In Shape Out of Mind: Brooklyn Marathon

The Brooklyn Marathon was on Sunday morning. I planned poorly for this race, starting with a happy hour on Thursday night that lasted into Saturday afternoon. Dinner plans fell through for Saturday (I tried, I promise), and I ended up at a bar in Alphabet City with the 34 year-old and his spectacular friend who was visiting for the weekend. I restricted myself to only two jager bombs and was home by midnight. But then I couldn't sleep. Then I couldn't sleep because I was hungry. Then I couldn't sleep because I was hungry and scared out of my mind by the one scary episode of Psych (the one where the creepy chick is killing off the sorority girls and Jules is undercover.) It was 5:15 AM before I knew it.

I woke up bleary-eyed and starving. And pissed off. And the light was still out in my apartment. (Don't worry. I have since climbed up on top of my kitchen table and replaced the burnt out bulb with not one, but two 60 watt energy-saving light bulbs.) I really didn't want to run this race. I wanted an effing bagel.

Fortunately the Professor and his lovely wife had the car in town. T also got up at the crack of dawn to come to Brooklyn with us, which I thought was exceptionally nice of her. We managed to get over the bridge and onto Flatbush Avenue with minimal rerouting, and got a quality parking spot right near the park.

BEFORE the race.

The course was made up of 2 little loops, 6 big loops, and 1 little loop. The little loop was less than three miles and the big loop was about 3.25 miles. I got confused and it was tedious. The Professor and I took off together but I stopped at the first porta-potty, which was no joke, less than 500 feet into the race. When I exited, everyone was in front of me. I have never literally been the last person. It was creepy. I was able to catch up with the Professor before the first mile.

We had a really good pace going. I think we were maintaining 9:40 minute miles. I was really hungry though - the KIND bar I had eaten wasn't holding me over. My feet were killing me (I think I tied my shoes too tight) and I felt queasy. I had to make another pit stop at mile 9, but when I came back out I couldn't see the Professor. He was too far ahead and I didn't have the energy to sprint and find him going up this never-ending Prospect Park hill. What the hell is this hill? Shouldn't we have realized something was wrong when all the other runners were running down the hill?

I ran alone for the next 11 miles. The going was tough. I felt like garbage. I was wearing my watch, but something was up with my heart rate monitor, so I wasn't sure how much effort I was exerting. Parts of the race were boring and others were lonely. This idiot woman kept telling me to drop my water bottle every 3 miles. I can't drop my water bottle. I get thirsty. I take a lot of Ritalin. EFF YOU!

I caught sight of the Professor at mile 20, so I picked up the pace and managed to join him. I found my energy to push through and make it. But this is when I had to make a serious decision. The Professor wanted to walk portions of the final 6.2, and I believe him when he said he needed to. I was feeling pretty damn crappy, but I only walk through fuel stations. Months ago (in early September), I had promised that I would complete the Brooklyn Marathon with him. Our ideas of what that would look like had changed over the past eleven weeks, and I admit that I thought this was going to be my opportunity to shave some time off my last marathon. It's a small race, no elite athletes, minimal crowds - this was my time. Of course I thought it was appropriate to drink and eat crap (even worse than usual) for the days up to this race, but I still had a chance of PRing. But a promise is a promise, and so we walked.

I don't want anyone getting the idea that we had suddenly given up, or that we were the slow people hobbling in the back who didn't belong in a marathon. People walk portions of marathons all the time. Jeff Galloway even has a trademarked RUN-WALK-RUN™ method. I'm just not comfortable walking in races. We managed though, and I think we ran most of the final 6.2 miles. We reached the final fuel station (which looked drastically different with only two people managing it the 9th time around) at just shy of 26 miles. We needed to pick up the pace because we were so close. I said something that I will not repeat but that I knew would fire the Professor up.

Our finish was impressive. One we had dressed alike and that looked cool. We ran as fast as we could across the finish line and I kept on cheering and then raising my arms to get the spectators (i.e. finished runners) to cheer too.

I think we look a lot better AFTER.

I had called the 34 year-old at mile 11 (I know, I know - it's weird that I make phone calls during a race. I was also e-mailing about writing a recommendation for someone) and he was supposed to meet me at the finish line with a bagel. He got lost in the park (I mean, it could have happened to anyone...) and I tried to go look for him - and ended up running an additional 2 miles. Technically my inaugural Brooklyn Marathon was an ultra.

The unofficial results:

Place	Name	City	Bib No	Age	Gender	Age Group	Chip Time	Gun Time
196	The Professor	NEW YORK	96	31	M	55 30-39	4:29:00.0	4:29:24.4
197	In Shape Out of Mind	NEW YORK	83	25	F	21 20-29	4::29:00.4	4:29:24.2

How did he beat me if I have a faster gun time?

You know you are going to have one hell of a successful day when you wake up at 6 AM and ask, "Where am I?" and "Who are you?"... out loud. I was at the 34 year-old's and the 34 year-old was next to me. I was also fully dressed, including my contacts and shoes.

I definitely should have thrown up before going to work.

Obviously I decided it was time to hightail it out of there (because at 6 AM you really only see runners and crackheads on your way home) and go to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee. I seriously struggled to get the top onto my Slurpee cup and that's how I knew I was still very drunk.

6 AM Slurpee run

Last night the Professor and I headed out to Brooklyn to the Gibson to pick up our race packets. We were concerned about making the round trip in under and hour because of Occupy Wall Street taking over the bridges, but we managed to pop in and out.