Your Mother Did Not Raise You to Be a Quitter: The 2013 New York Marathon Race Report

So some of you have already heard me gushing about New York, but I can't stop talking about it.

 


I am sitting here nursing a cold that's been coming on for over a month, thinking about howI'm going to explain New York.  I don't have any idea how I can keep this short; there are so many amazing memories from the race this weekend.  (For one, I want Brooklyn and Midtown to know this: MAJ loves you!!!!) 


So let me first apologize for the length of this entry today.  But there are just so many reasons why this race was extraordinary. 


On the morning of my 6th marathon, I woke up in New York. The City That Doesn't Sleep. The Big Apple. My favorite place in the world.  I thought I'd be nervous about running 5 hours with a bad head cold. I thought I'd be anxious about making the aggressive goal I've been chasing (and head colds and stress fractures have thwarted) for the past two years.  I even thought I'd be a little sad that I only get to do one marathon a year and I almost didn't get to do this one.

But I wasn't.  I knew, in my bones, that this would be a special day.

It was a very emotional week for me. For one, we raised $1785 this year, which puts my lifetime totals well over the $3,000 mark for the ACS.   For another, I carried over 30 names with me through the 5 boroughs and I did that - as I figured I would -  with a lot of smiles and tears. So many smiles that my face literally hurt from smiling (although, for some reason, the professional photos only caught me during the "hurting" moments!)

I've often said that running a marathon is a transformational experience, but New York is unlike anything I've ever done.  You wait a long time to start, but even getting to the start is an experience. Once you're there, it's walls of people and energy and culture and excitement and love - no better word for it - love like you have never seen. Or felt.  You're never alone - not for one tenth of a mile of the race; there's always something to see.  Even as you exit Central Park and collect your poncho, the volunteers are reminding you that you run this city, that YOU are the marathon. 

I felt like this was my first marathon all over again, except I wasn't a lost little kid wandering Philly alone this time, but surrounded by all my favorite people and places. 

The night before the marathon, I headed to the ACS Team DetermiNation dinner. I'd been up since 3am and I was trying my best to fight my cold but failing. My ears were plugged up. Just as I got off the subway on the way to the dinner - running late, of course - I reached behind my ear and discovered the back to my earring was missing.

I am very superstitious:  I have only two specific pair of earrings and one necklace I will wear during a race.  This particular pair was from Mom, who had given them to me recently because she'd gotten tired of wearing jewelry and she knew I would love them. And love them I have - especially the fact that they have screw-on backs, which actually have to be turned like screws to go on and off, making a klutz like me a lot less likely to lose them. 

So there was no way I was going to run this race without them.  But, with a back missing - a special back that I'd have to pay a jeweler cash I don't have to replace - there was no way that was going to happen.

As I sat there at the dinner and we talked about the people we have loved - and lost - the tears flowed freely down my face.  I lost track of whether I was wiping my face because of the cold or the tears.  I cried because I wanted to wear those earrings.  I cried because I know they're just things.  I cried because I didn't want to tell mom about the lost back, and because I wanted her to be there. I cried because I have a lot of other things going on in my life.  And I cried because I had no clue how I was going to run 26.2 miles in such an emotional state, with such a bad cold. I kept reminding myself, if you believe good things will happen, they will - whether they actually happen or you just choose to make the things that happen good.  I really, really, wanted to turn this into something good.  

And then later, in the hotel room, as I lay out my race gear for the next day (still crying a little), I saw it. Near the door to the bathroom, calmly nestled between the tile and the carpet, sat the earring back.  With the earrings were screwed - much more tightly - into my ears, and I knew that my Mom was there.

So I have to tell you now that I missed my lofty goal time again this year.  I have to tell you that because I want you to know why it didn't matter to me.

Every time I got tired, or sore, I had a little conversation with my mom.  I know that sounds crazy, but it worked.  I would say, come on, Mama, I need you now. or Just you and me, Mama, we got this.  Or sometimes it was Mama, please help me get through this. I am doing this for you and I want to honor you. Each time, she'd give me a little push, and I'd pick my feet up a little higher and carry on.


