Fat Girl Running: LA Marathon 2011

It came.  I ran.  It’s over.

Wouldn’t that be the most anticlimactic post ever? Come with me, back to that Sunday and I’ll tell you all about my monsoonathon experience.

Sunday, March 20, 2011 (italicized and bold for dramatic effect!)

I did not want to run this marathon.  I was so busy the days leading up to it that I was skipping meals, not resting enough and just felt that I was not going to finish.  My mother was supposed to arrive in Los Angeles on Friday night.  I was informed by myriad sources that people can have trouble sleeping the night before a race so FRIDAY night is the night you want your best rest.  My mother was arriving at 10pm.  I made it very clear that I would pick her up at LAX and when we got back to my apartment, I would be going immediately to sleep.

Her flight was delayed.  So I picked her up at 2am.  2am on the night I was supposed to get my best night’s sleep.  The following day (Saturday) included a 5 hour WriteGirl workshop and the Expo.  I know, you’re telling me I should have skipped the workshop but it was a songwriting workshop and I just couldn’t miss out on the fun.  My mother and I spent a short time at LA Marathon Expo which was kind of interesting.  I would have liked to spend more time there.  I saw my name on the Honda car(!) and picked up my bib number and goody bag.  It was overwhelming.  I like running but hardly consider myself a runner or running enthusiast and here I am standing among moisture-wicking socks and Sweaty Bands and discount Brooks shoes and GU gel and Lululemon goody bags.  All of these brands I own or have tried.  I’m probably more of a runner than I thought.

SUNDAY.  I get up at 3:30am because I am SO tired.  I get up, dressed, drink water like someone about to take a urine test and shovel oatmeal down my throat because real talk, this fat kid does not like eating that early in the morning.  Once I’m set my mom and I hop in the car and drive completely out of the way to get to Dodger Stadium.  I live 4 miles away from the stadium on Sunset Blvd.  But Sunset Blvd is closed.  So I have take 42 (exaggeration) freeways to go 4 miles.  I get lost.  My mother doesn’t know how to use my Blackberry google maps so it’s kind of a mess.  I make it there in plenty of time.  It rains a little bit but nothing a New Englander such as myself can’t handle!

I say goodbye to my mom as she comes around to get in the driver’s seat.  I always have a hard time saying goodbye to my mother.  It’s strange and I’m not sure why it is but even as a kid I was just never okay with her dropping me off.  I did have a nightmare this one time that I think plays a part but without going into it, I sobbed like a baby when she dropped me off for ice skating lessons when I was 10.  It was startling to us all because it’s not like I was at sports camp, it was just a one hour lesson.  And so as I’m hugging my mother goodbye, again, she will be at the finish line, I’m trying to keep the anxiety out of my throat and tell myself there’s really no reason to cry.  She leaves.

I stare at Dodger Stadium looming before me in the dark.  Stadium lights are on and there is music coming from inside.  It seems eerie and completely out of place at 5am.  A spaceship set in the black with its lights drawing in the masses.  It’s cold out and misting but my blood is running hot.  My legs feel tight in my running pants and I’m glad to have just my tank top on.  I considered wearing a long-sleeved cold weather shirt but decided running will heat me enough.  Though I do wish I had remembered my trash bag for before the race.

In Dodger Stadium I head for the section of seats containing the LA Leggers.  Because I had sustained injuries that affected my training, I couldn’t run with the 12.5s like I had planned.  Once there I decide to run with the 13.5 runners and the 15 min walkers.  I spend the next few hours in my head.  A woman comes by and takes my picture.  She promises it’s cute but I’ve had about 7 hours of sleep in the last 3 days and it’s 5am. NOT CUTE.

There are cameramen videoing the runners waiting so there’s something to watch on TV.  Someone is dressed as Elvis.  People are dancing.  Oh to be so skilled at running that I could dress in costume!  Right now I’m just trying not to psych myself out.  It starts to rain.  Fudge.  It stops.  Hurrah!

My group is going to wait until after the starting gun goes and try and be the last people out of the stadium to avoid the cluster-eff that is 20,000 people running at the same time.  We wait.  I watch the handcyclists  take off.  I don’t have the arm power for that.  People are migrating to the starting line so I take the opportunity to pee without waiting in an hour long line.  The starting gun goes off somewhere in the distance.

Eep.  I’m at Dodger Stadium.  And I’m going to run to Santa Monica.  I am currently surrounded by land but am going to run to the ocean.  I am going to run what can sometimes end up being a 2 hour car ride depending on traffic.  The Kenyans will finish shortly after that 2 hours.

We make our way outside.  People are suiting up in ponchos and trashbags.  I’m offered extras that people have but don’t want to run in anything I haven’t been training in.  I did not train in a trash bag.  Besides, my blood feels like fire.  We watch thousands of people pass by, starting their 26.2 miles.  Spirits are up!  People are cheering! My nerves settle and this just seems like a big, fun, group event.  Almost like a carnival.  My legs feel solid and for a brief moment, 26.2 miles doesn’t seem far.  How is that even possible?  As quick as the thought comes, it passes.  Our mentor tells us we’re going to hop in the crowd and we do.

