Toe-Shoes Tina: We Are The Champions!

Distance:  26.2!!!!!!

Pace:  10:12 (I think)

Humidity:  100 percent.  Really.  Not hyperbole.

Purple toes:  1

Slo Jo and I are both now marathoners.  It is awesome.  Running the marathon was less awesome.  But the trip was very fun and very memorable.  I apologize in advance for the long blog post, but it’s been a long journey and it was a LONG run!

We arrived in New Orleans on Friday, January 31 – full of nervous energy.  We checked in at the Monteleone and immediately set out for charbroiled oysters.  So good.  Conscious about pre-marathon carb needs, we also ordered fries.  Then we went back to the hotel and had a drink at the famous Carousel Bar, where we sat next to a woman wearing the 2013 NOLA marathon shirt.  We struck up conversation and she informed us she is running the half, as she had several times prior, because she always ends up with a hangover in New Orleans, which precludes her from running the full.  She sounded wise.  She gave us advice on getting to the expo and wished us luck.  Later that night, we met up with my friend, Reno, who had signed up for the half.  Her friend, Channing, was with her.  Channing lives in New Orleans.  We were happy to bar hop with a local.  We stayed up much later than planned, not returning to the room until 10:30, whereupon we ordered pizza from room service.  I fell asleep before it came, managing to wake up long enough to shove a slice in my mouth.  Reno and Channing stayed out much later.  You get to have more fun when you’re running a half. 

Saturday was far more boring.  We hit the expo and went shopping.  We had 5:30 pm dinner reservations.  The restaurant was probably surprised when we showed up and were not 75 years old.  Dinner was yummy and we were back to the room very early.  We laid out all our running stuff, set our alarms, and watched a Jimmy Fallon highlight show.  Both our alarms went off at 5:30 am (we are nothing, if not type-A) and we jumped out of bed, both of us having had dreams about running all night.  I planned to eat a banana and have a small latte.  I walked to Starbucks at 5:40 am only to find that it did not open until 6:00.  Well, that was certainly inconvenient.  The race started at 7:00!  I sulked back to the hotel.  There were throngs of runners about the street as well as some drunk stragglers from the previous evening.  One of those drunk stragglers wobbled up to me, gold tooth gleaming in the moonlight, and exclaimed “hey girl, where you going with no socks on?” (I was in flip flops).   “Trying to find coffee,” I grumbled, “I have to run later.”  He looked confused and then a light bulb went on “oh yeah!  They have all the streets closed off up there for some marathon.  What’s your name?”  “Sandy,” I lied.  Sandy?  WTF?  The best I can come up with is the super storm that cancelled the New York marathon?  That can’t be a good omen.  He bid “Sandy” goodbye and I trotted back to the hotel, whereupon I applied all the necessary body glide and my race number and timing tag (or so I thought).  Then I went back to Starbucks at precisely 6:02, determined to get my latte.  15 people in front of me had the same idea.  I did not get back to the hotel until 6:20, where I had only a couple minutes to drink my latte.  I only got through half of it.  SJ informed me it was 100 percent humidity outside (no exaggeration) and we set off for the start line.  It was like walking through a cloud.

Slo Jo and I made our way through the crowd of runners, most of whom had no regard for what was going on around them and randomly stopped in the middle of foot traffic.  Again, I thought this did not bode well for the marathon.  I got to corral 12 and gave Slo Jo a quick good luck hug.  In my corral, I decided to put my race number on my shorts so it would be visible even if I was wearing my jacket, which I expected to do for much of the race to protect my phone from the drizzle.  I opted not to use MapMyRun for a few reasons:  (1) it is impossible to start it as I cross the start line if it is under my jacket, (2) I don’t want to get too stressed about pace, and (3) it burns my battery.  I had paid $5 so Husband #1 would get text updates on my progress.  I figured he could tell me my time if I couldn’t figure it out from the clocks throughout the course.  I (unlike some unpatriotic bloggers) stayed still for the national anthem and then watched two women clasp hands and pray for about 45 seconds, reminding me I was in the South.  Then I noticed the 4:30 pacers in the corral ahead of me, so I snuck up to corral 11 and formulated a race plan:  get in front of the 4:30 pacers and stay there.  We inched toward the start line and then it was go time.  I could not see the start clock when I crossed the start line, but no matter – Husband #1 was watching online.  I started “Eye of the Tiger” and zipped past the 4:30 pacers.

