Simple, eh?! I realized midway through why people pay hundreds to thousands of dollars to a videographer to do this. It's a lot of work. Putting the show together took me awhile - perhaps not surprising since I had to teach myself how to use ProShow Gold slideshow/video software. It came without an instruction manual.

It was worth it, though. The guests seemed to enjoy the 8-minute show. Many laughed at the funny, dorky ones (e.g. me at 1 wearing a cone-shaped hat taller than I was, E. in drag for a university costume ball) and some cried at the photos of us getting married on the beach in Hawaii.

If you want to have a look, shoot me an e-mail, and I'll send you a link to the slideshow in the next day or so.

Bex is a Loser

Okay, not really. But I've been such a bad blogger lately. Also, I'd just written 3/4 of a post when my computer shut down unexpectedly - wiping out an hour's worth of work.

Sigh.

How'd it get to be Friday so fast? I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Time flies when you're working like a dog, preparing for one's "unwedding" reception (which is TOMORROW) and sleeping, oh, maybe 5 hours a night. Plus I was feeling under the weather a couple of days ago. Or "puny," as they down in the holler. (This is what six years in Arkansas will do to you. Which is a whole other story.)

This is a long post, y'all. So sit back and relax. Or print this out and read while eating a piece of chocolate.

Back to the Army 10-Miler. I slept fitfully the night before - maybe it was that teensy glass of white wine I had with dinner. Or that even teensier shot of homemade limoncello (yum!) apres meal.

Anyway. After having run last year's Army 10-miler, I did things a little differently to better prepare myself. On Sunday morning, instead of getting up at 4:45, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. (inadvertently stumbling over the dog). After a quick shower, I drank coffee (new) and lots of water, swallowed a Tylenol (new), and ate breakfast (yes, also new).

Instead of leaving before 6 a.m. to walk the half-mile to the Metro, which would ferry me and other runners to the Pentagon metro station, I left at 6:45 a.m. That way, I wouldn't have to spend so much time waiting around, getting nervous, and feeling my muscles tighten in the cool early-morning.

Meanwhile, E. slept. He was going to cheer me on, but he'd been working so hard - both at his job and on the house (he spent hours painting the entryway and the 2nd floor hallway and stairwell) - that I gave him a pass.

I got to the race - which began at the Pentagon - by 7:15 a.m. Overhead, the Army's parachute team, in a pre-race show, spiraled down from the sky, trailing red smoke. I was hoping to meet up with several of the runners in our running club's 10-miler training program. But I couldn't find the program coordinator and the club banner she held in the sea of runners, military tents, buses, and port-a-potties.

Security was extremely tight. Each of the 20,000 runners got wanded by cute soldiers in Army fatigues, and they even searched my tiny waistpack (big enough only for a$20 bill, ID, and lipgloss). After waiting in line for 20 minutes to use a port-a-potty, I jogged slowly to warm up, then positioned myself under the blue balloon arch.

That was the arch for my bib color - race organizers coded our bibs according to our estimated finishing time. I gave my expected time as between 1:22 and 1:26, netting me a blue bib.

At the front were the green bibs - the elites and super-swift military runners. After them came the speedy red bibs, then us blue bibs. Behind us were the white bibs, orange (?) bibs, and ending with the purple bibs for the walkers and 12+minute runners.

However, I noticed that many slower runners - mostly purple bibs - were near me. I made a mental note to stay clear of them. I jumped up and down a little bit, trying to keep my muscles loose and stay calm. Then the starting cannons boomed - real cannons - one advantage in having the military organize a race - and we were off.

Racing It: My aim in this race was not just to finish it, but to PR. I took up running in August 2004, and the Army 10-miler last year was the first race I ever ran. My average time was 9:50/mile. I couldn't believe I ran the whole way. In April, at the Cherry Blossom 10-miler, I lowered my average mile pace to 9:05. In this race, I knew I could run 8:30 to 8:35 a mile for the duration.

Keep back, turtles!: Despite being towards the front, I didn't cross the starting mats until exactly 6 minutes after the official start time. I knew it would be croweded for the first half-mile or so of the course. What I didn't expect was trying to run past WALKERS and joggers at the beginning of the race. Why were those people at the front?!

People, it is not cool to position yourself ahead of faster runners. It is not cool to turn up the music on your headphones so loud that you do not hear - or perhaps you simply ignore - runners saying "Excuse Me" as they desperately try not to knock you over in their haste to actually race and not to do a fun run. And it is verboten and very rude to walk two to three abreast, which BLOCKS runners from getting by you.