We start off walking for the first mile.  The course starts downhill and then climbs slowly uphill for the first 8 or so miles so we warned not let our adrenaline get us sailing the down the hill at mile one and burnt out for the other 25.2 miles.  I feel good!  I’m excited!  I’m gonna run me a marathon today.  I’ve done 19, what’s 7 more?!

At mile 1 the 13.5 runners separate from the 15 walkers.  We alternate running a minute and walking a minute.  I feel good at this pace.  The 13.5s are very welcoming and I feel like I’ve made a good decision.  These moments are surreal.  I keep thinking to myself, “This is a marathon!  This is a marathon!” but it doesn’t feel like that while I’m running.  It feels like I’m running through the streets of LA.  Like every other run I do but on different streets and with more people.  In fact, it feels easier than my 19 mile run because the marathon has water and Gatorade, people cheering and snacks along the way.  My 19 mile run included 12 ounces of water and my iPod.

Photo courtesy of Mathieu Marquer

As we run the rain falls more steadily.  People keep asking me if I’m cold.  I’m not.  The rain is actually pretty refreshing at this point.  It feels ridiculous.  It rained the day I matriculated to Boston University in 2002, it rained on the day I graduated from Boston University in 2006 and it feels overwhelmingly appropriate that it should rain the day I run the marathon.  Note to self: Wedding day, should I have one and it occur before the earth is devoid of water, should be indoors.  It’s so interesting to see people lining the streets and cheering for these runners.  Bands plays and drummers drum.  I feel like an observer.  Technically I am one of these runners for whom this hubbub is occurring but it doesn’t feel that way because the idea of me doing a marathon is insane.  I’m just glad to run alongside these runners and see what they’re experiencing.  We pass a couple in Little Tokyo holding a sign saying they’re from Japan and that we have their support.

I chat with runners on and off while taking in the sights.  This was the coolest thing I discovered along the route.  LA’s sister cities.  I should have seen this before now but I haven’t and so my jaw drops.  Were I not being timed, I’d stop and stare for a while. 

It’s surreal to see these huge mile markers as we pass.  Some miles feel short and some long.  We pass by Echo Park Lake.  My first apartment in LA was in this neighborhood.  Memories of my life at that time come flooding in.  Los Angeles was so NEW to me when I lived here.  Much like today, I felt like an observer to my life at the time.  Not really in Hollywood but getting to experience it.  I don’t feel like that anymore.  Los Angeles feels like home and I feel very grounded in the city.

We make our way past an area of town I frequented with my ex a lot…before he was my ex.  Again with the flood of memories.  When I saw the route of the marathon, I noted that it basically passed by every place I lived or spent time so the memories aren’t a surprise but the waves of emotion are jarring.  But we continue running.  The rain is steadily on but is switching between heavy and light.  As we make our way down Hollywood Boulevard, the rain is just heavy.  We’re passing by my current neighborhood and I tell one of my fellow runners that I “suppose I have to finish since we passed my house.” 

It’s raining heavier than heavy now.  Forget memories, water is flooding my eyes, my ears, my shoes.  The droplets are so thick and steady that it feels like we’re running under individual showerheads turned on full blast.  Only not warm.  There are strong winds and depending on direction we’re headed, it’s blowing against us.  Hard.  I see the kids from Students Run LA (yes, kids running the marathon) and their little frames and wonder how they’re dealing with this weather.

It’s strange how good I feel by the time we get about halfway.  And then the insole of my shoe somehow folds itself in half inside my shoe.  I don’t want stop so I keep running but reality sinks in that this might be doable for 5 or 6 miles but I have over 10 miles to go.  I stop at a bench.  I go to untie my shoe and!

My fingers don’t work.  Well, I guess technically my fingers work but my knuckles don’t.  They refuse to bend.  Fudge.  I untie and fix my shoes by spreading my fingers and catching the laces that way.  It takes a lot of effort.  I guess I’m a lot colder than I thought.  Now that I’ve stopped and realized my physical situation, I start to get in my head.  I’ve fallen too far behind the group to catch up so I continue on my own run/walking.

West Hollywood is my favorite neighborhood along the route.  Despite that weather, there were plenty of people cheering us on and entertaining.  The sight of well-built men dancing in nearly nothing was a welcome sight.

As I moved into Century City, I realize that more than my fingers aren’t working.  Hungry, I reach for my zippered pocket to get a Gu packet and while I manage to secure my fingers on the zipper, my arms don’t have the ability to push down to unzipper the pocket.  I try for maybe a quarter of a mile to get into my pocket and am terrified at how weak my arms are.  This cannot be healthy.  I manage to wriggle a finger in between the zipper and after more tries than I care to think about, I pull out the Gu.  My least favorite flavor.  I have to tear the top off with my teeth and use my palms to squeeze it out.  In this moment, this least favorite flavor of Gu is the tastiest thing that I have ever eaten.  It’s funny because although I feel strong physically and mentally, I clearly don’t have an accurate sense of what’s occurring.  I feel strong but my arms don’t work.  I feel like I can keep going but my body was deprived.  I start eating everything I’m offered along the way.  I felt like I was on a gameshow trying to grab at food without fingers.