I asked for her help a lot.  The Staten Island bridge is such a long climb that you don't even hit mile 1 of the race until you've crested it.  No joke - you climb that sucker for almost an entire mile.  And it's one of about 5 slightly shorter - but still brutal - bridge crossings.  As I crested the bridge at mile 20 or so, I glanced up and I saw my name on the sign.  I thought to myself, there is no way my name is on that sign; but since it was a good half-mile up, I had a lot of time to stare at it. I realized the sign was announcing a parkway named for a Major, the abbreviation of which is MAJ. 

I still felt like it was for me.

But by far the sharpest memory was the first time I wanted to walk all race, between miles 22 and 23.  I usually only walk at the very end if I absolutely must. And I had been on track to hit very close to my goal pace, making my fastest splits at miles 16, 18, then 20, even 22 - but miles 20-21 just did me in. I kept talking myself out of walking a little.  I kept telling myself how close I was.  I kept asking my Mom for her help.  I kept trying not to be queasy, but this time it didn't work; I was too sick and tired for mental energy to pump me back up.

Right when I thought I had to stop and walk, I rounded a corner and saw someone holding a sign that said your mother did not raise you to be a quitter. You're almost there. 

I forgot I felt like puking because I was too busy crying. I only walked parts of 24-26.       And I found out later that my parents had been watching the race on TV, hoping to see me pass by. 

So, I was right.  Mom HAD been there with me.   

Make no mistake about it, NYC is a very tough marathon. I still managed an 8 minute (15-second-per-mile) personal best, but I have a long way to go to the next level.  And I am obviously taking a good week to recover from this cold. Which is how you find me with enough time sitting on my ass to keep writing for this long.


Training, racing, and fundraising for New York this has been a most incredible experience.  And for that, I have a lot of wonderful people to thank. 

And I have a lot of (hopeful) plans for the Off-Season . . . and for 2014.

Stay tuned.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

And no, I ain't perfect.  No one walkin' this earth's surface is. But . . . work with the kid.

- Jay-Z

I did some awesome things this week.



The Original MAJ, circa 1964

First, I tracked down this photo of my Mom from 1964. This was when she and my Dad were dating.  It used to be my favorite photo of her when I was a kid.  We all change a lot over the years, but it reminds me of when I was young enough to think that my parents were the most brilliant, beautiful/handsome people in the world.

I will tell you more about my plans for this photo later. I don't think Mom reads this blog regularly enough to see them if I post them, but let's keep it on the DL for now, shall we?



Next, I decorated my singlet for NYC.  Whoop whoop!



Then there was a birthday gathering this weekend with some of my girlfriends, one of whom is an amazing makeup artist and I have to tell you, watching everyone both with and without makeup was amazing.  I was overwhelmed by how lovely they all are, inside and out.  I couldn't stop complimenting everyone on their shoes, their jewelry, and just their personalities in general. 

We were chatting with the photographer about how some of us are very picky about pictures of ourselves and have a harder time finding a lot of photos we like.  There were some great ones taken and a lot that I did not care for; having photos taken is always tough for me.  I tried to explain that I feel like everyone should feel good about how they look in pictures, so there isn't really anything wrong with being picky about which shots you like. But, from the perspective of someone who's always been curvy and battled chronic illness, it is often hard to explain to people how being larger can make you feel in a society that prizes tininess above most things.   You see a picture of yourself and think that is not how I look in real life!



Photo shoot girls night!

Looking through the photos of my girlfriends, I realized the a lot of photos didn't really look like them in real life, either.  So many of them are pretty on film, but absolutely stunning in person.  The photos, while some of the best I've ever had taken, just couldn't capture their internal beauty.  It reminded me of the picture of my mom from 1964. It was her favorite picture of herself back then, and although she'll say I don't even look like that anymore, it is a reminder to me of the days when I was a kid and I idolized her.  It reminds me of what a lovely person she is - although I'm sure it does not do her justice - and that she has always been someone I looked up to. 

A picture is worth a thousand words, but the memory is priceless.That isn't to say that a picture that makes you feel like a rock star is not a bad confidence booster; it just means that a really good one takes you right back to that day/time/memory, which is way more valuable than just how we look.

