A Whirlwind Weekend
As I briefly blogged previously, this past weekend was my grandmother's surprise 90th birthday party back in Miami (yes, pictures are posted! [photos courtesy of the Nana]). I figured, as a long as I was home, I might as well run the ING Miami Marathon. True, the marathon started at 6:10 a.m. and the party at 11:30 a.m. and my mother told me if I was even five minutes late, she'd have my butt, but hey, I thrive on a good challenge, right?
We fly down on Friday, and yes, the Pie does scream for pretty much the entire way. (On the way home we discovered the magic remedy for flying with a Pie: night-time Triaminic and chocolate.) We arrive and settle in and I head to the race expo.
At the expo, I spend a good 15 minutes at the Solutions desk trying to decide if I should switch to the half marathon or if indeed I can run the full marathon and still arrive on time. Some folks think I can do it; others are skeptical. I can trade my marathon entry for a half-marathon entry. The other option is to run the race, see how I'm doing, and veer off at the half-marathon if I don't think I have enough time. I opt for the latter option, knowing full well that once I'm wearing my marathon race number and I've picked up my included-with-registration marathon shirt instead of the half marathon shirt, that there's no way my ego can possibly take the half marathon.
After the expo, I eat a carb-loading meal with my folks and the Tweedle Twins. Get to bed... but not to sleep. Because with all of us in the same room, every time Doodles rustles in his Dora bed, the Pie wakes up. And because she can see me lying there, her milk-filled munchies just beckoning across the room, she won't go back to sleep. So we had a couple of hours of tussling getting her down. The next day, we head to David's for breakfast and some cafe con leches. Walk around Lincoln Road. Head back to the condo for resting. And then that evening get a surprise pick-up from my cousin Ollie and his lovely boat, the Triple Play. Most of my relatives were on it, so we go for a lovely sunset cruise, head back for dinner, and another night of no sleep.
I can't blame that no sleep on the kids, as I was in a different room than Doodles, Pie, and Adam in hopes of getting a solid night's sleep, but instead, I tossed and turned and checked my watch every half hour to make sure I hadn't overslept and the strain to see if I could hear Pie crying. I give in and get up at 4 a.m.--and yes, I do hear Pie crying, so I give her a quick feed--get dressed, grab some breakfast, and go. Traffic is worse than I had anticipated, so I'm feeling a little stressed, but I make it and I find a great parking start near the finish line. I head to the start, get in the Portapotty line, when the skies opened and a typical South Florida downpour hit--completely soaking all of us. It was one of those torrential rains that lasts for about a half hour, just making muck of everything.
The race finally begins. I feel good, strong, a lean, mean running machine. I chat for about ten miles with a woman who was wearing a Red Sox hat and just happens to live one town over from me. I see my cousin-in-law and her family at mile 8. My family is shortly after. My cousin-in-law and her daughter (my cousin) reappear at mile 10 and--bless them, because I really needed the encouragement then--at mile 24.
The marathon Web site really breaks down my stats and apparently I picked up my speed between the half and the 18 mile mark, which makes sense given that at about mile 20 I could start to feel the fade. My knee felt strong, my legs felt okay, but I just didn't have the steam. I was a consistent 5.8 mph for the first half and the last quarter, but that penultimate quarter I picked it up to 6 mph, which was a mistake. It was unintentional, too--I had thought I was maintaining pace (I track overall pace rather than pace of the moment on my Garmin, so it can be hard for me to tell where I am pacewise at a given time). I just felt really strong, so I suppose I unconsciously picked things up.
I'm pushing it toward the end, just taking it mile by mile, my legs screaming, trying to mentally push myself to the finish, all hopes of a new PR long gone. My only goal is to finish at this point in under 4:30.
At the end, I give it that last push, I put everything I had into it, and I force myself through the finish line in 4:29:38. I grab a chicken sandwich and a banana to go, and instead of partaking in the festivities or allowing my body the recovery it needs, I head immediately to my rental car, climb in, and then realize why you're supposed to walk for a good long time after a marathon: the muscle in my right calf starts pulsing and my left leg stiffens. Then my right foot--my driving foot--completely cramps up, but I quickly work it out and hit the road.
With my Mapquest in hand, I book for the highway, off to the swanky hotel my grandmother's surprise 90th birthday party is being held out. I'm still wet from the earlier rain and sweat (the humidity didn't allow for any drying out), one eye is on the road, and the other eye is on the clock. It's 11:14 a.m., I'm on U.S. 1, and I've promised to be there by 11:30.
At exactly 11:26 I arrive at the hotel. Still wearing my sweaty clothes, my race bib, and (of course) my medal, I leave the car with the valet (a little embarrassed at the sweaty seat, but hey, that comes with the territory), hop out, run inside to ask what room I'm going to, dash upstairs (okay, I took the elevator--at this point I was all out of dash), and enter the party room at exactly 11:29.
My grandmother arrives, is dutifully surprised, and I sneak out to the fitness club where in a record ten minutes, I shower, dress, and semi-dry my hair and am back at the party. I manage to carry my upset son to the buffet, feed my daughter, perform in a family skit (that I wrote), and generally behave like a person who has not just run 26.2 miles.
At the end of the party, it's time to go. I need to return the rental and then head back to my parents' condo for a well-deserved nap. It's been a long trip and we need to pack to return the next day. My mom is to follow me when I drop off my car so she can take me back to the condo.
I mention to my mom, "I've got to stop and get gas first, so I'll leave now. Where's my valet ticket?"
My mom looks at me with horror. "You valeted your car?!? That's twelve dollars!!"
Yes. Yes, it is. Sigh.