I pass a medical tent handing out mylar blankets.  I decide that with still a handful of miles to go and the state my upper body is in, I should turn back and get one.  I do and when the blanket falls out of my hand because I can’t grasp, I’m asked to stop.  I stay at the tent until I can move my thumbs in a circle and wrap myself in a blanket.  I give up running at this point.  I really need to focus on staying warm, hydrated and nourished if I want to finish.

As I speedwalk through West LA, I’m able to observe a lot more of the marathon.  The rain is constant and unyielding.  The winds are pushing people every which way.  There are people laying in the street.  I see other runners basically carrying runners who are too weak to continue on alone.  I feel tired.  I have to pee.  I’m really cold.  My arms are nothing but dead weight.  I have about 6 miles to go and I know that as much as I want this to be over, the only way it can be over is to get to the finish line.  6 miles is a short enough distance that it’s just the easiest way for me to get warmth, food and home.  I’m too tired to think of any actual alternatives.   I tell myself that 6 miles is just a short run, 3 miles out and 3 miles back on any old day.  I wish the rain would ease up if just for a minute.  Parts of the course are flooded and as we take to the lawns surrounding, people are losing their shoes in the mud.  This marathon now includes obstacles.  I’ve gone from leaping around puddles to trudging through them.  My feet are soaked and while I can put one foot in front of the other, bounding across street rivers isn’t going to happen this late in the game.

The course turns down a tree-lined street.  In front of me is an older woman, running, with the names of 5 or 6 people written on her Team In Training shirt.  This woman is carrying all of these women on her back.  Probably a lot of pain.  Hopefully some triumph.  Through the rain.  Through the wind.  This woman is giving it her all.  I start to cry.  Of course I do.  Every single person on this course wants this.  Whatever reason we had in starting this marathon, in weather like this, we’re continuing for a reason.  And suddenly I feel a part of the people around me.  I want this.  I don’t want to stop.  I also don’t want my time to be as slow as it is and I want to run and I want my body to work like it’s supposed to and I want this.  I’m going to complete this marathon.  I want to do it.  I’m not just witnessing a marathon, I’m in it.  I’m in this rain.  I’m battling this wind.  My fatigue is a result of having come 20 miles in a tank top and capri pants.  My arms don’t work and I’m still going.  I wish I could chart my feelings.  The more excited and a part of this marathon I feel, the more daunting finishing seems.  The harder it gets to continue on.  I can’t tell how much of it is physical and how much of this is my mind and myself trying to dissuade me from finishing.

One foot in front of the other.  I just keep repeating the most recent mile marker I’ve passed.  My mind has shut down a bit and repetition is calming.  4 miles, 4 miles, 4 miles…  Less than 4 miles, less than 4 miles, less than 4 miles… 3 miles, 3 miles, 3 miles…

I turn onto the home stretch and I am too worn down to be excited.  I see the finish line but it might as well be another 26 miles away.  A sign tacked to a telephone poll says, “Congratulations Congratulations Congratulations” and I think that the sign should bite its tongue until I’ve actually crossed the finish line.  People around me start dropping their blankets and running for the finish line.  I consider it but am determined to finish and am afraid that if I do anything but focus on one foot in front of the other, something will go wrong.

Note how my hands arent grabbing the blanket but its tucked between those useless limbs.

As I approach the finish line my mind is completely empty.  I hear my name screamed by spectators.  I turn and through the rain I see my mother and my friends.  I give me them a lackluster wave and continue to the finish.  Somewhere inside I am excited but all systems are on survive.  I cross the finish line smiling (you know, pictures) and receive my medal.  I don’t want anything else to do with the marathon. I want food, I want to pee and I want to put on clothes.  I thought this moment would feel triumphant but the weather made it feel like someone didn’t want me to finish and I feel more like I’ve proved a point.  My mother hugs me, her eyes welling with tears.  It seems like days ago that she dropped me off at the stadium and I had to remind myself that I would see her again.  “Em!  You did it!”  This doesn’t feel like any sort of victory but when she says that I realize that I did do it.  And it’s kind of a big thing looking at their faces, even if it doesn’t feel that way to me.  I wish I had appropriate responses to their congratulations but I just keep telling them that I want food, I want to pee and I want to be warm.

I walked like my body was slowly turning to stone. It took me hours to warm up.  We went to the Cheesecake Factory and I ate bread like it was the first thing I’d eaten in days.

2 days post-marathon and I was back to normal.  I know it was a pretty big deal to finish the LA Marathon, especially considering the conditions and how many people dropped out along the way, but it doesn’t feel like any great feat.  I’m not sure why.  Part of me thinks I feel this way because if I can complete 26.2 miles, it can’t actually be hard and part of me wonders if the LA Leggers made it seem too attainable.  Even though it was a miserable experience, I’m looking forward to the next one.  Maybe if I get 2 marathons under my belt, this next one with a better time, I will feel like I’ve actually done it!

Advertisement