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The four-word summary of Sunday’s Texas Marathon: I broke four hours!

The one-sentence summary: At times it was a tough fight, but I pushed through and finished with a huge smile on my face and the realization that a years-old dream had come true.

The sad part: I ran in honor of my friend Jim, who had terminal cancer and entered hospice care in November. As I sat down to write this Wednesday evening, I realized I hadn’t looked looked at his facebook page since Monday, due to traveling. (He had stopped doing much typing/correspondence because he was weak and was instead spending time with family.) That’s when I learned that he died Tuesday morning. I started crying, went and got Kleenex, scrolled slowly past all the tributes already accumulating on his facebook page, then got more Kleenex. Now, as I type, I need more Kleenex. However, I’m going to write this race report. Jim found and befriended me because of my writing, which was truly one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. I wrote about him in November, and now I’m going to include him in this blog post, too. (If his friends and family are reading this and don’t want to sift through all the running stuff, you can skip down to mile 22, as well as the last two paragraphs.)

Background

The Texas Marathon is held every year on January 1, north of Houston. They limit it to 650 people for the half and full marathons, so it’s basically the opposite of the New York City Marathon. Like NYCM and the Santa Rosa half, this was another of my “redemption” races from the previous year, when I had to cancel a number of races due to a stress fracture. The race got rave reviews from several runners whose expertise I respect. And participants get a massive 3.5-pound medal.

The catch with a New Year’s Day race is that you need to get to sleep at a decent hour and hydrate (with water, not alcohol) the previous day, also known as New Year’s Eve. But I’ve had a lot of holiday/birthday let-downs over the years, so I figured I had better odds of beating my marathon time on a flat, fast course. Plus, I could still celebrate the new year ON New Year’s Day.

I’d run New York eight weeks earlier, and it took me a little while to recover. My feet hurt pretty badly for a week after, and that led me to switch shoes. The new shoes caused blisters, so then I took a gamble by dropping to a slightly less supportive shoe. That worked. Three weeks before Texas, I suddenly got a crazy pain in the side of my knee. Thankfully that day I was hanging out with Kerry, a physcial therapy student, who diagnosed it as IT Band troubles and told me to roll my hip (yes, hip — not just the knee) on a foam roller. It hurt, but rolled religiously several times a day and got through a 21-miler two weeks before Texas.

A few weeks before the marathon, I unintentionally lost seven pounds in nine days. While I do want to lose weight and do think that would ultimately make me faster, I did NOT plan on doing so mere weeks before a marathon. But I had absolutely no appetite and could not eat. I did gain back three pounds when my life calmed down, before the race. (I have probably since gained back more weight due to delicious food I ate while in Texas.)

Pre-race

I ran four miles on Thursday, three miles of it on a packed dirt path around the Rice University campus in Texas. In California, I’d been running in the dark in temperatures ranging from 27 to 37, so shorts and a t-shirt in daylight were a nice change. On Friday, I stole an idea from Alyssa by running 2.62 miles. I always run the day before a race — usually about 3 miles, but I liked the idea of 2.62 before 26.2. That day, I stepped outside into what my weather app said was 100% humidity. It sucked. It did, however, slow me down so I wouldn’t run too fast the day before the marathon.

Dinner was pizza and a viewing of “Cowboys and Aliens” with the awesome HellaSound (yes, he makes music specifically for running) and his lovely wife. I got in bed around 10:30 p.m. and was wide awake. I lay there for a while and began to stress myself out. I’d gotten eight hours of sleep the previous night, which is very good, but that meant that now I wasn’t tired. My mind was on overdrive.

A year after my first marathon, I ran the 2009 Chicago Marathon in 4:08. That day, a dream began: I wanted a marathon time that began with 3. I’d be perfectly happy with 3:59:59, just so long as it was under 4 hours. Then I bombed in my third marathon in May 2010, posting my slowest time ever.

It took 13 months to run another marathon, due to a stress fracture, but in June 2011, I ran the Mayor’s Marathon in Alaska in 4:00:21. I’m still amazed, because my training shouldn’t have allowed that time. In November, I ran NYC in 4:02:24. I was happy with my time, since I’d taken a nasty fall two weeks earlier and it was a hilly course.

So, here I was on the eve of another marathon. I’d made my goal public, and everyone knew I wanted to break four hours. To add to matters, I’d decided to run this marathon for Jim. He’d fought the terminal cancer, trying to find treatments while also trying to go on some adventures before his life ended. I couldn’t cure his cancer, but I could run a good race in his honor. I’ve been proving my childhood doctors wrong by running, so this would be one more way of making running meaningful. As I lay there in bed, I knew that it would be OK if I didn’t reach my goal this time. But I also knew that Jim was dying, and this would be my only chance to break four hours while he was still alive. I picked up my phone and turned to Twitter, where I got supportive responses from amazing people.

Morning

Finally, just before midnight, I put the phone done and went to sleep. I awoke at 5:21, before the alarm. I made my standard pre-race peanut butter and banana sandwich. We stopped at Starbucks, where I got a small decaf coffee. Yes, decaf. Except for one half-caffeine latte on Wednesday morning, I’d cut out all caffeine for a week. This has been an ongoing experiment since August, and it seems to have helped with some heart rate/semi-blacking-out issues. However, Sunday would be the first race without a little regular coffee on race morning. I also wasn’t going to take any caffeinated gels during the race, though I’ve always relied on one final burst of caffeine in the last few miles.

We got to the race in Kingwood and parked in a residential neighborhood. Yep, it was a small race. We got our packets, which came with a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt and a cute little duffel bag, which will actually be the perfect size to hold running stuff when I drive somewhere to run with friends. There were no lines for the port-a-potties, and I was extremely relieved to note that the humidity was nowhere near the previous day’s 100%. It was a little windy, but I’d take that over humidity any time.

I found Kathy, who I’d  happened to run into at the NYC expo.

Kathy started introducing me to her Marathon Maniacs friends (qualifying for that club has been my other big running goal). I know some Maniacs members, and they’re always fun, nice people. Soon I was holding two cameras at once, helping take photos as 75 of them gathered for a group shot. And then there were race announcements, a girl was attempting to sing the National Anthem, and we were gathering at the start. A funny horn sounded, and we were off.

The race

Mile 1: 9:11
Mile 2: 8:48
Mile 3: 8:55

The first couple miles, I had trouble finding my pace. I knew I wanted to aim for around 9:00 to 9:05 miles. A 4-hour marathon is a 9:08 pace, so that would be right on target. The start was a bit congested, of course, but with only a few hundred marathoners, it wasn’t bad.

Mile 4: 9:04
Mile 5: 9:12 (gel)

The course is run entirely on a paved path that goes through tall trees, under a couple small overpasses, over a couple bridges, and past a lake. In other words, it’s pretty. The lake was lovely, but that area was more open and the wind was pretty strong.

