The Detroit Free Press Marathon was my first 26.2, but certainly not my last. It was exhilarating, challenging, painful, and...well, believe it or not, FUN!
So for those who are interested, here's how it went:
Not being a morning person, I'm shocked I awoke at 4 A.M. of my own volition for the hour-long trek to Detroit. (My awesome mom even walked me all the way to the starting line...She's the best cheerleader!) Still dark and cold, some racers stressfully scattered to their race corrals, while others decided that the port-a-potty interiors were the perfect loitering areas for tea, crumpets, and who knows what else (not so great for those of us waiting in the cold).
Captured by its beauty, I thought it was SO great that the Catholic church (just a block from the Start line) was holding an early morning mass for any runners that cared to visit. It was really spectacular to see racers darting in.
At the starting line, I joined my pace group among thousands of other people (a record of 19,000 ran some length of Detroit this year!). Jim, my pace leader, rocked it out, telling us jokes to keep us focused on fun, rather than the pain in our legs!
Miles 1-3: We leave downtown Detroit passing dilapidation and ongoing, convoluted construction running in circles onto the Ambassador Bridge to Canada. I'm quite certain there are no businesses worth visitng between the starting line and here. Despite my mom and our reconnaissance, which predicted that this bridge would be a dreadful start to this race, it wasn't so bad. Perhaps it was adrenaline or pure caffeinated energy...but at the top, we reached our first 5k mark. 23.1 miles to go.
Running over the Detroit River afforded views of the American's city's skyline--almost a ghost town of industries and lives from a previous decade (or four)--and the Canadian landscape of...well, nothing all that different. Miles 4-5 (in Windsor, CA) left us with memories of McDonald's, Tim Horton's and other chain cheap-eats not worth mentioning (although I'm sure every runner was psyched to see the Gentleman's Club offering Thursday night obscure specials). Fortunately, Canada has a lovely riverside park with great public art--and an even better Lebanese restaurant--between miles 5-7. As Jim says, if anyone needs medical care, you'd better seek it now before we reach the tunnel to the homeland (well, it seemed funny at the time).
After exploring Canada (thanks, hubby, but I'll take my U.S. of A.), we're off to run underwater...through the tunnel, that is. At mile 8, I spotted the g'parents (who drove the distance to hug me for just a few seconds) before I continued through--you guessed it, dilapidation and broken glass windows. Hoorah!
As ghetto degradation blended with urban renewal, my legs found courage in the tired, yet apparently tough areas as we moved from outer-city prospects towards all that Detroit development has to offer. I was thrilled to see Greektown and the gyro shops, neon-lit diners, and (finally!) people standing street-side cheering us on. Almost to the halfwasy mark--13.1!
Still feeling strong, I saw my family, attempted photo-ops, but ended up with cursing videos and Mickey Mouse paws demanding the camera in order to keep legs in the right-foot, left-foot motinos. (If you don't get this, maybe you're not meant to...otherwise, wait for the oh-so-charming video.)
Now the tough part.
I'll spare the gritty details, but (look at the map above now) miles 15-21 stink. Imagine running down a completely straight, non-descript, suburban road with no sign of turning. Welcome to 14-16. Doesn't sound like much for you, tough guy? Well, imagine doing this after you've already ran for 2 1/2 hours. Still tough? Well stay with me then...
Oh hooray, Jim says, "Only 10 miles to go. We've ran this so many time. It's a piece of cake." And so the countdown begins.
Only 9 miles, he says.
Only 8 miles...
You get the point. After running 18 miles, 8 more sounds awful!
Knees throb...
Ankles may be snapping...
And then, someone offers you GU!
Ewww!!!
(I'm a Jelly Bean [Sport] fan...I attempted the GU, since it was free, but couldn't choke it down. Truly disgusting in my opinion...even the name--GU. Ew!)
At mile 19 we hit another bridge bound for Belle Isle, MI. A truly beautiful place--if only I had the energy to photograph it--upper-class homes, lovely parks, river views. But when you think you are only running to the end of the bridge and back, yet end up jaunting an extra two miles...NOT FUN! If there is someone who can appreciate beauty after running 20 miles--wow, you're my hero.
A popular t-shirt slogan says, "The race doesn't begin until Mile 20." I finally, truly get it.
Yet, as I crossed the bridge on the return path, knowing that I was approaching the 23 mile mark, my legs miraculously felt strong, my heart encouraged, and I pulled away gradually from my pace group that held me together thus far.
Perhaps cliche in the world of marathoners, one inspirational quote states, "Run the first 10 miles with your head, the second ten with your legs, and the last 6(.2) with your heart." For me, there was nothing truer.
Yet after leaving the bridge--a gentleman holding a sign saying "I have met my hero and it is YOU" kept me going. In reality, I know I am not his personal hero, but I am sure not about to discount things in the moment. I'll take any encouragement I can get! If someone tells me I'm Nike, Atalanta, or the bloody hyper-active tooth fairy, I'm internalizing that tidbit of tasty encouragement!
At mile 23, I left the upper-class world in the dust, passing briefly through the outer-Detroit realm of fried chicken and broken glass to the peaceful river walk, where I could barely keep my legs in motion. Though it had merely small curves in the path, it slowed me down and left me annoyed. Can't I get there yet? Please God?
Thank you, mile 25 for letting me stare uphill at you and your superiority. Must you be so demoralizing? In my training, I often said, "Ok, once you reach (insert point here), you can walk for a minute." Once I reached that point, I felt tough and ready to continue without a break.
Well, after 25 miles, I'm not feeling tough enough for this hill.
Unashamed, I walk up the damn thing.
But once I reach the stop light at the pinnacle, I'm determined to keep going. It's just 1.2 miles to go.
Thankfully, I approach the crowds and their cheers inspire my tired feet to move faster and faster. Please, please, is this over yet? I've been playing DJ with my Ipod and yet, by chance or by fate, "Have You Got It In You?" plays as I approach my final stretch. The seconds do not matter as I pick up each foot faster than each previous step. Only my own self-satisfaction resonates, knowing that I will continue, giving everything I have. I see my family in the stands before the finish line and I feelt proud. More than anything...thank God I'm done!
It's incredible--as I slow to a geriatric walk, I transform into a pirate double-amputee and pray for a walker (and maybe a taco or three) to lug my pathetic weight back to the car.
With my medal around me neck, I eat possibly the most delicious hamburger of my life and fall beautifully to sleep. Maybe I'll do this again in a few months. Any takers to join me?
