There are hills, and then there are Bradford City Half Marathon Hills! (my entry for the 5th annual WWFOR!)

I don’t recall right off how many half marathons I have run. But I can say that I have never run one as difficult as the one I ran on Sunday! I go by the name“Hillrunner” on a health realted website (Sparkpeople) because no matter which road I choose to come back home, I have to come up hills to get back to my village. At the Bradford City Half Marathon yesterday, I more than earned my name!!!
Bradford is a small city a little more than an hour east of me over in the county of Yorkshire, UK through the Yorkshire Dales (Moors) and into “Bronte Country”. Those of you familiar with English Literature will recognize the Wuthering Heights setting by Emily Bronte. The countryside is vast, expansive, picturesque and full of hills!!
Graham and I made the early morning trip to be ready prior to the 9am start. It was clear, cool, and crisp. Dropping off our kit bag to retrieve at the finish we made our way to the start funnel. Since he is much quicker than me I remained half way back as he moved closer to the start line. The chip timing would be very helpful as it would give an accurate accounting of my finish. My training for my marathon had being going well so I was optimistic that I could do a PB in this race. All that was going to change after mile 4!
With the sound of the start horn ringing in my ears, it only took seconds for me to cross the mat and start my ascent that I would soon learn would just go on and on and on. I was on my goal pace of 12 min/mile until in mile 3 the climb took a sharp increase. The total ascent for the first 4 miles was over 600 feet!! When we reached the 6 mile mark the elevation had already hit 1,000 feet. I kept thinking that what goes up MUST come down, eventually??!!
The crispness of the day and freshness of the air made the hilltop running spectacular and at about miles 7-8 I started to feel like my breath was returning. The panoramic views were stunning and I soaked them in. The locals dotted the rural roads and offered their much welcomed cheers of support. I relished the spotty downhill places and let my gears open up and relaxed enough so that when the road levelled off and undoubtedly climbed again I had the leg strength and stamina to keep going.
I had considered printing out a pace band to wear during the race, but after the first half I was glad that I was just depending on my Garmin to guide me. I think I might have gotten too disheartened to see the goal time I was aiming for slipping further away with subsequent miles. What looks good on paper is just that, it doesn’t take into account what will be met on the road, and these roads were incredible!
By now at mile 9 the ascent seemed to turn into a slow decent with short teasing and leg punishing uphill parts. I found my mile splits beginning to even out with being able to sprint on the downhill. Then came the cruelness of the “king/queen of the mountain” challenge part. Nearing mile 11 where the road takes a steep downhill the bottom had been equipped with a timing mat and the challenge was which ever man and woman that could make the quickest assent up the almost half mile 200 foot elevation gain would win a “King/Queen of the hill” shirt. Those who had gone before me had nothing to worry about. I inwardly chuckled as I passed over the bottom mat and saw what awaited ahead! My run had turned into a hand on quads slower paced “just get this over with” as I climbed to finally meet the timing mats pair at the top.

I pushed hard as I crested the top of the hill and along the now tree lined street I welcomed the cheers of those there to witness the final downhill run of that last 1.5 miles. I found myself running alone in full flow down the middle of the traffic free road. Those applause were for only me and I used them as fuel to enable me to increase my pace. I could feel the pressure on my toes; I told myself I was strong. I could feel tightness in my left quad; I told myself I had strong legs. I could feel the tiredness creeping into my breathing; I told myself this race would be finished in less that 20 minutes and to just continue to flow down into the park like water rushing down a hill side.
I then saw the left turn into the park and passed several other runners I had seen at the start and now were just attempting to put one tired foot in front of the other. I found new energy as I sped passed Sunday park visitors and half marathon completed athletes, and shouted a warning of “RUNNER” to alert them to not get in my way. I desperately wanted to finish strong and not collide in the final 400 meters!
I had a sneaky feeling that this race was going to end the way it had started…uphill..and I was right. The run through the park and to the very edge made it necessary to do a u turn up the other side. I dug deep into what reserve I had left and pushed on and then saw Graham poised in the distance to capture my final moments. He snapped and then joined me along side to encourage me to just keep focused and I was nearly there. He told me I had done a great time on that difficult course. He then stopped to enable me to make the final right turn along the finishing funnel and step over the timing mat with a finish of 2:47:07.
I was exhausted, elated, breathless and extremely pleased at my determination to not once give up during this race. Not once did I let up and relax my attack. This race was more than a half marathon to me, it was a testing ground for what I am made of. I'm ready, I'm prepared, bring on the PHILADELPHIA MARATHON! (On this very difficult course, speedy Graham finished in a remarkable time of 1:37:08 and finished 2nd in his age group.)

London's Legend and My Marathon

The inspirational reading on my daily calendar today pretty much sums up my attitude toward marathon running—“If you can’t fly, run. If you can’t run, walk. If you can’t walk, crawl. But by all means, keep moving”. King

Sometimes during the course of the 26.2 miles (42K) marathon distance I go through each of the above phases. However, my mind remains fixed on that waiting, beckoning finish line, and I continually push onward. This was the pull London had on me even before stepping into my start corral at Blackheath on 25 April 2010 in Greenwich. Because a race/event begins long before the starting line it; it’s that idea that I CAN DO THIS, and so I WILL.