But running was hard.  It was crowded, the streets were pocked with potholes, and the humidity was brutal.  Clock time was 25:33 at the 1 mile marker and I was drenched in my own sweat.  I started tasting salt on my lips well before mile 2.  Although you’re not supposed to try anything new on race day, I knew I had to adjust my salt to account for my sweating, so I decided to take a salt pill every 6 miles instead of 8.  I also got water or Gatorade at every station instead of waiting for mile 6.  All of the first 13 were hard for me.  I developed a dull pounding headache by mile 4.  Each mile marker had a clock and I was running 9:40 to 9:50 each mile.  I was gaining valuable time on the 4:30 pacers, but it was hard.  I never hit my stride.  The first several miles were amateur hour and I was dodging oblivious runners/walkers left and right.  I didn’t want to slow down because I needed to bank time for bathroom breaks (the marathon having come at a very inconvenient time of the month), so I kept up the uncomfortable pace, which shouldn’t have been an uncomfortable pace in any event.  The marathon course was the same as the half marathon course for the first 13 miles.  So I got to see all the perky people in fun costumes who only had 13 miles to run (yeah, I said it).  I saw only two marathoners in costumes:  ladies dressed up in lingerie and dramatic makeup blaring the Christina Aguilera version of “Lady Marmalade” vacillating between jogging and stripper dance moves.  They were fun.  I passed them easily.  About mile 10, I began to resent all the half marathoners because they were about to finish.  Jerks. 

I took my first restroom break at mile 13.  It took me about 3 minutes, but reset me mentally.  I came out of the bathroom to a sparse course (the half marathoners having separated) and a drink station with plenty of Gatorade.   For the first time, my run felt good.   We turned in to some large city park for a long out-and-back (6.5 miles each way).  Right around mile 14-15 I began to see the course leaders coming the opposite way.  I whooped for the first couple guys I saw.  Then I saw the first place woman come chugging along with her bike escorts.  I cheered “you go girl!!!!” and I think I scared her.  I didn’t care; I was happy!  Soon, well . . . in 90 minutes . . . I’d be coming down that same home stretch.  Yay endorphins!!!!!  They ran out at mile 18.  I suddenly could not care less about pace and struggled to put one foot in front of the other in something resembling a running stride.  I took my second bathroom break.  It did not help and cost me another 3 minutes.  I came upon a series of bridges, each of which required an incline.  On a normal day, the incline would have been a gentle slope.  18 miles into the humidity-laden marathon, however, each one seemed like Everest.  I began walking up the inclines, but saw the 4:30 pacers rapidly approaching me.  They chased me for the rest of the race.   I’d run to gain some cushion between us so I could walk.  “Just run to the water station,” I’d plead with myself, “then you can afford to walk.”  I began to wonder why there aren’t 20 mile races – it’s a hard distance!  Why not 20?  Why can’t I be done now????  Around mile 22, I swore I would never run another marathon.  At mile 23, the guy in front of me veered off to the side and puked in the grass.  I looked the other way, held my breath, and ran by him.  At mile 24, I told myself (out loud, in fact) “2.2 miles.  2.2 miles is grit distance!  You have grit.  F***ing use it!”  People might have thought I was crazy. 