Mile 6: 9:03
First 1/4 of the race: 58:28 (8:55 pace)

The race is a loop; half-marathoners run it twice and full-marathoners run it four times. This meant I would pass the start/finish area four times. That sounds awful, but friends had assured me that it was not. One advantage was that I would see the official clock time and would know that I was still on pace if I could finish each loop in 59:59. This is a good thing, because there was a little GPS interference, so my watch was slightly off. Thanks again to friends, I’d known this ahead of time.

Mile 7: 8:55
Mile 8: 8:51
Mile 9: 8:56

The half-marathoners started 15 minutes after the full-marathoners, so I’d wondered if it would be a traffic jam at times. Plus, the course isn’t just a loop — it actually has a turn-around with an out-and-back portion, so you’re passing runners and also seeing oncoming runners. Believe it or not, this actually wasn’t that big of a problem. A vast majority of the people were following proper etiquette of staying to the right except to pass. Plus, I loved seeing all the people. I saw HellaSound and his wife about six times each, so that was fun.

Mile 10: 8:56 (gel)
Mile 11: 9:17

I stopped to fill my bottle and went with the sports drink, because I know I need as many electrolytes as I can get in order to fight off calf cramps. They were serving PowerAde, which I find to be sickeningly sweet, but I went with it.

Mile 12: 9:10
Mile 13: 9:18
Second 1/4 of the race: 58:39 (8:57 pace), almost exactly the same time as the first loop.

The PowerAde was a bad choice. I have a very solid stomach, but as soon as I started sipping it, my stomach began to feel upset. This never happens to me. I thought it might be a coincidence, but it also tasted awful. So, at the aid station at the start/finish, I took the time to pour out the PowerAde and refill with water. No more electrolytes from sports drink for me, but the water tasted so much better. I also turned on my music at this point.

Mile 14: 8:46 (gel)
Mile 15: 9:05
Mile 16: 9:12
Mile 17: 9:00

Things started to feel harder. My legs started to feel tired. I knew I’d hit the halfway point around 1:57:24, and I knew that was a bit too fast. I should have been about two minutes slower. I don’t believe that “banking time” is good, because if you run too hard and burn out too early, no amount of time will be enough.

Mile 18: 9:28 (gel)
Mile 19: 10:16
Third 1/4 of the race: 1:00:56 (9:18 pace)

I was crashing and burning. Everything was hurting. I stopped more than once, stretching out my legs and bending over because my lungs and chest felt tight. I grabbed a piece of banana at the start/finish aid station, knowing the potassium would help my muscles.

Mile 20: 10:32
Mile 21: 9:28

I didn’t want to head out for yet another loop on that never-ending course. I just wanted to stop. I could try to break four hours some other time. I had tried, but it just wasn’t my day. Then I realized that I was stopped on the side of the path while Metallica was playing in my ears. I’ve done some of my fastest runs to Metallica. Why wasn’t I running? I had no excuse. So mile 21 was at least back to a 9:XX pace. At the start of the last loop, I knew I was in a place where I would break four hours if I could just hold on and run 10-minute miles. That was a good position to be in, because normally 10-minute miles are too slow for me.

Mile 22: 10:22 (gel)

The determination had barely lasted through one mile. I was done. I couldn’t do this. Everything hurt. I thought of Jim and felt tears in my eyes because I was going to fail and I wouldn’t have another chance to break four hours before he died. I remembered NYC, where I’d focused on channeling Chrissie Wellington, who hadn’t given up despite very bad injuries two weeks before she conquered the Kona Ironman. I remembered Alaska, where I was 21 seconds over the four-hour mark.

Then I thought of Jim again. He’d fought to live as much as he could in the last few months until he’d had to enter hospice care. If he could fight, so could I. Then a phrase came into my mind: “Fight for it.” RoadBunner had given that mantra to Alyssa before Alyssa went out and conquered the California International Marathon. Fight for it.

Mile 23: 9:19

I was fighting for all I was worth. I told myself I would not stop again, no matter what. I was NOT going to miss the four-hour mark by seconds again. I was going to do this for Jim. I would fight for it.

Mile 24: 9:16

I passed Kathy one more time. “Go girl, go get that PR!” she shouted after me. Yes, that PR (personal record) was actually still in sight. I could do this. The last loop seemed to take forever, but I knew I just had to keep running. I felt slight threats of calf cramps, and I told myself they would NOT take me down. I would fight them off, too.

Mile 25: 8:55

“Whoa, she’s speeding up,” I heard a volunteer say. (The volunteers were fantastic, by the way.) Yes, I was speeding up. I was fighting for it. Dammit, I was going to break four hours. After all, I’d told Jim I was doing it for him.

Mile 25.9: 8:21 pace (the GPS on my watch was off; the course is certified to 26.2 miles)
Last 1/4 of the race: 1:00:53 (9:18 pace), also almost exactly the same time as the previous lap.

I crossed the finish line in sheer joy. I’d been watching the time on my watch and had seen it reach 3:58 near the finish line. I saw a 3 on the clock at the finish. I’d done it. I had broken through the 4-hour barrier.

Official time: 3:58:55.

Aftermath

HellaSound was right there at the finish, congratulating me. One of the best things in the world is to have a friendly face at the end of a hard race. I was only catching half of what he was saying, but he was cheering for the fact that I’d broken four hours.

A volunteer gave me a little pink pig with the number 33 on it. I knew the pig was coming — it’s a unique Texas Marathon thing, where every year they have a signature animal and give out miniature versions. But the number was the icing on the cake. I am attempting to run three marathons in three months to qualify for Marathon Maniacs; my third race will be the weekend I turn 33; and 33 is a multiple of 11, the number that has always followed me. If I’d finished 19 seconds slower, that number 33 pig would have gone to the person who finished after me. This was the reward for that last gasp of an 8:20 pace.

Then they gave me a monster of a medal that came in its own box because it was too heavy to actual place around the neck of someone who just ran 26.2 miles. Then I wandered toward the food, knowing I needed something solid to clear my head. This was a bit of an adventure, because they had lots of boxes of cookies, but I had no idea which ones might contain walnuts. They won’t kill me or send me to an emergency room, but walnuts make my mouth BURN. So there I was, half-delirious, trying to read ingredients on boxes of cookies. I couldn’t do it. Someone said, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they all have nuts in them.” Really? That’s ridiculous! I finally focused on a box of chocolate-chocolate chip cookies, didn’t see any mention of nuts, and took a bite. It was fine, though extremely dry. I managed three bites of dry cookie.

HellaSound had said something about where he and his wife were sitting, but for the life of me, I had no idea what he’d said. Finally things came back into normal mode and I saw them on a nearby bench. I walked over to them and learned that the pizza promised at the finish line was gone. So we took a couple pictures with the inflatable pigs and made the slow walk to the car. On the way, we passed more pizza being delivered, but by then none of us wanted to walk back and deal with a mob of hungry runners.