My husband and I arrived in London Thursday afternoon and followed our three time before routine of getting to our hotel, dropping our bags and heading to the race expo to secure our numbers, kit bags and scour the exhibitor booths for clothing, running gadgets and the like. This is always a memorable occasion and we always document it with photographs. Often times we or I return the next day catch any last opportunity to pick up a bargain or catch a glimpse of any running celebrity.

So it was that Friday morning we made a return trip after an evening’s think about some new shoes. It was on our sweep through the show floor that we noticed people congregating at one of the booths and on closer inspection my husband excitedly came back over to me and announced that it was Paula Radcliffe!! OH MY!!! Paula...THE Paula was standing just a few feet away from us and we had cameras in hand.... (If you aren't aware, Paula is the World Record Holder for the Women's Marathon 2:15:25 and is from the UK and ran it in London) We joined the autograph/picture line and the Legend that is Paula was gracious as she signed my running shoe and posed for a never to be forgotten photo! I babbled something about how we had just watched two nights before, for inspiration, our recording of the 2008 NYC Marathon which we ran and she won. Meeting her was like being touched by running royalty and sprinkled by magic dust. The experience left me in awe and wowed by a very special pre-marathon moment.

On Saturday it was time to turn our focus to preparing for Sunday’s race. We had both finished our last easy paced shorter distance runs around Canary Wharf and even got to run along the marathon route marked by the this years RED line (in recognition of the Virgin Corp sponsoring the race). Our evening pre race meal was jacket potatoes with cheese and a light salad provided by room service so we would do as little walking as possible. Marathon Sunday Morning started early; 0400 and we were awake with nerves already in second gear!

Always before a race my stomach just churns with excitement and I do my best to calm them by just robotically going through the same routines of preparing muesli/fruit/milk breakfast, packing after race sandwiches and drinks; mixing up sport drink for my hydration pack during the race ( I don’t use the race provided drink, don’t like it), showering and then putting the last items in the kit bag to carry up to the start area to be then deposited in the trucks that will transport them for me to collect at the finish. At 0700 we left our hotel and began the exodus of the “Red Bag People” towards Greenwich.

I had planned our route to the start with precision so we would have as little walking as possible. We took the Docklands Light Railroad from the Docklands area to Greenwich where we walked a short distance to catch the above ground train to the next stop at Maize Hill. Then it was an approximate one mile uphill to the start areas.

As my husband had secured a good for age entry his start area would be different than my club provided entry and once guiding him to his GREEN START area and giving him a kiss and wishing him a strong and fast finish time, I walked onward to the larger BLUE start.

My mind now began its focus on the task at hand; prepare myself during the next hour or so with the routines I have done six times before. These routines do help to settle me in some respects, but as the minutes creep towards that moment of turning in my kit bag my nerves just go into overdrive.

I mentally check off from my list each item as I finish; potty breaks, waist pack of gels, phone, tissues, money, ibuprofen secured; watch replaced with Garmin, USA bandana secured on my head, MP3 player on arm and playlist cued and ready to go; race shoes replaced walking shoes; over-pants removed. A quick phone call to my hubby over in the green start and a final strong running wish and then I hurriedly put on the rain poncho obtained at the expo from one of the charities as the predicted spot showers begin and then turn in my kit bag; it’s TIME! Time to go to my start corral. Time to trust my training. Time to make another Marathon Memory! Time to DO LONDON, again!

The race start areas are divided into 3 sections; RED, BLUE, and GREEN. The elite races all begin from the BLUE start. The Elite women were already on the course and by the scene on the big screen they were already past the 5K mark! Next the wheelchair athletes began and that would signal just 5 minutes until the Elite Men and the Mass start. Too far from the start line to hear the start signal it was the view across the grass field of a sea of runners moving that alerted me the marathon had begun. Nine minutes later I could see the start gate and then hear the electronic bond of my timing chip with the mat. MY race had now started.

There had been a glitch in the last 10 minutes prior to my start…my Garmin 305 would NOT turn on! The instrument I was counting on to help me maintain and gauge my pace/speed/HR was not going to be available. I was devastated! I was going to be running blind and it shook me. The only hope I had of knowing how I was doing was to notice the clock time at the mile markers and try to keep the same margin of minutes throughout the course. (Something to be said about keeping a watch on the other wrist.)I had prepared a race time band that would be of some assistance when mentally attempting to figure my pace/splits.

I was listening to my body and my own breathing to gauge how I was running. I could tell I was at a quick pace the first couple of miles. As runners streamed past me I kept my focus on what I felt like. How was my body responding? It is so easy to get caught up with what the “others” are doing and attempt to keep pace.