This went on for 3 miles! My race turned into an urban trail race. I hopped up and down street medians, ran along grassy and gravel perimeters, and even hurdled flowerbeds and safety cones to avoid running into other race participants. Consequently, my average-per-mile pace for the first 3 miles was 9:05. Aaargh.

The course thinned out a tiny bit after that, but I still had to keep weaving in and out of small packs and slow down occasionally lest I mow someone over. I saw our running coach, E., at the 5-mile marker. He yelled my name, and I raised my hand, slapping him a high-five as I ran past. My pace quickened, and by mile 6.5, my cumulative per-mile pace had dropped to 8:52.

Then something weird happened. At around the 8-mile marker, when we were supposed to turn left to cross the 14th St. Bridge, back to the Pentagon and the finish line, we were directed to go straight. "Hmm," I thought. "Maybe I mis-read the race route."

Then a military trumpeter (there were a couple of Army bands playing for us) started playing the theme song to "Rocky," and I laughed, re-focused, and started pushing it hard. I think I'd run a few 8-minute or sub-8 miles, because when I got to the 9-mile marker, my cumulative per-mile time had dropped again, to 8:35.

"Yes!" I thought, and then, "This is it. Go faster." My right calf muscle had started to spasm occassionally at mile 8.5 (jumping up and down all of those medians did not help), and soon after mile 9, the left one joined suit. That was a bit painful.

My strides shortened a little bit as a result. After another quarter-mile, I thought, "Well, now or never," lengthened my strides, and forced my feet to turn over faster. Then I started sprinting. Or as much as I could sprint. That was painful, too.

At what I instinctively knew was mile 10, I looked around. Where was the finish line?! Other runners were wondering too by the looks on their faces, though we didn't say anything. We were too tired. Then someone yelled, "Only 1 more mile to go!"

What the hell?! Okay, no time to waste. Maybe I just hallucinated that last mile.

My body didn't think so, though. I had to slow down because my chest was heaving, and my calf muscles felt like rocks. They were spasming in tune to the thud of my pounding heart.

After yet another mile, I looked for the finish line. It was waaaay, waaaay off - a tiny balloon arch in the distance. Then someone on the sidelines yelled, "Only a half-mile to go! You're almost there!"

What the F***K?!!

Between painful wheezes, runners began to grumble. It was extremely hot, and the tarmac scorched the soles of my feet. Sweat was running into my eyes and my throat was parched. I also felt a bit lightheaded. I had ignored all of the previous water and Gatorade stations, and now I was paying for it. But who knew I would be running this long?!

My pace had slowed somewhat. How slow, I don't know. But I was keeping pace with a tall black man with headphones, and he looked like he was just easing on down the road at a nice but not speedy pace. At the last quarter-mile, I gritted my teeth and tried to sprint again. "Holy Sh*t!" I thought. "This hurts!"

As I crossed the finish line, I looked for the running mats, so my shoe chip would record my time. The running mats were missing.Then I heard the announcer say something akin to, "Congratulations for running 11-plus miles!"

Well, damn. I guess I didn't hallucinate the last part of the race. It turned out we'd run 11.4 miles or so. Race organizers had to reroute the race after Washington, D.C. police found a suspicious package (which turned out to be harmless) a few minutes before the race began.

Because of the lack of finishing mats - they were probably still at the original finishing line - our race times were not recorded. Which is a major bummer. But at least I have an idea of what I'd run and what I can do.

In this post-9/11 era, and with the race coursing through downtown Washington (the Capitol, the White House) and starting at the Pentagon, race organizers (read: the Army) played it super-safe. I just wish they'd told us earlier.

We had to walk another 1/4 mile after the race to get water. Many of the families and friends of runners were waiting at the original finish line, some with signs cheering on racers, and they looked confused and deflated when they saw us walking slowly towards them. I guess race organizers didn't tell them either.

Ah, well. I would hate to be in the Army's shoes. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. It would have been tragic had the package really been a bomb.

If so, a PR (which I got, by the way - cumulative 8:42 pace - even with the extra 1.4 miles), would have been the last thing on my mind.

Army 10-Miler = 11.4 miles

Hey y'all. I will give you a full debriefing later of the Army 10-Miler yesterday. But I will say that the race got re-routed a few minutes after the starting cannons went off because the D.C. police found a suspicious package near the finish line.

That meant instead of running 10 miles, we ran 11.4 to 11.5 miles. And we didn't get timed because they didn't move the finishing time mats.

More later. I'm still quite disgusted.