At the end of the hard days I think about the hard stuff I made it through.  Like finishing the week's homework and feeling like I accomplished a lot at work.  Like running 32 miles this week (part of which was running 17 miles yesterday but feeling like I ran 10.) I think about how lucky I am to know so many intelligent, decent women.  I think about all the support I have received over the last few years as I have made tough decisions and got ill, then well again. 

And I remember that I won't always have all the answers. But that's ok.  Because, if I did, I wouldn't have any reason to ask the questions.  And sometimes asking the questions takes you on the adventure that changes everything.

NYC Week 4/5: Answers, Results, and Ballin' on Budgets

This week we got some more answers and results. . . two things you know I adore.  But it has not been without its challenges. 

 

Mom is on a month long break from chemo and done with radiation.  In mid-August, she'll go back to chemo, but for a higher dose.  (Thankfully she only has to go biweekly.)  I'm planning to visit for Christmas when she'll be done and feeling up to having company.  I can't wait.

 

Fundraising Progress

Last weekend I had my first big fundraising event for the ACS, and it was a blast!  My roomie (on the left in this shot) helped me with a lot of the organization.  We got rained on, but we raised another $200 for the ACS.    (Next up . . . online bake sales, girls-only party, and possibly a good old-fashioned car wash!)

 

Training is Coming Along Swimmingly .

This morning, I went to Lucky's Lake to celebrate a friend's 100th crossing.  It was a great time, and a real milestone for her, so I purposely organized my training schedule to do it.  This week has been a stepback week, so all my runs were short (2-3 miles for short runs and 6-8 for the long run).

 

Good thing, too - even outside of work and school I have been slammed. We found out that the Little Kitty has a pancreatic disease - she's been losing weight because her IBS makes her poop/puke when she gets anxious and her pancreas don't metabolize food properly (lots of fun for me to clean up!)  This is good news, though - the vet thinks B12 shots and adding pancreatic enzymes to her food should turn her around in the next few months.  The Big Kitty is still battling a regrowth of his tumor, so it looks like chemo is in his near future, unfortunately.

 

New York, I Love You, But You're Bringing Me Down - (LCD Soundystem)

As athletes, we talk a lot about making sacrifices. We sacrifice sleep in order to work out; we sacrifice eating and drinking what we like. But the sacrifice a lot of people don't talk about is the cost of being able to do the sport(s).  I've mentioned before that I'm already a multi-sport athlete on a budget - and that is definitely a challenging feat to accomplish.  Because I love it, and because it makes me feel well, there are a lot of things that I've given up over the years in order to be able to continue racing. I've given up getting my hair done in a salon, for example. I have a friend do it instead, and I only get it done a few times a year (he does a magnificent job, which is fortunate!) I also don't race as much as my colleagues, I have to stick mostly to local races, my gear is all 6-7 years old, and when something breaks, I have to find something used to replace it.  I often receive race entry fees as birthday and Christmas gifts. These are just a few examples.

 

Needless to say, my own doctor's visits and the extra vet visits brought with them some financial strain.  Despite all the work training and fundraising, I almost had to give up my trip to New York.  I may still have to.

 

Less Me, More $$$

The challenge has increased recently - not just with the vet visits, but with my non-sport life.  I might have mentioned that my endocrinologist has been harassing me about my weight - he wants me to lose more to help with my insulin resistance, polycystic ovaries, and overall endocrine function.  The irony of this is that, since my surgery, since I've had a stable dose of thyroid hormone in my body, and because I have always been very active, my weight has continually dropped to the point where I'm almost at my pre-illness size (or smaller). I always eat well within reason, and I allow myself treats - I don't believe in deprivation or starvation.

The endo, however,  still wants to see me at a weight that is almost unrealistic based on the fact that my body fat is somewhere in the 20's right now, despite my my weight being  "high" for someone my height.   So I had that tested and started using the Weight Watchers food journal online to track my food so I can show him what I'm doing, and that it really is my lack of thyroid slowing down my weight loss.  I'm hoping that when I go back to see him in the next 3 months with this data he will just shut up.