The rain had passed and now the humidity of the morning began to settle in. I registered the “Come on Mary” shouts I heard as I passed by the spectator lined street sides. I passed the 5K marker with a split that was quicker than my pace band. I was on target for my desired finish. This is the area of the course where the RED start runners join onto the road I was on. The road remains divided for a short distance and then we run as ONE unit until the finish.

Water stations were provided more frequently than the mile distance previously arranged as organizers anticipated temperatures into the mid 70sF. This was not the case as the cloud cover stayed with us well into the halfway point.

I kept focus as best I could with the music softly playing in my ears so I could also soak in the on course entertainment. My 10K split was still slightly under my projected time. It seemed like each pub along the way had either a band outside or music blaring from speakers to cheer and encourage us along. The children’s attempts to “high-five” us as we went by was as if to capture some of that “magic dust” I felt when I met Paula just two days previous.

The turn onto Tower Bridge always takes me by surprise! It sends chills and brings a wide smile because to see that span above you is simply amazing and words can’t express. It’s one of the very few uphill in the course and is deafening by 3 deep rows of cheering and shouting spectators. This is defiantly the first “ROCK STAR” moment of the race.

The clouds for the moment had passed and warm sunshine necessitated a few side stepping diversions into the course provided showers. The short respite was a welcome relief as I now was entering the part of the course where the quicker runners were at mile 22 and I was barely half way.

My eyes scanned the approaching fast flowing ribbon of sub 3:30 projected finishers for my husband. If we were both on pace there was a possibility of us passing so I positioned myself along the left side of the road. These amazing athletes were moving at close to twice my pace and deserved respect for their achievements. Due to my pace in the previous 10K I realized that my husband was well passed this portion of the course and nearing his final few miles along The Embankment. How I wish I was that close to finishing! The course now turned and headed toward the Isle Of Dogs and the Docklands; a portion of the race that had unravelled me before.

Going through the mile markers at 15 and 16 I could tell my time was slipping. I was developing an uncomfortable ache in my periformis (R glut muscle) and it wouldn’t stop. I had some pain relief pills that as a last resort I took at mile 16. I pressed on and the support at Mile 17 was encouraging and the smells of barbeques and Sunday lunches filled the air. I was now approaching the financial district of Canary Wharf and the tall glittering office buildings and the winding streets. I could feel a rubbing on the top of my R foot and could tell that the area was raw and if I didn’t stop for assistance I would not be able to endure the final 7 miles.

Reluctantly at 19 miles I sought out the St. John’s Ambulance first aid station and asked for assistance. This stop I knew would cost at least 10 minutes in my final time, but you do what you have to do. With a now bandaged toe I vowed that I would attempt to catch some of the runners that had passed by while I was being treated.

Blocking the discomfort of my glut muscle, the tightness in my IT Band and the bandaged toe, (all on my R leg) I continued my pursuit of the golden finish gates just 6 miles further. I approached the area where over an hour before I witnessed the sea of quicker runners pass me, now I passed the dismantling crew removing signs across the barrier. The Blackfriars Tunnel was ahead and crowds of people still adorned the overpass. A sign above announced that in just THREE miles I would make history! I held on to that thought….THREE, just three more miles.

Entering the tunnel I needed to stretch my tight IT Band and found the tunnel side a suitable stretching post. Then it was off again to make my way through the dampness and asphalt stickiness from sport drink/gels to the light of The Embankment and the River Thames.

Here I welcomed the tree sheltered street, the view of the Thames to my left, The London Eye further along and then the tall soldier like stance of Big Ben. Cheering crowds were still present as a woman ahead caught my focus. I remembered her passing me while I was stopped for assistance, I was now determined to not only catch her but stay ahead of her. My mind shifted to something to divert its continual reminder to me of the bodily discomforts I was feeling. Now I could reel her in foot strike by foot strike. Before the turn onto Birdcage walk, less than a mile from the finish I overtook her and planned to keep it that way.

Big Ben’s loud 4 o’clock chiming announcement singled to me that I was now 15 min beyond the finish time I was hoping for. I pressed on and continued running when others around me had been reduced to continual walking. It hurt my hip more to walk than run, so I kept running. I ran passed the Houses of Parliament, passed earlier finishers making their way from the area, passed the overhanging sign that stated just 385 yards left. Passed the 800 metre sign, then the 400 metre. I know that is just once around the track....I kept that illustration as I pressed forward.

Buckingham Palace was on my left the quick lean to the right, the large projection screen on the left and then that final welcoming right turn to see the yellow finish gates across the expanse of the Mall. Applauding and cheering crowds lined the finishing straight either in the stands or against the fences, The Union Jack adorned the flag posts and photographers positioned themselves to capture the last steps of a long yet rewarding journey to the awaiting final timing mat. My arms outstretched, I mentally pulled that gate toward me and ran through the finish line of my seventh marathon.

No personal best time like my husband’s amazing 3:18:43, no second goal time of less than 6 hours because Big Ben’s chime announcing 4 o’clock signalled that. Just the warm satisfaction of completing something I had set as a goal in the best manner I could. I kept moving and finished in 6:18:01....and never ever quit!