Anyway, we made it home with minimal difficulties, although there's always a rough readjustment to home life. Doodles of course didn't want to go to school (his new procrastination method? When told it's time to leave, he declares, "I need to use the potty!"). The Pie is back to her nonsleeping habits. And I have work that I'm not doing so that I may blog for you. In other words, back to normal! Now, what marathon should I run next...?
We fly down on Friday, and yes, the Pie does scream for pretty much the entire way. (On the way home we discovered the magic remedy for flying with a Pie: night-time Triaminic and chocolate.) We arrive and settle in and I head to the race expo.
At the expo, I spend a good 15 minutes at the Solutions desk trying to decide if I should switch to the half marathon or if indeed I can run the full marathon and still arrive on time. Some folks think I can do it; others are skeptical. I can trade my marathon entry for a half-marathon entry. The other option is to run the race, see how I'm doing, and veer off at the half-marathon if I don't think I have enough time. I opt for the latter option, knowing full well that once I'm wearing my marathon race number and I've picked up my included-with-registration marathon shirt instead of the half marathon shirt, that there's no way my ego can possibly take the half marathon.
After the expo, I eat a carb-loading meal with my folks and the Tweedle Twins. Get to bed... but not to sleep. Because with all of us in the same room, every time Doodles rustles in his Dora bed, the Pie wakes up. And because she can see me lying there, her milk-filled munchies just beckoning across the room, she won't go back to sleep. So we had a couple of hours of tussling getting her down. The next day, we head to David's for breakfast and some cafe con leches. Walk around Lincoln Road. Head back to the condo for resting. And then that evening get a surprise pick-up from my cousin Ollie and his lovely boat, the Triple Play. Most of my relatives were on it, so we go for a lovely sunset cruise, head back for dinner, and another night of no sleep.
I can't blame that no sleep on the kids, as I was in a different room than Doodles, Pie, and Adam in hopes of getting a solid night's sleep, but instead, I tossed and turned and checked my watch every half hour to make sure I hadn't overslept and the strain to see if I could hear Pie crying. I give in and get up at 4 a.m.--and yes, I do hear Pie crying, so I give her a quick feed--get dressed, grab some breakfast, and go. Traffic is worse than I had anticipated, so I'm feeling a little stressed, but I make it and I find a great parking start near the finish line. I head to the start, get in the Portapotty line, when the skies opened and a typical South Florida downpour hit--completely soaking all of us. It was one of those torrential rains that lasts for about a half hour, just making muck of everything.
The race finally begins. I feel good, strong, a lean, mean running machine. I chat for about ten miles with a woman who was wearing a Red Sox hat and just happens to live one town over from me. I see my cousin-in-law and her family at mile 8. My family is shortly after. My cousin-in-law and her daughter (my cousin) reappear at mile 10 and--bless them, because I really needed the encouragement then--at mile 24.
The marathon Web site really breaks down my stats and apparently I picked up my speed between the half and the 18 mile mark, which makes sense given that at about mile 20 I could start to feel the fade. My knee felt strong, my legs felt okay, but I just didn't have the steam. I was a consistent 5.8 mph for the first half and the last quarter, but that penultimate quarter I picked it up to 6 mph, which was a mistake. It was unintentional, too--I had thought I was maintaining pace (I track overall pace rather than pace of the moment on my Garmin, so it can be hard for me to tell where I am pacewise at a given time). I just felt really strong, so I suppose I unconsciously picked things up.
I'm pushing it toward the end, just taking it mile by mile, my legs screaming, trying to mentally push myself to the finish, all hopes of a new PR long gone. My only goal is to finish at this point in under 4:30.
At the end, I give it that last push, I put everything I had into it, and I force myself through the finish line in 4:29:38. I grab a chicken sandwich and a banana to go, and instead of partaking in the festivities or allowing my body the recovery it needs, I head immediately to my rental car, climb in, and then realize why you're supposed to walk for a good long time after a marathon: the muscle in my right calf starts pulsing and my left leg stiffens. Then my right foot--my driving foot--completely cramps up, but I quickly work it out and hit the road.
With my Mapquest in hand, I book for the highway, off to the swanky hotel my grandmother's surprise 90th birthday party is being held out. I'm still wet from the earlier rain and sweat (the humidity didn't allow for any drying out), one eye is on the road, and the other eye is on the clock. It's 11:14 a.m., I'm on U.S. 1, and I've promised to be there by 11:30.
At exactly 11:26 I arrive at the hotel. Still wearing my sweaty clothes, my race bib, and (of course) my medal, I leave the car with the valet (a little embarrassed at the sweaty seat, but hey, that comes with the territory), hop out, run inside to ask what room I'm going to, dash upstairs (okay, I took the elevator--at this point I was all out of dash), and enter the party room at exactly 11:29.
My grandmother arrives, is dutifully surprised, and I sneak out to the fitness club where in a record ten minutes, I shower, dress, and semi-dry my hair and am back at the party. I manage to carry my upset son to the buffet, feed my daughter, perform in a family skit (that I wrote), and generally behave like a person who has not just run 26.2 miles.
At the end of the party, it's time to go. I need to return the rental and then head back to my parents' condo for a well-deserved nap. It's been a long trip and we need to pack to return the next day. My mom is to follow me when I drop off my car so she can take me back to the condo.
I mention to my mom, "I've got to stop and get gas first, so I'll leave now. Where's my valet ticket?"
My mom looks at me with horror. "You valeted your car?!? That's twelve dollars!!"
Yes. Yes, it is. Sigh.
Anyway, we made it home with minimal difficulties, although there's always a rough readjustment to home life. Doodles of course didn't want to go to school (his new procrastination method? When told it's time to leave, he declares, "I need to use the potty!"). The Pie is back to her nonsleeping habits. And I have work that I'm not doing so that I may blog for you. In other words, back to normal! Now, what marathon should I run next...?
