Marathon part 5: Manhattan, again

I missed the Harlem choir I'd heard about. Perhaps I was out of it? Or maybe they got tired before I got there. In any case, there was a lot of music and a flock of very enthusiastic kids handing out random food. I felt bad turning it all down, but was feeling some nausea from the exertion, three Nutrigrains ingested to get me that far and a half cup of Gatorade every mile.

I was very glad to have been warned that the first sight of trees is a park, but not the park. It's Marcus Garvey, and we ran around it to continue along Fifth Avenue. We headed down Fifth Avenue, but it was all up hill. Looooooong uphill. I knew it was long; I knew I'd be tired. I knew from Saturday exactly where than 24 mile mark was and I told myself to look ten feet in front of me and not to the top of the hill. Let the hill come to me, I love you hill, come to me hill. The crowds grew again. I listened to both the roar and a blasting ipod for power. I thought, this is as tough as it gets and I'm doing it. I was fine, and the truth is that I never doubted my ability to finish (saving severe migraine, ferry breakdown or other catastrophe). Am I "digging deep" now? Even at mile 23.8 after almost two miles of hill, I wasn't and I knew I wasn't. My feet hurt and it was not that easy to keep my legs going, but there was no wall, there were no cramps, and I've done harder.

I hit 90th Street, went into the park, hit the 24 mile mark, passed the Met at the top of a hill. I realized I was making it; it was basically the end. I suddenly remembered why I was running and thought about why I didn't feel like I was "digging deep". I had dug deep just to keep myself moving when I was stuck in a never ending and undiagnosed lupus flare, when I didn't have a lot of hope that that I'd be able to physically function like a "normal" person and have the energy to have "normal" person experiences without constant pain and be happy. This just wasn't as hard; I was in control.

On the way down the hill, I passed my parents, best friends and my person. I held it together, smiled and kept it light, but burst out crying thirty seconds later. Had I not been diagnosed and lucky enough to respond well to my life-quality-saving medication, I could've missed my out-of-this world college experience and these people that will always be my second family; and a third family from law school that I thought I'd been too lucky already to find and keep (even if by gchat). I could've missed the energy  to jump into a train-distance relationship, move to Manhattan, make decisions fueled by ambition. I certainly would have missed the opportunity to see my people looking at me like they had no doubt I could run that far and my dad look at me at mile 24.5 without concern.

I pulled it together up the last hill to Central Park South. A spectator just to my left yelled "you can do it, Kate, you've got it, looking strong!" I rounded the corner and gradually picked up the pace along Central Park South. I smelled horse poop and wondered whether it really would have been that hard to clean the street for forty thousand people on their last legs. I hit Columbus circle, saw the glowing orange sun beginning to set between two buildings, and turned back into the park between a stage and some kind of metal structure with lighting equipment. I could see the mile 26 sign. I picked up the pace and people cheered louder, which I knew they would. I hit mile 26 and ran faster. They cheered louder and yelled things about a strong finish. The signs read "300 yards," "200 yards," and then I saw the finish line and the cameras. I smiled, pumped my arms harder, and sped across the line.

And burst out crying again. An old woman in a visor put the medal around my neck.

My feet hurt a lot at the end and I fell asleep at 8pm last night. Training was harder, and taking the leap to sign up was harder than that. Just going for it without knowing first that my body would cooperate was scary and not what cautious me was used to. This cause is obviously important to me, but it also ended up being an important lesson in how I should be thinking about pushing myself now, going for it without knowing it's a foregone conclusion.

So, a last thank you for contributing to the cause and encouraging me on this journey that has ended up meaning quite a lot to me.

[I'll post some pictures here as they become available so that you all can see my I'm-trying-to-look-cute/hot/tough/happy/relaxed awkward, sweaty smiles.]