Final stats

Age group (women, 30-39): 4th out of 23 — top 17.4 percent

Gender: 9th out of 90 — top 10 percent

Overall: 34th out of 221 — top 15.4 percent

These stats say several things. First, this race was a fast course, but it attracts people who run a LOT and focus on distance more than time. In New York, I was only three minutes slower and had pretty good stats, but I was nowhere near cracking the top 10 percent in any category. Second, the stats are still proof that I’m in a tough age group. The women’s winner was in my age group, and she was second overall. Second place woman was also in my age group.

First half: 1:57:07

Second half: 2:01:49

As I said earlier, this isn’t the ideal way to run a race. It’s just too risky to go too fast and expect to bank enough time. But it worked on Sunday, and I had just over a minute to spare.

Thank you

It’s taken me two years and four attempts to break four hours in the marathon. (I’ve now run six marathons, but I hadn’t dreamed of sub-4 at first.) Thank you to my friends and family who have put up with my jabbering about running, who have consoled me when I’ve been injured, and who have encouraged me to keep going.

Thank you to Janine, who got me started down this crazy marathon road. Thank you to the Lodi Running Club members, who provided many hours of companionship on the roads, carpools to races, and coffee shop chatter. Thank you to the Bay Area runners who have welcomed me, accepted me, and given me some true friendships. Thank you to the Internet friends who send encouragement from afar and who often care more than my “real life” friends. Thank you to Katie, who called and texted me every single day last month when I felt like I was alone and drowning. Thank you to Deanne, who still stands by me after a decade of friendship. Thank you to Paulo, for the typos and book material. Thank you to Ron, for the support. Thank you to Alyssa.

And thank you to Jim. Thank you for taking a chance and contacting an Internet stranger. Thank you for reading my writing for years, which is one of the most sincere compliments anyone can give. Thank you for offering tips when I was job hunting. Thank you for cheery comments, even when cancer hurt you, and then when cancer hit you. Thank you for reminding me that life needs to be lived, and that it’s worth fighting for as long as possible. Thank you for being an inspiration. And — this may sound weird but I know you’d have understood — thank you for hanging on until after the marathon.

I wanted to break four hours for so long. I’ve finally done it, and I did so in honor of a friend, which means I’ll never forget him. I can only hope that someday I am worthy of being someone else’s unforgettable inspiration.

What a weekend! I did a bunch of running, saw a ton of friends, and volunteered at the 29th annual California International Marathon (referred to by many as CIM). So, here are some older-iPhone-crappy-quality photos, along with some hastily written words that wound up being longer than an actual marathon. I’m not sure how that happened, but you might want to go get some caffeine if you plan to actually read all of this.

Saturday morning found me lacing up some almost-new shoes, which are the latest in a string of experiments since the New York Marathon. So, hey, why not go run 16 miles in hardly used shoes, along with socks that should be OK but you haven’t tested for more than a few miles?

I set out on a new route, which offered these kinds of views:

Yep, it’s rough to live in California’s Bay Area in December. Did I mention that it was 51 degrees, which is fantastic running weather?

However, it was windy. We’d been having gale-force winds that were supposed to die down, but that hadn’t happened. It made breathing a bit hard, but I felt fine. Then I turned after six miles. Then I turned again. The second half of that 16-mile run was directly into the wind. It was so hard, and my shoulders started hurting because I was unknowingly hunching over as I battled the wind. But I made it home with a good overall average pace (perhaps a bit too fast), then proceeded to dash around trying to get ready to leave.

Michelle arrived, and we headed off to Sacramento for the marathon expo. I wasn’t running, but I never mind wandering around a place filled with runners and running gear. And that’s where the “Layla keeps seeing familiar faces” phenomenon began. First I bumped into Kris and Janice, two buddies from my old Lodi running club. Then I happened to glance at Twitter and see that Todd (San Francisco Twitter running buddy) was at the expo. We met up just as I was talking to the race director of the Santa Rosa Marathon. Then along came Michaela and Cynthia, so it was like a mini party there at the expo.

Then Michelle and I headed off to Courtney‘s parents’ house east of Sacramento. Not only were they fun and cool, but they’d graciously offered to host as many people as would fit in their lovely home. Courtney and Alyssa had gotten partially made pizzas, then added lots of toppings. We chowed down on delicious pizza, garlic bread, salad and fudgesicles.

It was a nice evening of chatting with Courtney, Alyssa, Michelle, Angela and Don, Sesa and Karin.

5:15 a.m. arrived, and the wind had stopped! I drove Courtney, Alyssa, Angela and Michelle to the start line a few miles away, then went to find myself an extra hot venti soy misto on my way to the start line, 26.2 miles back to Sacramento.

I arrived at the start line, checked in, put on my volunteer shirt and set to work getting medals ready for distribution. They normally hang on big racks, but someone forgot the bases of the racks. We improvised by layering them in groups between cardboard.

The winner arrived at 9:12 a.m.

Twenty minutes later, along came the first woman.

I was on the women’s finishing side, and when the clock time neared 2:45, everything got electric. To run the Olympic Trials, women must run a 2:46 or faster. The Trials are in January and the last day to qualify was eight days after this marathon, so it was one last chance for women who have been working so hard to run a 6:20-per-mile pace for 26.2 miles. If they missed it by one second, they would have no shot for another four years.

Suddenly I was surrounded by ecstatic, crying women. I was putting medals on sobbing women who had just seen years of effort pay off. To my right, just on the outside of the fence, I heard a man crying and shouting. I looked over to see a man in San Francisco Giants clothing, jumping for joy as his wife made her way to him. “You did it, babe, you did it!” he kept shouting as he cried just as hard as she did. He was trying to take their picture, so I offered to do it for them. Even I was misty-eyed by the whole thing.

Meanwhile, Jana, Karin and Beth were spectating along the course and I’d asked Jana to text me when she saw Katie. I got an update at mile 20, so I knew about when to expect her. This was the second year in a row that I was going to be at the finish line when Katie crossed, and the other volunteers all knew to steer clear whenever she arrived. Then I saw her come around the corner in the distance. I think I was shouting her name (though I’m not sure), and I could see that she was hurting.

Katie reached the finish line and collapsed. I have no idea what I said or did, but I remember that it was all I could do to stand back while the medics helped her up — I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her finish time or health. They got her moving forward and I grabbed her in a big hug, not letting go except to take one side of her while a medic took the other side and we kept her walking. She was asking for water, so I finally let go in order to run ahead and grab a bottle of water. I soon found out that she’d been on pace for a 2:55 marathon until a brief port-a-potty stop at mile 8, which caused her hamstring to suddenly seize up. She kept on a sub-3-hour pace through several more miles of pain. The entire rest of the marathon hurt, but she still pulled off a 3:10. I am still in awe.

Anyway, I got Katie’s dry clothes from her husband and she went straight to the medical tent, where we were not allowed to enter. So I headed back to my volunteer duties. In the meantime, a guy had proposed to his girlfriend at the finish line — us volunteers had been told that it was coming. She apparently said yes, because they were both looking pretty happy in the finishers’ area.