Why Run?

I was asked to write an article concerning my running for our village newsletter. This is my submission:

I was never an athlete, never thought myself capable of doing long distance running or any type of running for that matter. All that changed in 2004 when I signed up for the Race For Life and got hooked. With 6 marathons, 8 Halves, several 10 milers, countless 10ks, 5 Miles and training runs, I now say: I AM AN ATHLETE!

You might wonder why someone would brave the cold, the uncomfortable heat, brisk winds, pelting rain, early Saturday morning long runs, additional longer distances, muscle aches, bruised toenails, and all the other trophies running provides. What could possibly be the motivational force that would propel them onward day after day, mile after mile? My journey along this trail began as a tribute to my mother’s battle with Cancer and the honour of her memory. I pay her homage each time I run and remember her 2 ½ year battle with a disease that has probably touched all of our lives. Once I completed that race I wanted to find out just how far I could run and how strong my body was.

As if stepping stones I set myself goals of turning my run/walking outings into further and further running only distances. I began exploring the various routes available in and around my village. I thought of which hill I wanted to return on and that helped me to decide which exit path I would use. It didn’t take long for me to learn much of the geography of the area as I didn’t limit my excursion to just the roads. Great cross county footpaths criss-cross this beautiful area and are a joy to explore. I began finding extensive information on internet websites, magazines, and from other runners. I was reading all things running.

The Ribble Valley 10K hosted by the Blackburn Road Runners was my first race of that distance. It was freezing cold, icy and glorious! I had achieved a goal I had worked months for. So the obvious question was: What’s next?

Again I wanted to see what I could achieve and the next logical step up would be to run a Half Marathon to celebrate a year anniversary of running. I prepared myself by entering races of shorter distances and working myself up to the 13.1miles of a Half Marathon. A blistering hot, hazy June 2005 Sunday in Blackpool was my testing ground. Despite the smouldering oppressive noontime completion, I smiled as I approached the finish line to receive my event medal. Again it was time to ponder that question: What’s next?

Could I take that huge leap from a half marathon to a full marathon in a year? Could I celebrate my second running anniversary with a 26.2/42K mile glory run? If I truly wanted to see what I was capable of and how far I could push myself then the answer had to be YES! There would be hundreds of training miles to complete, hundreds of hours of time to prioritize for training, and hundreds of pounds to set aside for shoes, running events, clothing, assorted gear and nutritional needs. Yet even after considering all of that I eagerly signed up to run the June 2006 Edinburgh Marathon.

Preparation for Edinburgh included the Cardiff Half Marathon where I watched my husband complete his first of now eight outstanding marathons. I saw firsthand a glimpse of what 26.2 miles could do to an athlete’s body; the grimace from hours on one’s feet and the intense soreness that makes simple walking up stairs a hardship. I also witnessed the immense pride of accomplishment that radiated from his face and those of the other marathoners when they crossed the long toiled for finish line. I wanted to experience that. I wanted to forever have that memory and carry it with me into the years ahead.

So it was to be; June2006 in the beautiful city of Edinburgh, on another hot and steamy June Sunday I ran with my heart the 26.2 miles of my very first marathon. Even though I prepared well, trained hard and was mentally ready, I didn’t know on the day what I would experience. Although there were thousands of racers out there on the course, I was alone in my thoughts. It was me putting the miles to the road. It was me feeling the body aches and stings of sweat in my eyes. It was me that was for the first time running over the 20 mile mark. And it was me seeing an arch of deep blue balloons hovering over the finish line at the foot of Arthur’s Seat beckoning me onward until I too crossed over the line; arms outstretched and tears streaming down my face. I was now and forever a Marathoner! I have the joy of replaying that moment anytime I wish.

For someone who isn’t a runner it may be hard to understand the reply to the question, “Why would you put yourself through that again and again?” I could start by saying that I love travelling to cities such as Dublin, London, Edinburgh, New York, Berlin, or Boston; of meeting and/or watching elite athletes strive for perfection in their encounters . I could add that it’s a wonderful hobby that my husband and I both share hence the hours we converse, plan, and support one another at various events and training. I could add that I enjoy perusing over the thousands of race/running photos we have taken and, the scrapbooks I have put together that chronicle our achievements. I could show you the dozens of event shirts, race mugs, coasters, and various other mementos that we have collected as awards for a job well done.

Those are all tangible reasons why I run, but not the real reason. For the real reason why I and perhaps many others run lies deep within us. It is a force that urges us outside, to pit ourselves against the elements, our inner thoughts, our doubts, our ambitions. To allow me to feel the exhilaration that occurs when I finally crest the hill and look to my right and see the immense expanse of the Ribble Valley. To feel the rush of wind in my face and hair as I push just a little bit more, a little bit faster, on the downhill towards my village.

I savour these moments and events. For I know that there will come a day that I won’t be physically able to do these runs. They will have become collectables to adorn my memory. But for today, I run. Because I can! What about you? Why not lace up and make some incredible memories!

Gotta Gear Up!

