On Sunday, October 7th, I walked anxiously towards the corral lanes behind the Richmond County Bank Ballpark. At 8:30am approximately 5,798 runners would start the final race of the NYRR Five Borough Series-the Staten Island Half Marathon. The sky was hazy, with an ominous dark cloud looming in the distance. I had a late start to the day, waking up at 7:15am when I had set my clock to 6:45am. I could not sleep at all the night before. My nerves kept me tossing and turning all night. What if I could not finish? What if I didn’t meet my expectations? My biggest fear was posting a time I deemed personally inadequate. I could not handle a bad time. Sports have engrained in me a certain threshold for excellence for which anything less is unacceptable. A stubborn and most destructive quality in me, I’ll admit. I had planned out my breakfast the night before, banana nutbread oatmeal and an orange clementine, (delish!). Unfortunately, I could not eat either. My nerves were so bad that I kept dry heaving after every spoonful, (gross!). Then I started freaking out because I could not possibly complete a 13.1 mile course on an empty stomach. I managed what little sustenance I could, and scrambled to my dresser for a cute race outfit. Of course, I own no cute race outfits, and had to settle for a royal blue t-shirt, shorts, and mismatched neon colored socks.
My training before the race consisted of soccer, (which helped me with the short sprintwork I so dread) interval biking, the elliptical, lifting, and long distance running. I figured the best way for me to prepare would be with more cross training than straight pounding the pavement for months. I have never done a race distance over a 5k, so making the jump to a half marathon was a bit ambitious. Nevertheless, once I had it in my mind that I wanted to register for the race, there was no turning back, ready or not.
I kept eagerly searching through the runners warming up, sizing them up and imagining if I, too, matched their physique and running capabilities. Staring at a petite, size zero woman running past me I suddenly get that nervous pit in my stomach again. Ughh don’t suck today Cindy!!
At 8:15am the Staten Island ferry parking lot was riddled with runners stretching, jogging and talking. I immediately felt lonely in the midst of thousands of people. The weather was very chilly, and I tried warming up as best I could. After several attempts of trying to discern where the porter potty lines ended I gave up on having a last minute run to the bathroom. There were dozens of porter johns all with hundreds of people lining up for them. Men were just peeing on the trees like it was no big deal because of how long the lines were. For a second I thought to myself if anyone would judge me if I did the same, (I didn’t if you are wondering).
With my bib number, 4049, secured to the bottom of my shirt with safety pins and my orange D-tag chip fastened to my right sneaker, I headed to my corral gate. I can’t believe I am doing this! I am so not ready for this! I psyched myself out before the race even began. Not being built like a runner, (the sheer girth of my hips is a telltale sign) I knew going in that I would not be posting up 7 minute mile paces. I decided what I lacked physically I would make up for in determination. I aimed for an 8 minute and 30 second mile pace. Up until this race I did not time my practice runs with a stopwatch, so 8:30 was a sheer guesstimation on my part. I figured for my first half I did not want to be a slave to the numbers; I would run according to how I felt.
Your corral is based on your estimated race pace per mile. I was lumped into 8 minute corral, (which I was a bit nervous about because I had written 8:30 on my registration form). At 8:30am, we were sardined in our corrals, anxiously waiting through a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner and the back patting accolades of fancy name donors and unctuous politicians. When the horn finally sounded it took me over 3 minutes to get to the actual start line, (more competitive corrals were ahead of me). Your D-tag activates as you cross the start line and deactivates when you hit the finish, giving you your exact time, (which is pretty cool, and also made me wonder how they timed races for every individual before this type of technology). It looks like this…
Annnnddd we’re off!
I began running away from the ferry, almost shoulder to shoulder with other runners.
I kept dodging into open spaces, which reminded me of the game Frogger where you have to safely jump in between cars to make it across a busy street.
Eventually the runners would all pan out, so basically you just had to wait to make a move.
This is what sardine running looks like….
We made our way up Richmond Terrace on a pretty steady incline. The entire street both ways was sectioned off by barriers and police escorts. Volunteers and spectators peppered the route, some with signs saying “RUN MOMMY!” and my personal favorites, “Charlie, you run faster than the “F” train!” and “RUN FOR THE CARBS!” We continued down Edgewater Street past some rundown, hostel movie-like factories. Somewhere around Broad Street, running adjacent to the water, we hit the mile three marker. I was very surprised to see that I was around an 8 minute mile pace, (at 24 minutes in). We carried on past Hylan Boulevard, Bay Street and across by Fort Wadsworth. In my opinion, the race was not very scenic. I passed a chunky, little red faced construction worker with a yellow hard hat on who was cheering and waving the American flag. “I want you all out here tomorrow morning for practice!” He made me smile. The route snaked down Father Capodonno Boulevard towards South Beach Psychiatric Center. There was an overpass with a DJ playing music. Because of the overpass structure, the music resonated much louder. The booming went right through you. It gave me chills; such an adrenaline pumping moment!
I tried eating my goo, which my elite running friend Moe advised me to take for energy somewhere in the middle mark of the race. I ripped off the top of the tiny package and squirted some of the vanilla flavored electrolyte replenishing liquid in my mouth. It was probably the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted and I regret not trying it out before actually running the race. I wish I had done that closer to a water station because now I had the awful aftertaste in my mouth.