Suddenly I heard a male voice, and there was Todd (from the expo the previous day). His goal had been somewhere between 3:14 and 3:20, but he didn’t quite do that. Nope, he ran a 3:08. He was pretty excited, and rightly so!

In the meantime, I’d gotten a bummer of a text from Naomi, who I knew would set a huge new personal record because she’s had great training. (She also finally realized that she’s stronger and faster than she thought.) Something went wrong around the halfway point, and at mile 18 she was walking, trying to rally and fight the pain in her knee and foot. At mile 19.5 she was done, and medical personnel told her so. I was sooo sad for her, because I knew how badly she wanted to finish and what she was capable of. Sometimes running saves us from ourselves, and sometimes it leaves us crying on the side of the road. The former is why we keep running.

Soon it was time to look for Alyssa. I saw her round that corner in the distance and said, “There she is!” One of the young volunteers said, “Stand back, we have a claimer.” Apparently I was not shy in making sure I got to my friends. Alyssa crossed the finish line in an amazing 3:35, taking nine minutes off her previous best time. I wrapped her up in a big hug and walked her through the finishing area, also leaving her long enough to run ahead for water. (They should not have water so far from the finish line!)

We tried checking on Katie, but she was still in the medical tent. But in the process, I ran into Sam, who had paced a friend to the finish. If you want an example of a genuinely good guy, he’s one of them. One of these days, I’ll figure out how to do more to help his organization, Operation Jack.

Somewhere in there, I heard another male voice, and there was my old college buddy/co-worker James. We’re friends on facebook but haven’t seen each other in person for almost 10 years. He took up running a year or two and asked me a bunch of questions about shoes, etc. He has stuck to it, and on Sunday he whooped his previous time by a landslide. He was so thrilled, he was almost incoherent with excitement. I gave him a hug and then he asked for another. Runners are so funny when we are high on endorphins!

Back at my medal duties, I saw more amazing people finish, and then suddenly there was Courtney crossing the line — I barely had time to realize it was her, she was so fast. She’d only decided to run the race three weeks earlier, just switched shoes, and hadn’t trained much. But she beat her time by a bundle, and I predict a sub-4 at her next marathon. Cue more hugging.

Around this time, a male finisher and a security guard started exchanging words because the guard was telling him to walk a different way. Another guard came over, the runner started walking way, and I congratulated him on finishing his marathon. As a runner who spent a decade working with cops and security folks, this was right down my alley. Once the runner left, the guard was obviously still uptight, which is not a good situation. So I explained to him that, though the runner had just run more than 26 miles, he was probably mad at himself for not finishing faster, and he was taking out his frustration. I told him that most marathon finishers are grateful to have someone tell them where to walk, but this guy was just upset. To my surprise, the guard thanked me for talking to him and explaining it, since he’d never run a marathon. (This is one reason I volunteer: I understand how those finishers feel and what they need.)

My next priority was Janine, who helped me train for what I thought would be my only half-marathon back in spring 2008. Then I found myself letting her talk me into running a 20-miler, and then I was signing up for a full marathon that same day. On the first weekend of December 2008, she was at the Tucson Marathon finish line to hug me. I wore that race shirt on my 16-miler this weekend, thinking about how this time I would be hugging her at the finish.

It was Janine’s first marathon after knee surgery, so she wasn’t sure how slow she’d be, but in no time she was crossing the finish line with Erin, another of my running buddies from Lodi. I was so thrilled!

I walked with them a bit, and before I knew it we were in a mini Lodi Running Club reunion. I don’t see them very often since I moved, but it’s always so great when I do get the chance. A bunch of them had done the relay, so many hugs were exchanged. “I’m still mad at you for cutting off all your hair,” one of the Steves said before hugging me. Oops. Another one, Carl, found us after finishing his 23rd CIM and we all watched his calf muscles do their creepy twitching.

I went back to my volunteering duties. “Hey, someone’s calling your name,” one of the young volunteers told me. (Yes, they’d started to think I knew everyone.) I looked around and there was an ex of mine on the other side of the fence; he happened to be in the area and figured he’d go see a friend finish. Small world.

It wasn’t long before Michelle finished. She also beat her previous time, despite having a crazy schedule that keeps her from training very much. Yep, more hugs.

I had unfortunately missed Angela, who conquered her first marathon and battled asthma to an incredible finish. Caitlin whizzed past me in 3:05 (I’ll meet her in person soon). Sesa finished her first marathon and snuck past me. I also missed Cindy and Leslie from Lodi, who recently finished a 50K together.

But I think I saw everyone else I’d been looking for, plus others I hadn’t even known were running. And then, as Michelle and I headed to meet up with Angela, I ran into a girl from my itty-bitty hometown. She added me on facebook a while ago, so I had seen her picture and knew she ran Boston, but that was about it. Out of nowhere, in the sea of humanity near the food area, there she was, saying hi. She’s younger than me, so I figured out that I hadn’t seen her since she was about 8 and I was 12. Welcome to my world.

Anyway, we made our way to Tower Cafe, where I had the most amazing French toast ever. We also attempted to take photos, but the results were comical because we didn’t know which camera to look at:

And that was CIM. I drove something like 300 miles, and it was fantastic. It was my third year there — last year I volunteered by giving out mylar heat sheets at the finish line, and the previous year I spectated and crewed for friends running it.

This year, there was one difference: I came home saying that I want to run it next year. I don’t usually say that when I am helping at a race. I love watching and volunteering at triathlons, but I don’t leave with a desire to become a triathlete. I love watching and pacing at the American River 50-Miler, but I don’t want to run the whole thing. The same thing applies to a few marathons where I’ve spectated, including CIM.

But now I want to race CIM. I’ve lived for 10 months in an area with hills, so I no longer fear the first half of CIM with its rolling hills. I want to cruise up them and fly down them. I want to run down Fair Oaks Boulevard, which I drove thousands of times in college. I want to see the finish line from the other side. Next year is the 30th anniversary of the California International Marathon, so maybe that’s a sign that I should aim for it.

Oh, but first I have some other business to take care of: I have another marathon in 25 days, and on Tuesday I registered for my first (and last) ultra-marathon.

There’s one problem with spending a week in New York and doing things like staying out past 3 a.m., seeing the High Line Park you desperately wanted to see, wandering through Central Park in gorgeous fall weather, and hanging out with your sister and a couple good friends. What’s that problem? You return home and have a lot to catch up on, to the point that it takes you days to write about the biggest event of the whole trip: the New York City Marathon.

I considered splitting this into three posts, but it’s just one massive novella. Get a drink if you plan to read the whole thing.

Two-word summary: Great day.

Six-word summary: I want to run it again.

One-sentence summary: Despite a bad fall that curtailed all cross-training and most stretching two weeks before the marathon, I had an enjoyable race that I will never forget, and I learned that I can truly dig deep in the last few miles.