I have been slowly putting my mind into "marathon mode" these past couple of weeks. My marathon running hubby and I have decided that we plan to register for the Chicago marathon when the registration opens up in late January. I know the Marathon is a little less than a year from now but I needed something to focus on and put my mind in the right space.

Well now I have even more reason to shift gears! I am so excited I'm jumping up and down inside and just going to have to take a celebratory run today! My running club has come through for me again!!! I didn't get a place in April's 2010 Virgin London Marathon in the ballot, BUT since I got rejected from that and the club received 4 spaces, I GET ONE!!!

Yes I am a bit nutz and you might agree (esp if you read my Berlin Marathon blog account) to be so excited about putting my body through another 26.2 miles and over 500 training miles but I am like a Cheshire cat!! SOOO thrilled!

So if all goes to plan, that will be TWO marathons in 2010: London (April) and CHICAGO (Oct!) Now, gotta go lace up and hit the road, I've got a run planned!!

Bringing Berlin Home...The long way

Marathon Woman. That’s what my shirt reads, and that is what I am. Back in April of this year at the Boston Marathon expo I had the honour of meeting and conversing with Kathrine Switzer. I had just purchased her book just a few days earlier but knew a bit of her fantastic story. (If you don’t know who she is you MUST Google her name and learn. If you are a woman and run marathons, you have her dedication to the sport to thank!) So it’s no wonder I chose that shirt to wear as my hubby and I slowly walked the 3 miles back to our hotel after a hot yet satisfying Berlin Marathon on 20 September 2009.

With an ankle injury that hampered my training I was frustrated and concerned about how I would do during the race. I had to alter my training runs to compensate for time lost and performance limitations.

There was a churning in my stomach when I counted the weeks left and the shortcomings of my training. Sensing my anxiety, my marathon running husband asked how I was feeling concerning the upcoming race. I explained my concerns and told him of the various physical niggles I was experiencing. He wisely suggested to me that to go to Berlin and ENJOY the experience; to run to the best of my ability on the day and take it all in.

Hearing that was like writing me permission slip to go and do. I knew that I had a running base of 5 years, of 5 previous marathons and training, of determination, perseverance, and endurance. I would not be able to race this marathon due to my shorter training but I could run it, walk when I needed to, enjoy it, soak it in, and complete it. This is what I set my mind to do, for you see, I believe we run a marathon in our mind and transfer it to our feet. It’s the mind that pushes the body, that speaks to it in those exhausting “Why am I doing this??!!” moment or miles and shakes it into submission to keep on going for one more mile, one more kilometre, one more water station…..just one more….

It was a glorious morning 20 September in Berlin. We awoke early, had our typical breakfast of muesli, fruit and milk. Our kit bag was already packed from the night before and all that was needed was a shower, get dressed, and begin our day- break 2+ mile easy paced pilgrimage to the start area.

The sun had broken as we neared the beautiful wide tree lined area within the Teir-garten on the boulevard Straße des 17. Juni. From all adjoining streets athletes were making their way as if following a homing beacon which pulled them towards the start area. Our race bib pinned to our shirts allowed us access and the hunt for where to drop our bags off began.

The area was now hustling with athletes from around the world completing their various race preparations of changing to racing shoes and socks, ensuring timing chip is in place, slipping out of warm up pants and sweatshirts, attaching sport gels, hydration packs or belts, tuning iPods, syncing GPS watches, consuming the last of necessary fuel such as bananas, breads, bars, etc. and then finishing by covering up in bright yellow disposable type ponchos provided by the race organizers to await the final walk to their designated start corral.

Needless to say, the tent where my kit bag was to be placed was quite a distance away from my husband’s. Therefore while closer to his drop off tent we both prepared ourselves and after placing his bag in the care of the race organizers we pushed our way through the now crowded area to drop off my bag. Having completed that we were less than 30 minutes before race time, and with a kiss, a hug, and exchanged encouraging words of “Run strong, have a great race, and see you at the finish!” we walked in opposite directions disappearing into the stream of other racers.

It’s amazing how in that throng of thousands upon thousands I was alone in my own thoughts. I was part of a “Marathon Army” directed by race marshals to assume my position in the order of start and joined what was to be nearly 40,000 others. I listened to conversations being spoken in German, French, Spanish, English and other languages I couldn’t determine. I quieted myself and thought of my husband 4 corrals ahead of me and silently prayed for him to have a safe and memorable race. I thought of all that had led up to that morning and me standing on the start line. I was grateful for another opportunity to run 26.2 miles/42 kilometres someplace that I had never been before and to do my best.

Then without warning a large cluster of yellow balloons appeared in the sky beyond my area and as they swiftly floated upward in the cloudless sky, the crowd began to cheer and applaud. The race had started and like penned race horses jostling for positions the atmosphere around me started to ignite. Minutes later I began my slow migration towards the start gates, picking up my pace until finally the gates were in view. Crossing through them and letting out a cheer, the electronic ring of stepping on the start mat signalled that now I was officially in the race.