I noticed a lost D-tag on the street and pitied the anonymous runner who had inadvertently parted with it. I was taken aback by how many porter potties were aligned down the race course every so often. A few runners would actually run right to them to use them and just pop back into the race. It never dawned on me how necessary these are throughout the race for just such emergency purposes.
Probably the coolest thing about the race for me was having thousands of runners on one side of the street. The other side of the two yellow lines designated the course back to the finish, and it was empty for a good duration of the race. Then, all of a sudden I saw police cars, volunteer bicyclists and a firetruck coming down the street opposite us. This meant only one thing, the runner in first place was coming. The wave of cheers from the hundreds of runners on my side of the street followed the runner as he went past behind his automobile escorts. I got chills once again. Imagine the rush it must have been for this one, lone runner as he made his way to the first place finish? It was absolutely awe-inspiring. Imagine those trucks and cars paving the way for you; so awesome!
Soon, other insanely gifted athletes ran past the opposite side, so I knew the turnaround was coming soon, which meant we were approaching the 7 mile halfway mark. I was feeling so good! My legs were not aching and I felt like I had much more in the tank. Around Buel and Naughton Ave we ran around a divider to finally make our way back. Then disaster struck. A small cramp started right in the center of my chest, just below my sports bra. I think it was a cramp in my diaphragm. I tried changing my stride up, chugging water at the next possible water station, and deep breathing. Mile 7.5 through 9 was torture with this cramp. I kept my right arm folded tight against my chest because it was the only way to alleviate some of the tightness restricting my breathing. I must have looked pretty crazy running with one arm on my hip like that. I started panicking because my pace slower considerably, (I just could not breathe properly) and I noticed a lot more runners making their way past me. Oh my God!!!
Finally, the pain decreased to the point where I could run without holding myself. If anyone knows why I got this cramp or how to avoid it in the future, PLEASE let me know! I started picking up the pace again to make up for lost time. Around mile 10 I was singing. Almost there, ALMOST THERE! I tried to pick out a runner every once and a while to be my rabbit, (I chase them and try to keep pace). It is so infuriating to see an older adult pass you so easily. Freak!! Then you get some runners that just do NOT look like runners and they pass you too and you are like, no way can I let THAT person beat me! Around the time I am evilly looking at a stout, compact woman zip past me my right sneaker begins feeling loose. I look down and realize my shoelace is untied. GOD DAMNIT! I decided not to stop to tie it because I feared that if I stopped, I would not be able to start running again. I was beginning to feel fatigued and decided I would take my chances on running with it untied and just high step the rest of the way, (pretty ridiculous I know). How could you tie your shoelace so loose for this race Cynthia?! We were on mile 12 and I was so close! The spectator crowds started thickening and the cheering became louder. Runners started picking up their paces, and I kept running with my head down concerned that my laces would loosen to the point where I would lose my D-tag, (because it was tied on that shoe of course). Not knowing my own personal time would be disastrous!
I could now see the Staten Island ferry terminal, and I started to sprint. I pushed past as many runners as I could. This next picture captures perfectly how I felt at the end…
Many people would slow and cheer and pose as they passed the finish, but not I.
That would mean an extra second and there’s no way in hell I was slowing for that camera moment.
When I passed the finish I surprisingly did not have the euphoric, runner’s high.
To my surprise, everyone coming out of the finishing block was given a medal, which was pretty cool.
I love my medal!
I grabbed some water from a volunteer handing them out and an apple from another station and searched the crowds eagerly for my family.
I had hoped to see them somewhere along the course but hadn’t up until now.
I wandered aimlessly through the crowds searching for them.
Then I saw my sister Mandy with her stroller by the white 9/11 memorial letter monument.
My 2.5 year old niece, Kaylee, came running over to me with a bundle of flowers.
That was my euphoric moment-scooping her up and letting her hold my metal.
My mom and Mandy took tons of pictures and congratulated me, (now they want to start running too!).
Ryan, my 2 month old nephew, snoozed in the stroller oblivious to his surroundings.
Around then was when my body started aching.
My left ankle, (which has damaged cartilage from an old soccer injury) was so bad I started limping as we made our way back to the car.
The rain had begun.
All in all, this race was a fantastic voyage for me. My gender place was 498 out of 2,559 women. My official time was 1:51:43 and I had an average mile pace of 8:32. Overall, I placed 2,187 out of 5,798 runners. Although I am very satisfied with my time for my first half, I still have that itching bug in me that I could do better.
The most satisfying feeling for me is looking back on the race and saying I did that. I can not sufficiently describe the way I felt approaching this half marathon doubting myself. Running this type of distance is not about how physically strong you are, but how mentally tough you are. It takes a strong mind to navigate those long miles, and even though you are running them with thousands of other runners, you are running them alone. It’s like you completely shut the world out for 13.1 miles. My greatest enemy was myself, and I think that’s true for everyone. What makes running so fantastic is that you run to give yourself your best. It’s about how far you can push yourself, how much you can exhaust yourself and still persevere. It’s about recognizing your limits, and then smashing them to pieces. I love surprising myself. In life where you cannot control the bad things that happen to you or the shitty cards you have been dealt, there is a certain calmness to the chaos achievable through something like running. It’s therapeutic.
Besides the absolute soreness to every fiber of my being the day after, I have no regrets. I most certainly will register for another half, and I look forward to destroying my old time!
I would like to end with an ode to a fantastic Nike commercial that has been airing lately, since everyone’s personal goals are different, I think it’s important we recognize what our goals are and not someone else’s.