I finished in 4:02:20, my second-fastest of the five marathons I’ve now completed. Considering my recent fall, that we crossed five bridges (hills), and I was weaving around people the whole way to run an extra 0.4 miles, I now know that I am capable of a faster marathon time than I have dreamed.

I arrived in New York the Wednesday morning before the race, after a red-eye flight in a seat that hurt my back and refused to recline. Including a nap on my sister’s bed, I slept about three hours total. We wandered around the Lower East Side, and I walked stiff-legged the whole time. You see, my knee wounds had finally gotten tolerable, but only when nothing was touching them. New York was too cold for skirts/shorts, so I had to bandage my wounds and put on pants. Those wounds rubbed the bandages with Every Single Step I took. It hurt.

Wednesday night we went out at midnight, had free booze that included Grey Goose by the bottle, then got home after 3 a.m. I was up and out the door at 9 a.m., where I proceeded to run out the rest of the alcohol. It was a glorious morning along the East River.

Then I headed to the NYCM race expo, where I met up with Desiree, a friend from DailyMile and Twitter. We hadn’t met before, but I knew immediately that I liked her. We wandered through the expo, discovering that we both like to take our time and look at everything. More than once, I saw people giving my gait a second glance — they were clearly thinking, “She looks like she can barely walk; why is she thinking she can run the marathon?”

Friday involved more wandering/attempting to walk, and then I gathered my luggage and headed to the Upper East Side to stay with my friends Josh and Erin. Saturday morning we lazily ate Erin’s awesome raspberry pancakes, and then I went on my mandatory pre-race-day run. It’s good that’s my only pre-race requirement, because this run involved an errand: buying socks. Yes, that’s right, I had left my running socks at home on the drying rack, so I was going to buy and run in brand-new ones. They say to avoid doing anything differently on race day, especially trying new clothes. Oops. Along the way, I came across a bookstore and found that the new Runner’s World magazine had just hit the stands — one featuring me! I had this moment of pure bliss, photographing the display until a crazy guy tried to get in my picture and give me his number. The rest of Saturday involved hanging out, going to see a weird but good movie, and then going out for beer and pasta.

Sunday morning, I was up before the proverbial crack of dawn. I walked to the nearest subway station and joined other runners for the trip to the southern tip of Manhattan, where we boarded the Staten Island Ferry. Desiree and I met up, and this was another good part of the day: We got on the ferry around 6:15, and spent the next four hours keeping each other company.

We boarded buses that seemed to take us on a very long tour of Staten Island, but we finally arrived at the race start. This was a whole village, and it was huge. Come to think of it, 47,000 people were running the marathon, so this could actually be called a city. They provided bagels, coffee and water. I’d brought a travel packet of peanut butter, so my breakfast was set. The sun was up by this point, and Desiree and I found a place to sit in the sun. All around us, we heard multiple languages and saw shirts bearing country names from around the world. I’ve never been in such a diverse place. At one point, a runner was confused, and a volunteer with an accent asked what language she spoke. When she got an answer, she said, “Oh, no, I don’t speak Polish.” Eventually our starting corral opened, so Desiree and I headed over there. We took off our throw-away sweats (which are given to charity), and began moving toward the start, closer to the Verazanno-Narrows Bridge. This was happening.

Our wave started at 10:10, the second of three waves. Each wave also has three different starting areas; we were on the upper level of the bridge, on the right. A boom sounded, the strains of “New York, New York” echoed across the crowd, and we were on our way, crossing the starting line and heading up the bridge. The view was amazing — the water and boats below, Manhattan in the distance, and a sea of runners wearing every color possible. I was running the New York City Marathon, and it was amazing. THIS was redemption.

I was supposed to run this marathon last year, but a stress fracture derailed everything for four months. I was able to defer NYC, so this year I figured it would be a victory comeback, and that I’d try for a PR (personal record) in January 2011. Then, in June I blew away all my expectations by running a 4-hour marathon on sub-par training. That changed my goals. I wanted to break four hours in New York. I had a knee get mad at me and throw off my training in September, but I rebounded. Then, the day I set out to run 20 miles two weeks before the marathon, I fell.

I still ran 20 miles the next day, but there went my plans of cross-training (couldn’t hold bike handlebars with my wounded hand). Stretching was very limited, because it just hurt far too much if I bent my knees. And then there was the whole “walking around New York stiff-legged” thing, which was taking a toll on my body. I had no idea what I might run in New York. I did know that, without the fall, I should be able to hit 4 hours. But the week before New York, I ran a mellow, slow-paced 12-miler and felt the bruising in my knees starting around mile 8. At the expo, I’d picked up pace bands for 4:00 and 4:05 finish times. However, I chose not to wear either one on race morning. I have a GPS watch and know those paces and times well enough that I didn’t need the added pressure. So I just set out to run as well of a race as I could, and to make sure I took in everything around me.

The race started straight up the bridge, and I knew this was an uphill to be given some slack. I also knew that what goes up must come back down, so I wasn’t worried.

Mile 1: 10:35 (up the bridge)
Mile 2: 8:24 (and down the bridge)
Mile 3: 9:05

The race goes through Brooklyn for a while, and I saw a funny sign reading, “Get out of Brooklyn.” People had all sorts of signs, and in Brooklyn they were really hamming it up.

Mile 4: 9:11
Mile 5: 9:05 (gel)

It was at this point that I got the same feeling I had in Alaska at the third mile: Things were feeling so good and easy, that I was getting scared. I still had 21 miles to go, and I knew a lot could change. But everything felt GOOD.

Mile 6: 9:18
Mile 7: 9:10
Mile 8: 9:11

I suddenly felt like I was on top of the world. I was having a ball, and I was loving all the spectators who lined the entire route. I don’t cheer and yell in races, in order not to expend energy, but I make sure I smile and give thumbs up to spectators. Here I also began giving a few high-fives to the kids. I was happy, and I wanted to share that happiness with them. This came at just the right time, because I’d felt some of the bruising in my knees. I put it out of my mind, and never thought of it again the rest of the day.

Mile 9: 9:28 (gel)
Mile 10: 9:13

Desiree and I hadn’t planned to run together, because we were each running our own race. Plus, we’d never met or run together before, so I think we both knew that we might either a) not hit it off, and/or b) run differently. But we found ourselves running together for miles. The course was very crowded, but we were using the same dodging techniques — try to conserve energy and not run extra steps, while still managing to get past people. We were wordlessly taking turns following each other, or sometimes taking different sides and meeting up after passing people. It was nice to have someone to run with, and we passed a big camera point together.

And then I lost Desiree. I saw her behind me, slowed a bit for her to catch up, and then saw that she was still behind me. Desiree was running this race after battling a cold-turned-into-bronchitis for 11 days, and she was still pretty bad on race day (including taking Robitussin near the start line). I knew it wouldn’t be good if I encouraged her to go faster than her lungs would allow, so I kept running. We’d planned to call each other at the finish line, anyway.