The sides of the street were lined with spectators cheering, shouting, waving flags and just watching as the parade of racers passed by. They had been there to see the elite field begin over 12 minutes before me and now it was my turn to step in those earlier athlete’s foot strikes.

The day was indeed glorious, not a cloud in the sky where it’s blueness was like a tent capping the incredible event. Predictions were that it would be warm with temps rounding out near 26C/78F before noon. That can hamper anyone’s marathon running!
All along the course the bands played, the wonderful spectators cheered and yelled, clapped and called out. Some of the route was familiar due to the sightseeing bus tour my husband and I went on two days earlier. I glimpsed views of the Bundeskanzleramt, the Reichstag, the Berliner Dom, the Fern-seh-turn, and Sudstern as I passed them on my way to the half-marathon mark. (13.1 miles/21K).

I had started out comfortably quick but could feel my pace slowing, my legs tiring, the heat beginning to melt me and turn me into a puddle. The water stops were a welcome site even through they were covered and littered with previously used plastic cups, and assorted other paper litter. I carried my sport drink within my Camelbak backpack and therefore refused the offers of tea, sport drink and slices of banana and apple. I consumed my SIS sport gels at the pre-determined times and took water as needed along the course.

The welcome site of the banner across the road announcing the half way point lifted my pace slightly as I crossed the Potsdamer Straße. By this time in my race within the larger race, the field was thinning out. I was beginning to see the same people in my “pack”; other athletes of a similar capability as me. We had run through areas that were the previous East Berlin, passed cafes with Sunday afternoon patrons sunning themselves with a pint of Germany’s best, over cable car tracks, and glowing faces of young children with outstretched hands with the hope of a passing athlete’s touch to allow them to take home a bit of the magic of this amazing athletic event.

Over three hours had passed and my mental talk was now of just to keep going, time isn’t the issue here, as my body was beginning to ache with each passing minute. It was then my mobile phone rang and I knew it meant my husband had completed his race. Excitedly I listened to his report. He sounded good and his time was an exceptional 3:22:38! His second fastest marathon finish and his first one run as a 60YO Vet. He spoke of the heat affecting his last 10K and the beginning of leg cramps as he approached the final 5K. His words were a great encouragement and mental boost. His race was complete and now it was my turn to bring Berlin home.

I pressed onward into the third 10K of the race and although I split my running time with some walk breaks I was feeling the effects of the heat and distance on my body. The spectators were still there; the restaurant chefs outside their establishment banging spoons on pots and lids, the fire brigades with their welcome fire hose showers to cool aching and overheating bodies, and the funnel made by samba playing musicians who encouraged you to dance along with them as you ran through their lines.

The streets were shaded on either side with trees at this point and I welcomed the respite as the temperature continued to climb and I knew I would show the effects with a lovely suntan. I welcomed the opportunity at water stations to dip the race provided sponge into a vat of cold water and empty it over my hair covered stars and stripes bandana.

Being towards the back of a marathon pack is a unique experience. Unlike the pristine streets and enthusiastically cheering spectators for the elite and earlier finishers, we who bring the race home contend with water station marshals that are clearing their tables, bicycle riders peddling through the course, young children racing along side, and official photographers who have the time to snap you several times before you pass by.

At 30K I recognized the familiar area where I stood just an evening before awaiting the arrival of the elite rollerblading Marathoners! I was on the Hohenzollerndamm nearing the famous and upscale shopping avenue of Kurfurstendamm . I had passed the 32K mark and had just another 10K left (6.2 miles) My time was slowing as I was keeping track via my 305 Garmin. I was measuring my distance in miles although the race was measured in kilometres and it helped me to gauge the distance remaining as I only saw distance markers at 5K intervals as I ran over the timing mats.

I now knew where I was as the impressive sight of the Kaiser-Wilhem-Gedachtnis-Kirche came into my view. I glanced to my left and from the exit of the underground came athletes. Emerging with their marathon medals around their necks their race long ago completed, they took the time to applaud me as I continued on my way towards my goal.

My phone rang again and my husband provided me with an update as to how he was doing and where he would wait for me. I told him of my fatigue, my aches, and my determination to complete the last 5miles ahead of me. With his words of encouragement in my ears I pressed on passed the familiar business district we had walked through on our way to the start line nearly seven hours previously.

I was now approaching the last 5K (3.1 miles) and trying to keep the wheels on to finish my race. I attempted to interject bursts of faster running into my now speed walking. I found it humours when approached by the sweep vehicle attendant and cautioned that the roads would be opening back up shortly and I was instructed either to speed up and/or move over to the sidewalk to finish my race. The thought of speeding up after being on the road for over 5 and a half hours made me chuckle. However, I followed his instructions and made my way over to the sidewalk and joined the rest of the pedestrian traffic interspersed with marathon athletes. This only caused my pace to slow even further.