 

In the meantime, because I've lost so much weight over the last three years, I've had to go back to my old pre-illness wardrobe, which is now 10 or 15 years old, and even those things are starting not to fit me anymore. (Goodwill has been LOVING my regular visits with old/too-large items.)  The things that do fit are pretty old and raggedy.  But with all of the added expenses, plus cutting corners to afford running shoes and races, I won't be able to replace anything in my "real world" wardrobe for probably the better part of the year.  (The dress you see me wearing in the picture above cost me $7 and the necklace was $12.  On the plus side, ballin' on a budget makes you a wicked-accomplished bargain-hunter.)

 

At some point I'm going to have to cut my racing back so that I can actually afford to have clothes for the other 75 percent of the week when I'm not working out; right now, I am not ready to make that sacrifice.

 

And that's what I got for Week 4/5.  Up on next week's plan: we're up to 5-a-week runs and getting ready to throw in some two-a-day workouts.  Hold onto your oh-shit handles . . . this should be fun!

Fast is Relative: The 2013 Watermelon 5k RR

Just around mile 2.5 - realizing
I was about to PR

If you drink, don't drive - do the watermelon crawl . . .

-Tracy Byrd

This week's speed work was a local 5k called the Watermelon Run.  It is always on July 4th, is an untimed fun run where only the top 10 times are even posted, and is always sickeningly humid.  The race includes - of all things - a watermelon-eating contest.

I didn't sleep very well last night, it was almost 90% humidity, and I had only planned for a Fun Run to practice my speed and my new 5k strategy.  So imagine my surprise when 1)I ran into some of my favorite athletes, 2)the strategy worked - didn't blow up until about mile 2.5 when I usually blow up at mile 1.5 . . .and 3) I beat my best time by 10 seconds.

 . . . per mile. 

An unintentional 30-second PR at the 5k distance.


Afterwards, during breakfast with my friends, one of them said to me you are fast.  Of course, I don't think I'm fast, so I told her that.  Her response was
you're faster than me, so that makes you fast in my book.

It made me really think about how fast is relative. No matter how fast we get, there will always be someone faster.



Tired, hot and sweaty - but so happy

It also made me think of something I once said in this blog: no matter how fast I get, I never want to stop having fun.  I am certainly going to have my moment where a race didn't go as I would have liked and I didn't finish in the time I'd hoped, but I still think giggling is completely appropriate before, during, AND after any race.

The PR was a big confidence booster.  The past few weeks have been rough. Mom is midway through chemo and not feeling so hot. Arnie's tumor is coming back, so he is back on his second pill (2 pills a day, then 3 every other day).  I also have the other cat relocated to encourage her to eat (so far so good), so I am traipsing back and forth to see her too.  I also have follow-up doctor's appointments for all the tests of my own.  Just getting in 2/3 to 3/4 of my workouts has been hard.



Fast is relative

I may have mentioned that one of the frustrating things about being young and having health challenges is the lack of ability to feel young and free. I handle that pretty well most of the time, but with all the new stuff added in, I find myself feeling somewhat isolated. I can't see my friends as often as I want. Sometimes it's hard just to juggle school, work, and workouts.

Workouts - and races - are my escape.

Today's race was a much-needed break from the monotony of work, study, sleep, tend sickies.  I got to PR, I got out for breakfast, and I got to see some of my cycling/running friends.  I can't think of any better way to celebrate Independence Day than getting free of my own little world and out of my head.


All in all, it was a brilliant day.

Happy 4th of July!!

When You Get to the End of Your Rope - aka I'd Rather Be Lucky Than Good

When You Get to the End of Your Rope, Tie a Knot and Hang On.

 

This quote is attributed to Abe Lincoln, but who knows if that's who really said it.  A lot of things are attributed to the wrong person out here on the internets.  I know, because I've been the subject of a few such misattributions. (Is that a word?)

 

The reason you haven't heard much from me in the past few months is that I have spent all my energy tying a knot in my rope and holding the f*&k on. I honestly have not even been training a lot. Which is shocking, because I just scored a 5k PR, another completed 5k, and a another "accidental" century - got dumped by the group and spent the latter half mostly in my aerobars, alone - good practice, right?
 