Finally, there was mile 25 and a drink station.  I’d gained enough space from the pacers that I could walk the whole damn station, even though I finished my drink long before the last trash can.  A very nice woman shuffled up behind me and said “you only have a mile left, come on, you can do it!”  I gave her an ironic smile (or maybe a grimace, I was beyond caring) and proceeded to leave her in the dust.  We turned into a central part of the park and I could hear the music.  I was at the finish!  Oh, no, wait.  No finish yet.  The course snaked up and back and up again then around a corner.  Surely the finish was around that corner.  No!  Still another 5 miles (okay, that’s what it felt like) through lazy turns.  Holy crap!  Could they antagonize me a little more with this finish line?????  But finally, the barricades loomed on either side of the walkway and the finish line appeared like a mirage.   Lord help me, I sprinted.  I didn’t know I had it in me, but I did.  When I saw the cameras, I threw up my arms in victory and sailed over the finish line.   I collected my medal and stopped.  Emotions started welling up.  I’d done it!  But before the tears of joy and exhaustion could emerge, I heard “Tina!  Tina!”  I turned to my right and saw Reno and Channing.  Reno was hanging over the barricade, waving a can of beer at me.  The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.  I scooped up a water and a mylar blanket, then hightailed it out to the area where Reno was hanging.  I draped the mylar blanket on the ground and promptly collapsed, unsure whether I could get back up.  My legs burned and I exclaimed “that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’ve given birth!  Twice!”  Reno, who has a few marathons under her belt, smiled sympathetically. 

(This is me frantically texting from the only position that felt comfortable after my run.)

I managed to roll into a position that didn’t feel terrible on my legs and I texted Husband #1 “what is my time?”  He replied that my tracking hadn’t worked.  I looked at my shoe and my heart sank.  I hadn’t attached the “sensing” part of the sensor.  If it wasn’t for Reno and Channing, I would have burst into tears right there.  But they were amazingly supportive.  Reno confirmed I crossed the finish at clock time 4:43.  I knew I hit 1 mile at 25 minutes, so my start time was somewhere between 15 and 16.  I finished a few minutes in front of the 4:30 pacers.  We estimated my time at 4:27 (even with about 6 minutes in bathroom breaks!) and I began to feel a little better.  I did it.  I had witnesses.  We waited for Slo Jo to finish.  She looked really strong and managed to ham it up for the cameras a little.  Then we commiserated for a bit and took the shuttle back to the hotel, where we took hot showers and ordered a bunch of fried food from room service.  I had chafing in areas in areas I’d never chafed before and the second toe on each foot felt spongy and strange.  I blame the humidity. The entire tip of the toe on my left foot was dark purple and in that instant I knew that I was going to lose a toenail, probably two.  But my broken toes felt great, so I guess it was not all bad. 

(My marathon journey has been the journey of ugly toes.  Totally worth it, though.)

SJ and I rallied after naps and watched the first half of the Super Bowl at a bar.   We then mosied over to our favorite oyster place and ate more chargrilled oysters for dinner.  They sat us upstairs.  Up a very long set of stairs.  Which we had to go back down after dinner.  We both complained loudly with each step.  I slept like a baby that night.  Then I woke up very early with a growling stomach on Monday.  Rather than waking SJ, I slipped out of the room and walked a couple blocks to a coffee shop, where I devoured 3 beignets and a latte.  Aaaaah.  Carbs!  We flew home later that day.  Sitting for 3+ hours on a plan was not pleasant, but bearable.  Two days after a hard workout always seems the worst on my muscles, but I have to say, today (Tuesday) I feel fine.  I went to my normal boxing class this morning.  My quads were a little sore and I fatigued a bit quicker than normal, but I was fine.  I even wore high heels to work for the first time in over a month.  Altogether I am stunned at how quickly I have recovered.  I have not taken Advil or iced any part of me, but I am hardly sore two days after.  No joint pain, minimal muscle discomfort.  So clearly the only conclusion is I didn’t run hard enough.  *sigh*  Next time.  Yes, I said next time.  It took me several tries to get comfortable with 13 miles.  I need to do more distance runs to get comfortable with 20+ miles.  So I definitely see more marathons in my future.  Hopefully 4:15 or faster! 

(PSA:  This shoe might look like it has a sensor on it, but it doesn't.)

In all seriousness, this has been an amazing process.  I would not have stayed so committed if it wasn’t for Slo Jo and her encouragement.  And the support of all of my family, friends, and blog readers has been invaluable.  Thank you so much for sharing this journey with me.