Today I did the ING NYC Marathon Tune-Up.  An 18 mile run done over 3 loops of a cool and very rainy Central Park.  This was a do or die race for me in that if I could not complete this race, then I would seriously question whether or not I would do the upcoming NYC Marathon.  I feared for the worst for my performance, but hoped for the best.

I started the race by running from the Lexington Avenue subway to Central Park.  The trains didn’t cooperate this morning, so I was left with only 8 minutes to make it about a mile to the start of the race and to store my bag in the baggage area.  My heart rate was already racing as I dropped off my bag and caught up with the field of runners who already started the race before I got to the start.  I felt physically ok for the first few miles, but mentally I was somewhere else. 

My mental state started to go bad, when I saw it took me ten minutes to complete the first mile.  I couldn’t believe I was running so slowly.  It didn’t feel slow, but my Polar HR monitor doesn’t lie.  If I was only doing 10 mm now, I could imagine how slow I would be going later on.  I wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the race.

To keep my going I thought of the reasons why I should be running.  I thought of my children and the example I am setting by pursuing fitness and taking on challenging events.  I thought how I can’t let myself get fat and out of shape again.  I remembered how good running felt only a short time ago.  I knew these were all good reasons and they kept me going.  However, these thoughts did not make it any easier.

I felt good briefly at about the 8.75 mile mark.  I thought perhaps the malaise I am feeling was finally lifting.  The feeling of it lifting lasted for about a mile.  Perhaps I was going downhill at the time.  This malaise is killing me.  I wish there was a pill I could take; like an antibiotic to get rid of an infection.  I keep running hoping for it to lift but it won’t go away.

As I completed my second lap I saw the lead runners heading towards the finish.  It’s been a few years, but I remember well when I used to be among the top of the field crossing the line with the speedsters.  This back of the pack stuff takes a stronger grit than does running a race all out.  I have a new appreciation for all those runners who finish towards the end of a race.  It takes guts to stick it out when you know that most of the field has already finished the race.

I got through the third and final lap by chasing various rabbits.  I would see a nice looking sight ahead of me and see how long I could keep on the tail.  This worked for about half of the lap.  At this point I found myself running alone again and felt a desperate need to walk.  I saw a runner who was walking though and I encouraged her to run, by shouting out “There’s no walking in running”.  She managed to get a trot going and kept me company for about half a mile.  At this point I started to pull away until there was only about 1.75 miles left.  This time it was me who was walking when the runner I had just encouraged caught up to me and got me to run again.  By now the 17 mile mark was coming up and I felt an adrenaline surge to make it to the finish line.  As I miraculously got a decent pace going, I encouraged other runners who were walking to pick it up again.  I would shout out how the time for walking is done, it’s time to run it home.

A couple of runners started running again at my suggestion and one of them caught up to me and thanked me for the encouragement.  I struggled to keep a strong pace, but managed to get myself across the finish line.  I crossed the line completely drenched, exhausted and sore.  I was disgusted with myself at how slow I was.  I said to no one in particular that I am old, slow and decrepit.  Someone heard this and told me that I that I just ran 18 miles and that I am “Bad Ass” for it.  I wish I felt the same way, but all I could think about was how this distance used to be nothing but a warm up. 

I suppose I am being too hard on myself.  However, being hard on myself is how I get myself to do bigger and better things.  I just have to not be so hard on myself that I give up trying.