After passing Potsdammer Platz I approached an area where the streets were still closed to traffic and the wide expanse of pavement beckoned me. I returned to the streets and continued on through the maze of large government and commercial buildings. The German flag on the horizon waving high above the Reichstag was where we were headed mentioned a fellow athlete. Feeling slightly faint and queasy I slowed slightly to regain my composure as I thought “Not much further” as I made another turn and passed over the 40K litter strewn timing mat.

It was now that I felt an urgency to complete this race, to pass through the awaiting finish gate and have my much toiled for medal placed around my neck. The slight cobble area signalled the approaching final bend and straight away of the Unter den Linden. Could this be it? Could this finally be the finishing stretch through the Brandenburg Gate? By the cheering of still remaining spectators, sightseers, Sunday afternoon café patrons, I could tell the answer was a resounding YES! Then I saw it, like a glimmering beacon ahead of me, the much photographed and historic Brandenburger Gate. I willed that gate closer and closer to me as I found an incentive to increase my pace. To my amazement I was the only one at that point running, spurred on by the crowd lining the street, cheering me through the Pariser Pl., through the Brandenburger Tor and into my “Red Carpet Rock Star Moment”! It was just me at that spot; those cheers were for me, for what I had worked for over 6 1/2 hours for. I don’t know if the German announcer was saying my number or just encouraging the crowd to cheer everyone, I savoured those applauds as they rang in my ears. I showed my appreciation by my smile and the sweat running down my face.

Now it was just a few hundred feet away, I picked my gate and watched the clock as it approached a time I had never seen before in my 5 other marathon races. I found just enough drive for one final push and outstretched my arms to bring Berlin home.
Finally now after 6:40:47 I could stop. Through the muscle aches and the sweat and tears of completing my longest marathon, my medal was placed around my neck. In the distance awaited my husband and the stories we would share about our Sunday running through the streets of Berlin.

Nothing Else

Just a regular weekday for me; feed the cat, the dog, make breakfast for hubby and me, start the laundry. Working from home I take care of the office work and today was payroll day and I had just completed that with a morning run in the plans.

Phone rings, it’s my husband, he had just received a text; Linda’s mom. Oh no, no I am barely able to say with the lump in my throat increasing with each word. I had just the day before received an email including the information on the upcoming Race For Life. Impeccable timing I realized.

Memories of my own mother washed over me and tears flooded my eyes. I sobbed with the thoughts from her battle with Cancer and her unfortunate passing 19 years ago. I phoned Linda and her sobs pierced my heart. “I’m so so so so sorry” was my feeble attempt to express my shared grief at her loss. Words were minimal as she needed to get off the phone to take care of arrangements with her sisters and Dad.

Again I cried; for the years I have been motherless, for the life events I have been unable to share with the woman who gave me life, for my children and now grandchildren who either were cut short their relationship with her, or who never got the chance to be touched by her life. What can I do to bring honour to these women? What can I say to a wonderful friend and fellow runner who now knows the pain and heartbreak of loosing her mother to a relentless killer? How can I celebrate their life with my life?....... I can run!

I can give my time today and celebrate their accomplishments with my own. I can feel the wind on my face, the rain on my jacket, the puddles dancing with my foot strikes. I can push myself a bit harder as I climb up the hills and feel the freedom of almost freefalling down the hills. I can realize the discomfort of regaining my fitness after a month off from illness is nothing compared to what so many are dealing with. I can rejoice in the knowing that my life is rich in so many ways that don’t include the monetary.

With resolve, I changed to my running clothes, I tackled the hills, I coasted the declines, sweat mixed with tears, I melted into the moment, I ran. For you see, there was nothing else at that point in time I could do…so, I ran

What Does It Take... NYC Marathon Memories

What does it take?
That’s the question that is emblazoned across my NYC Marathon finishing shirt; a question to take seriously and delve deeply into when considering running a marathon, or even perhaps any endeavour, for there IS a price that is paid for whatever we do.
The price I was willing to pay, physically, to run another marathon was months of training and hours upon hours of time. Mentally it was pulling out from deep within my being the belief that once again I would do my very best, no matter what the circumstances were, knowing that there would be difficulties, pain and well known fatigue during the race. Emotionally knowing that my nerves would be wringing my insides round and round and leaving them in tangled knotted mess. But all that is paled by the Greta Weitz embossed image on the medal placed around my neck after I crossed over the finish line in Central Park on 2 November 2008.

My legs had not just carried me through the 5 Boroughs of NYC, but through the cold pre dawn walk in Manhattan to the Public Library for the start of my 4am bus ride and subsequent 6 hour wait in Staten Island where I shivered with my husband awaiting his start time and then over to my start area and another cold wait for my 10:20 departure.

My heart soared as it was my time to cross over the mats on the upper level of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. A bridge I detested crossing when driving a car, due to my fear of the height and length, but smiled all the away across in awe at the magnificent view of the River below and Manhattan in the distance. I could even make out the smaller islands of Ellis, Governors, and the Statue Of Liberty. The amazing monstrous bridge arches were like giant croquet hoops suspended atop a ribbon of concrete, and I just one of the players in the game taking my turn at passing through them.