Mile 11: 9:19
Mile 12: 8:51
Mile 13: 8:54

I reached the halfway point at 2:01:51.

Mile 14: 9:04 (gel)
Mile 15: 9:17

At the Queensboro Bridge, we suddenly had a strong cross-wind. I tried to move over to the right to get some shelter from other runners, but I think everyone had the same idea. At this point I passed a runner in military fatigues, wearing a full backpack and wearing boots. I’ve heard of soldiers running in full combat gear, and I know it adds about 50 pounds of weight. “You rock,” I told him. He thanked me. I also saw a lot of Achilles Track Club members — disabled athletes who run with guides. They are amazing and have obviously overcome extreme obstacles just to reach the starting line of a marathon. They created bottlenecks because many of them were obviously placed in too fast of a starting position, but I didn’t fault them and was nothing but impressed.

Mile 16: 9:44 (bridge)
Mile 17: 7:50

Yes, that was a 7:50 mile. Yes, it was too fast for the middle of a marathon. Oh well. I actually couldn’t go as fast down the bridges as I normally go down hills, because the crowds of runners seemed to want to take it easy. After the Queensboro Bridge, though, we turned onto First Avenue, and the course got so much wider. I suddenly had room to run without being boxed in by other runners! I felt so free!

This mile also had the two biggest highlights of the day. At 71st Street, a friend of my grandmother was waiting for me. I’ve never met the woman, but she’s in NYC so her husband can undergo cancer treatment, and she offered to come outside and spectate. By the time I heard about it, she already had a sign ready. I knew to look for her, but the time estimate I’d given her was off because it took longer to start than I’d expected. But there she was, because who else would have a sign with “Layla” on it? I screamed her name in excitement and thanked her, and then I went bounding down the street, full of happiness.

Then the second highlight came nine (short) blocks later. Josh had to be out of town on race day, but Erin was around and wanted to come over and see me in the race. I was also late for the estimate I’d given her, but there she was, still looking for me. I was thrilled to see her, and then I saw that she was holding a bright yellow sign reading, “Go Layla!” It was such a great surprise and I shouted, “You have a sign!!” I slowed down to thank her again, and a guy said, “Don’t stop! Keep going!” I know he meant well, but hello, my friend had just stood outside waiting for me, and had made me a sign!

In the five marathons I’ve run, there has never been a sign in the crowds for me. That’s ok, and I don’t expect it. But on Sunday, there were two signs, and I loved them so much.

Mile 18: 8:43
Mile 19: 9:15 (gel)
Mile 20: 9:27 (stopped to fill my bottle so I wouldn’t have to slow for water stops)
Mile 21: 9:00

At mile 21, I did the math. Considering that my run was turning out to be longer than 26.2 miles, I needed to run faster than 9-minute miles until the finish if I wanted to hit 4 hours. I didn’t know how much over 26.2 I’d be, though, so I didn’t know if I needed 8:50s (doable) or 8:10s (not doable). I couldn’t quite do enough math at that point, so I just kept running.

Mile 22: 8:49 (caffeinated gel)
Mile 23: 8:57

And then I felt it in my right calf: a cramp. I’d felt it briefly a couple miles earlier, but I’d downed a bunch of Gatorade and made it go away. Now the cramp had returned, and it was all I could do to keep from falling over. I made it to the side of the road and stopped, trying to ease the cramp. I was fighting tears, because I’d been doing a little more math and knew that if I could run for all I was worth, I still had a shot at breaking 4 hours. But that was before this cramp had stopped me in my tracks.

As I bent over and stretched my leg, I thought of just jogging to the finish, since I’d still have a decent time considering the hills, the crowds and my knees. But that thought didn’t last long, because I’d been thinking of Chrissie Wellington throughout the race. Before the marathon, I wrote that I was going to “channel Chrissie.” She crashed two weeks before Ironman Kona, then won the race. So I could also fall two weeks before New York and go run my best. I was a few yards away from Chrissie when she crossed that finish line, and I saw her sheer joy. She hadn’t given up.

And so I lifted my head, determined to keep fighting. There, only a few yards ahead, were volunteers with bananas. I didn’t want to eat, but I knew the potassium might just save the day. So I took half a banana, pulled the skin off, and made myself basically inhale it while walking. I took several swigs of Gatorade, then tried running. The cramp vanished!

Mile 24: 10:33

When I crossed the next mile marker, I knew there was no way I would break 4 hours. But, as I thought of Chrissie, I decided to give it my all. I didn’t care that I wouldn’t have a PR. I was going to run as fast and as hard as I could, because I was not going to give up. Assuming the cramp didn’t return, I was going to see just how fast I could run at the end of a marathon. I would leave everything out there. (Plus, I saw a runner dressed in a bright pink sasquatch costume, and I decided there was no way in hell a pink sasquatch would beat me. I zipped past him and never saw him again.)

Mile 25: 8:35
Mile 26: 8:16
Mile 26.6: 4:56 (8:18 pace)

The finish was one big blur, though the video shows me pumping my arms in happiness and apparent coherence. But I was so much more dazed than I appeared. The next day I wandered back through Central Park near the finish, and I was stunned to discover that, yes, it finished at a gradual incline and then a short, steep uphill. That incline and that hill never fazed me on race day. I never noticed them, and I didn’t feel them. That’s what adrenaline and sheer determination will do.

I crossed the finish line and someone gave me a medal.

Someone else gave me a mylar heat sheet, which I wrapped around my shoulders. Someone else taped it, which was a great idea and should be done at all races so that runners don’t have to hold heat sheets around their rapidly chilling bodies. We had to keep walking, since there were so many runners finishing. I couldn’t stop and pose for the official photos because it was so crowded that the race directors had the photographers stop shooting.

We kept slowly shuffling, and I knew that I desperately needed water. Things were starting to get hazy, though I desperately tried to just keep moving with the crowd. Then I noticed that people were carrying orange bags and drinking out of water bottles. Somewhere I had missed those finisher bags. I took a few more steps, and it was all I could do to stay upright. I could barely see (that happens to me), and I had just enough coherence left to know that I was about to black out. I found myself at the side, leaning against a barricade, and volunteers with megaphones were telling everyone to keep moving. I couldn’t, because I was holding onto that barricade for dear life. A volunteer told me to keep walking, and I gasped out that I needed water. I bent over; some part of me knew that I needed blood flowing back to my head. I heard volunteers saying to keep walking, and then I head someone shout, “Medical!” and something about an ambulance coming. NO! I did not want medical. I did not want to be taken somewhere on a stretcher. I didn’t want to be kept somewhere against my will. I would be OK if I could keep my head down a little longer and get water. I certainly didn’t need to take attention away from people who truly needed medical help.