My love affair with 2012 was no secret.

Now, 2013, on the other hand . . . I just had a feeling that 2013 would not be the year of PR's and joyous achievements that 2012 was. No, I was going to need a lot more luck to get me through Lucky 13.

But then, I've always said I'd rather be lucky than good.
 

My mom, as you may know, is a diabetic (it's why I am pre-diabetic; damn genetics).  She has been on Metformin, a common diabetes medication, for years.  Many doctors and patients know that Metformin can cause an upset stomach or indigestion. So my mom didn't realize that her indigestion had grown extremely severe.  In fact, she didn't have indigestion at all - she had a gallstone and what was called a "bleeding ulcer" in the old days. I went to visit her when she got out of the hospital.

 

That same week, I went for my quarterly checkups feeling exhausted and they found a mass in my lymph nodes. The endo told me it was probably just leftover thyroid tissue, but he ordered another test, and I moved on.

 

I had just enough time to catch my breath, and we found out that mom's ulcer was cause by the bacteria that causes stomach cancer.  This is such an aggressive and difficult disease to treat, and my parents are the most important people in my lives. I felt like my entire life was crashing down around my ears.

 

I had just enough time to catch my breath, and we found out that there was a spot on my mom's lung and she would need a lung biopsy.

 

I had just about caught my breath again, when I found out that my dad has coronary, peripheral AND carotid artery diseases. Tests revealed severe artery blockages and the evidence of a recent heart attack, and by the time I'd caught ANOTHER breath and booked a plane flight back, he'd had a second heart attack.

 

At this point I wasn't even ready to breathe.  Work has been hectic and I have taken on some additional responsibilities.  I am in the middle of a large and very confusing project with my classmates. And I was about to start midterm exams when all this hit. Mom's biopsy looked good, so getting an earlier flight back home on the way back seemed like an omen of better things to come. 

 

And then I got a call from my vet's office that my oldest cat has a type of tumor called a mast cell tumor, which is a form of feline and canine cancer (his royal fatness, above).

 

I spent several months just trying to re-establish my routine, and then, when that started to happen, I came down with a two-week cold which halted training and I got the results from my CT scan back.  The news was not very good.  Both the ultrasound and the CT showed evidence of more lymph node metastasis and a likely surgery, maybe even surgery plus more radioiodine, in my near future - at the very least, a painful biopsy.

 

I was at the end of my rope.

 

Mental list went something like:

1. Curl up in a ball and cry Maybe for a day or two.
2. Throw things I like my stuff too much and don't want to be in jail for throwing someone else's.
3. Drink heavily Too hard to keep working and do this, and I hate the way it feels.
4. Drop out of class  This too shall pass, and I'll be pissed I didn't finish a semester when it does.
5. Spend a lot of money Ha, ha, ha - and afford my medical care HOW?
6. Give up Are you shitting me?  After all these years of hard work to start getting back on my feet again?

So, I did the only thing I knew how to do . . . I tied a knot and hung on. 

 

And here you find me.

 

Alive.

Still employed and earning A's.

Not drunk - or hungover.

Certainly not curled up in a ball.

No stuff has been broken - mine or anyone else's.

I haven't gone to jail, spent too much money, or been anywhere close.

 

Life moved on - because I told it to.

 

And, despite all the overwhelmingness going on around me, I committed not only to my guaranteed entry for the New York Marathon this year, but also to fundraising again for the American Cancer Society.  Because the fundraising funds the research, and the research funds the treatments, and just about everyone from mom to me to my kitty needs that right now. (follow me here http://main.acsevents.org/goto/maj)

 

Yes, I will keep training through surgery.

Yes, I will keep training if I have to have more radiation.

Yes, I will keep training while I travel to my parents' (I have been doing this already).

 

Because THAT ^ is what happened when I got through all this the first time.

 

So, this may not be a PR year.

This may just be an "I finished" year.

An "I was lucky not to lose anything year."

 

And I'll take it.

 

After all,  I'd rather be lucky than good.