Periodically I would compare my watch time on my left wrist to the split race band on my right. The miles of Brooklyn were streaming passed to the sounds of assorted bands, cheering spectators and the “one more mile completed” mantra in my mind. Approaching the Pulaski Bridge and Queens I caught sight of a fellow club runner and shared encouraging words and with her kudos ringing in my ears I pressed on through the half way mark.

I had my camelbak strapped to my back and replenshined my dehydrated state throughout the race with sport drink, however this wasn’t enough to ward off the horrific Right Quadriceps cramp I experienced while attempting to stretch out my legs on the Queens borough bridge at mile post 16.5. This proved to be my undoing as a personal best time had looked very promising until this point. Now I was reduced to intermittent tinges of my muscle and sought medical assistance in the form of salt washed down with water at each Medic Tent I passed.

I was on First Avenue in Manhattan, mile 17 was behind me and I only had a little more than 9 miles left. I was feeling the fatigue, the sore muscles were reminding me of how far I had run, and my mental determination was urging me onward towards the Willis Avenue Bridge and the short run through the Bronx. A welcome committee consisting of a drum band and a woman cheering “Welcome to the BRONX!” brought a tired nod of my head and a realization that a mere 10K was all that separated me from the finish line.
Leaving the Bronx with a renewed sense of resolve and grit I crossed over the Madison Avenue Bridge and returned to Manhattan along 5th Avenue. The slight incline and mile 22 had me counting the remaining miles on one hand; Just FOUR more and change. My eyes now began to search the crowds for family that had told me they would be cheering me on at some point along this side of the Park. It felt better to keep running than interspaced running with walking. I pushed on and when the course became tree lined I knew I was within Central Park and the 23 mile sign suspended above the road was another welcome banner urging me onward.
The electronic mats I had been crossing over throughout the miles had allowed my family to know my progress. My son in Illinois knew how I had tired and realized that something had happened to cause my sub 12 min per mile pace to slip to over 13 min. My daughter was receiving updates on her mobile phone letting her know of my approximate time as I neared her vantage point. My brother and his family waited eagerly for me at the 26 mile point to give me that final push onward to the finish line. My husband, with his race now completed, awaited me to finish mine so we could exchange our Marathon Stories. The thoughts of these people, and the thousands others I would never know out there cheering me on had a dramatic effect as I approached the 25 mile banner and the familiar area my husband and I had walked through the day before.
The turn from the park onto Central Park South brought back the memories from the previous morning and the International Friendship Run. I had joined the thousands of runners from around the world at the UN to run in harmony through the streets of Manhattan to the finish line. Here I was repeating that last mile a day later with an inner drive taking each step forward. I then saw myself on the big screen just outside the re-entrance to the park at Columbus Circle. I heard my name being called not realizing that one of those voices was my oldest child, my daughter and her friend who were watching me run for the first time. Less than a half a mile! I’m in the home stretch I mentally told myself. I pushed onward until I heard my name again and looked to my right.

There along the tree lined course was my younger brother, his wife and their three teenaged daughters who had come from Delaware for this moment! I was ecstatic and waved my arms and ran over to them, embracing each one. With a quick glance at my watch and a shout that there was a medal waiting for me, I left them for the final sprint up the last rise to the awaiting finish gates. My brother was cheering me on as he too ran along with me on the outside of the course.
My eyes were fixed on the chosen gate and with outstretched arms I completed my fifth marathon. With an exhausted smile I accepted the medal and the congratulations that were placed around my neck. Emotion filled my soul as I stood for a “finisher picture” first from the medal presenter and then from the official photographer. I collected a foil “heat blanket” and wrapped it around my now chilling body and a food bag that I knew at some point I would enjoy.
It was a walk to the UPS truck that had my kit bag and I took each step gingerly as every muscle in my tired body was reminding me what I had just accomplished. Seeking to eliminate some of the cold, I attempted to put on my warm up pants. Bad move!! My Right quadriceps seized up and I was instantly frozen in pain. Thankfully a medic was standing nearby and came to my assistance with more salt and water. He escorted me to a warm tent where I received a muscle massage and downed my recovery drink. When they were satisfied that I was able to move again, and after phone calls with my husband, daughter and brother I made my way out of the park and to the waiting area to find those who meant so much to me.
Finding first my brother and his family, and then my daughter brought cheers, hugs, elation, admiration and stories as we walked through the early evening sunset. We could see runners still making their final approach through the last .2 mile of Central Park. My husband would meet me at the hotel as he too had suffered cramping at 16 miles and needed to rest.

The reunion at the hotel with my husband allowed me to hear his journey of the Five NYC Boroughs and relax with those who were there to watch us. With the picture taking, medic stops I still managed to finish under 6 hours; 5:59:42. My husband still accomplished another Boston Qualifying time of 3:35:51. Neither one of us did a personal best in NYC but our experience will remain etched in our memoires none the less.
So, what does it take to run a marathon? My NYC Marathon shirt answers that with three simply put words….Heart Pounding Dedication. Yep, I totally agree!