I kept saying “water,” and finally a female volunteer listened to me. I’d had my head down long enough that a little blood was circulating again, and I managed to tell her that I’d missed the finisher bags and that I just needed water, not medical. Someone went and got me a finisher bag while I kept clinging to that barricade. The female volunteer opened the bottle of water and handed it to me. Suddenly my face was numb and tingling, but the black haze was lifting. I could see her, which was a big improvement. She opened a bag of pretzels and held them out, and I began eating them. The haze lifted. The tingling sensation was still strong, but that angel of a woman stayed with me. She got me talking, and I remember mumbling about Chrissie Wellington. She asked if I’d done other marathons. I told her this was my fifth marathon, despite the childhood doctors who said I’d never do much running.

I don’t know that woman’s name, but because she actually listened, got me water, and stayed with me for a couple minutes, I didn’t wind up in the medical tent. I was able to continue walking on my own two legs — past the ambulance that had arrived.

We kept walking forever, and I finally got to the UPS truck that had my bag. The man there was good: He had seen me coming, glimpsed the race number on my bib, found my bag, and was handing it to me before I could even stop. I moved a bit more to a sunny spot and stopped to pull off my soaking wet shirt and put on a dry sweatshirt. I’d had no cell phone signal, but now I finally got one, and text messages came tumbling in. I called a couple people, sent a couple texts, and before too long Desiree was calling me. She was coughing almost uncontrollably, but she’d done it.

We were both cold, Desiree was coughing, and my arches were hurting badly, something I hadn’t experienced previously. We were in no shape to walk as we’d previously planned, so we followed a cop’s directions to head further west where cabs would be easier to find. This was awful advice. We spent the next hour in a slight daze, trying to hail cabs that were full. (I have since heard that the best thing is to get on a subway any direction just to get away from the race finish, then get out a couple stops later and find a cab. Now I know.) Eventually we decided that we’d have to walk. Desiree headed south, and I had to head north and then west. We both wound up adding three miles to the day. It didn’t help that my phone battery said it had 31% left, but then it went dead. This was a recurring theme throughout the week, and a strike against Apple.

The walk was long, but I must say that New Yorkers eschewed the haughty stereotype that day: Complete strangers saw my finisher’s heat sheet and congratulated me. At one point, a crowd of young people burst into applause and cheers, and I almost cried in gratitude, since I’d been walking for a very long time by then. I finally got back to Josh and Erin’s apartment, took a wonderful shower, put on compression socks, and we went out for pizza and wine. The next day we walked all over Central and High Line parks, and the latter will have to be its own photo-filled blog post. My feet hurt so badly, but the walking was good for the rest of my legs.

New York was my fifth marathon, and it capped a year of comeback. Last year I fractured my leg, quit my career, severed some personal ties and went on a 16-day roadtrip. This year, I’m at a new job, living in a new place and meeting more people. I ran two marathons in one year — a first for me, due to my injury-prone self. I beat my previous records at the marathon and half-marathon. I am doing my best to live life.

Thank you, New York, for teaching me lessons, for welcoming me, and for giving me a great race.

Update: I subsequently blogged more post-marathon thoughts here. And mentioned another NYCM runner here.

When I took a nasty fall two weeks before the New York City Marathon, I was certainly less than happy. I was supposed to run 20 miles that day, but when you’re bloody and battered by mile 1.5, that’s not the ideal time to keep running another 18.5 miles. Fortunately that was a Saturday, which meant I could attempt it the next day, bleeding knees included.

I ran those 20 miles, feeling the pain in my knees every step of the way. I came home and wrote, “I overcame yesterday’s fall. I pushed through the pain. I reminded myself that Chrissie Wellington crashed on her bike and then won the Kona Ironman World Championships two weeks later.” The rest of my week was very rough. My knees got worse, despite prescription ointment. The pain brought me to tears more than once (the one advantage was that the arm pain from the tetanus shot was minor in comparison). My running gait suffered, which gave me shin splints, and I wondered what would happen in New York. I accepted that my dream of beating my own time was not realistic.

One week later, I again thought of Chrissie Wellington while I ran four miles on Saturday. Earlier that month, I got to be there in person to see her win the Kona Ironman World Championships. The day before the race, I was driving along Ali’i Drive and passed her as she was out for a run. She’s famous for her smile, but she wasn’t smiling at that point. She looked like she was focused and determined. During the race, I saw her start the run and she wasn’t smiling then, either. She needed to make up a lot of ground, and she knew it.

Chrissie did it. Two weeks after a bad fall on her bike, she won the most prestigious triathlon in the world. I didn’t know the extent of her injuries until this week, when I read her blog post about winning. She was in pain all day, but she pushed through it. She hadn’t been able to compete last year, and she was hell-bent on doing it this year.

I was supposed to run the New York City Marathon last year. I’d gotten into the lottery and was beyond excited. Then I suffered a stress fracture, and I entered a world of gloom, canceled races and doom. I was able to defer New York, so this year I was cautious but more determined than ever to make it to the starting line. I suffered a brief setback in September when a knee went nuts, but I rebounded. Then I went to Hawaii, where 11 days of running, relaxing and going to the beach seemed to work wonders. I returned home to find myself running fast and strong.

Then came the fall. The agony. The second-guessing. The memories of last year’s New-York-that-wasn’t. And then I thought of Chrissie.

If you don’t know who she is, Chrissie Wellington is arguably one of the fittest women in the world. Triathletes don’t get as much recognition as most sports, though they work out harder than just about any other athletes. Chrissie can swim 2.4 miles in an hour, hop on a bike and ride 112 miles in less than five hours, then go run 26.2 miles at a pace of 6:35 per mile — and that’s in Hawaii with temperatures of at least 90 degrees.

On that Sunday in October, she never gave up. As she wrote on her blog, “So yes, life threw me curve ball. I could either be crushed by that ball or I could throw it right back.” And she did throw it back. Her blog has photos of her amazingly muscled body, of her joyous victory. Those photos also show her injuries. She had open wounds down her left leg, and her elbow must have hurt. She also told of the internal pain. I now have a greater appreciation of what she went through — and I know her wounds were worse than mine. It’s probably been a blessing that both of my knees took a beating, or I’d be favoring one side, which would really affect my gait. Chrissie experienced that.

Chrissie Wellington is an amazing athlete and a sweet, sincere person. She fought with every fiber in her being, and she conquered the demons. I don’t know what New York holds for me, but when things get tough, I will think of her. I will remember the look of raw determination I saw as she ran past me. I will remember seeing her tears of joy at the finish line.

In her blog post, Chrissie said she always writes a couple words on her wristband and water bottles. One is “smile” and the other was “never ever give up.” I’d planned to carry my water bottle in New York, and now it actually has a message on it: The lid is scuffed where it hit the pavement that Saturday morning, but it’s none the worse for the wear. At some point Sunday, things will get rough in New York — I know they will, because it’s not an easy course. But things were so much rougher for Chrissie, and she never gave up.

It’s taken me a long time to get here. Next month will mark three years since my first marathon. On Sunday, I will set out to conquer my fifth marathon. I’m running through all five boroughs of New York City — one for each marathon. That last borough, Manhattan, will be the toughest. My knees may or may not be feeling bruised by then, as they were during last weekend’s mellow 12-miler. But if Chrissie Wellington can push through the pain and finish with a smile, I can do my best, too.

One week ago, I awoke well before most people do on a Saturday morning, and long before the sun rose. I forced myself to eat a little breakfast, I put on my running clothes, I grabbed my water bottle, and I set out into the cool morning air. I was going to run 20 miles, get home just in time to change into dry clothes, then go see my friend Katie finish a race, with the likelihood of taking home prize money. This would be my longest run before the New York Marathon two weeks later.

At mile 1.6, I suddenly tripped on an uneven part of the sidewalk. Tree roots have pushed it up, and I’ve actually tripped there twice before and remained on my feet. (One time I went staggering/running/leaping for half a dozen steps before regaining control.)

This time, I found myself skidding along the sidewalk, coming to rest flat on my chest. I got up and realized my knees were bloody messes, as was part of my left hand. My water bottle had protected most of my dominant right hand, thankfully.

I gathered up the various possessions that had gone flying. I walked around to see if I’d broken/damaged anything. Nothing felt out of place, so I ran home. It was a good way to test the limbs, and I certainly didn’t want to take the time to walk a mile and a half. By the time I got home, I had bloody streaks down my legs and my shoes needed to be washed. (I debated for days whether to post pictures of the carnage. I decided not to, but if you want to see the gore, I can email you a photo.) I was done for the day.

It turned out that Katie had to pull out of her race, so we met at a Starbucks and commiserated for a while. We were both bummed and in pain, and it was such a relief to see and hug a close friend. She understood. Many people say that running 20 miles is insane, but Katie runs that amount many days and doesn’t think I’m crazy. We eventually parted ways and I went off to buy the biggest band-aids I could find for my knees that were getting more painful by the minute. Of course I happened to drive down the parking lot lane where the world’s slowest, biggest customer was trudging slowly down the middle of it while I inched along behind her.

But of course that wasn’t all. On my way to meet Katie, I was minding my own business when a large turkey came flying over a sound wall. It landed ungracefully in front of my car, and I braked just in time to avoid an early Thanksgiving slaughter. So, while that was at least amusing, it clearly was not my day. I skipped going to a bowling party that evening, since I wouldn’t have actually bowled and wasn’t sure I’d survive the drive, at the rate I was going.

I did note, though, that the morning’s distrastrous run put my year’s total miles at 1,000.19. It’s the first time I’ve ever run more than 1,000 miles in a year.

Sunday morning was Take Two. I went through the same routine as Saturday, this time leaving two hours later and with hurting knees that had disrupted my sleep. I even took the same route, stopping to take pictures of the offending sidewalk. For 20 miles, I felt my knee wounds at every step. Every bend and straighten of my legs upset my wounds. I’m not following much of a training plan (see this post about my “plan,” and this one about how it worked for me — though I don’t actually advise anyone to do it). I only scheduled two runs on my calendar for New York training, and this weekend was the most crucial one. It was “do or die” for New York, and this was my only chance to do that long run. As it was, I’d lost almost two weeks of training in September due to a knee issue.

So I ran. I had told myself not to go too fast, because a long training run isn’t supposed to be fast. The purpose is to get time on your feet and train your body to keep going. Earlier in the month I’d run on hills and in humidity for 11 days in Hawaii. That really helped my training, and I’d done some rather fast runs when I returned home. This 20-miler was NOT to be run fast, and I told myself that no mile time would start with an 8. I stuck to it, having to force myself to slow down sometimes during the first 10 miles.

Part of the route was new to me, and I absolutely loved running through Danville. Then it began to get harder. At mile 13, I turned on my music to help distract myself. I reached the Iron Horse bike trail that would take me back home, took one look at it and said, “No.” I don’t really like the trail, since it just seems to go on forever (and was the scene of my stress fracture last year). So, instead of running the trail on Sunday, I took a different parallel road. That was a smart move, because it was more shady and by then I was getting hot.

By mile 16 I was taking a couple walk breaks. My wounds were hurting, I was hot, and I was cranky. Katie happened to text me to see how I was, so that was a nice pick-me-up. (She’d just come in second place in a 5k!)  Then I reached one of my favorite roads, because one side of it goes up and down along grassy hills. Across the four lanes of traffic, the sidewalk is flat. But I love the hilly side, because I want the hill workout, and I like to conquer a little hill and then zoom down the backside. That was the one mile that came in under 9 minutes — 8:57, so not too bad.

The last two miles were torture. I was so ready to be done. If I could have, I would have called someone for a ride. After all, 18 miles is still a good long run. But I had to get home, so I had to run two more miles. I wasn’t actually injured, so I had no excuse. My watch beeped 20 miles as I entered my parking lot. I. Was. Done.

The toll had been taken on my knees. I showered and slathered on Neosporin, my go-to for most skin troubles. I have sensitive skin that gets infected easily, and I was taking no chances. And then my knees felt like they were on fire. Neosporin had let me down and I was in utter agony.

Then I got chills. Oh no. This could be a sign of infection. Both knees were very red, another sign. After another night of bad sleep, this time involving a lot of tears, I got up Monday and called a doctor.

Those who know me will understand the significance of Layla calling a doctor. I don’t have good luck with doctors. At all. After all, doctors were the ones who told me years ago that I’d never be able to do much running. Four marathons later, I’m still proving them wrong.

Monday afternoon found me at a new doctor’s office. They were changing computer systems, resulting in a long line at registration — I wasn’t surprised, given my track record with doctors. I was finally called into a room where a very nice medical assistant began going over basic medical stuff. As always, my low blood pressure impressed her. Then she discovered that the staff hadn’t given me forms to fill out my medical history. She began entering the basic ones on her computer, and then realized the questions were wrong.

According to the computer system, I was a male. And they couldn’t fix it. I’d later get paperwork addressed to “Mr.” When the doctor came in to see me, she’d heard about the error, and apparently it was becoming the talk of the office.

The doctor was actually really nice. At one point she bent down and winced, then apologized because her quads were sore from a workout. In my book, that gives a doctor brownie points. (If a doctor tells me running is bad, I will never again return to that doctor.) She talked me into getting a tetanus shot, prescribed some ointment that’s given to people with second and third-degree burns, and then got a Sharpie to draw a permanent line around the damage on one of my knees. If the redness passed that line, it would mean infection had spread and I needed to be seen again.

I hobbled out of the doctor’s office to the elevators, where a very cute little girl said, “What happened to your knees?” and used the toe of her Ugg boot to point at them. She missed kicking me in the knee by about an inch. I gasped in relief, and her horrified mother apologized profusely. Since nothing actually touched my knees, everybody lived.

Then I hobbled to my car and called the pharmacy to see if my prescription was ready. Yes, it was, but they wanted to know why a “Mr.” was named Layla.