My First Marathon: New York

A marathon, like life, contains euphoric highs and debilitating lows. It has moments that test your resolve, moments where you’re on autopilot, and everything in between. 

It's 26.2 miles of self revelation. Although the finish line is the ultimate destination, the New York Marathon was all about the journey.

Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words resonated within me as I boarded my Megabus late in the afternoon on Friday, November 1st.

Marathon weekend was starting early for me and I was excited to get a taste of New York City before resting up and racing through its streets. During the bus ride, I voraciously read through the middle portion of Liz Robbins’ book “A Race Like No Other;” an in depth look at the New York Marathon and the eclectic cast of runners that make this such a fascinating race. 

I read about the Hassidic Jewish community of Williamsburg, the Polish section of the Queens, the boisterous charisma of the Bronx, the EPCOT-like vibe of the starting line, and the nostalgia that would inevitably occur each moment I heard the song "New York, New York" from that moment on. 

Minutes after reading about the astounding diversity of the race, we entered New York City and our charismatic driver was heard over the speakers. 

“Any Jews in the house?” He said. “You got it, I’m a Puerto Rican Jew! Welcome to New York!” 

A testament to the diversity of this city and this race.

The first few days of my trip to New York were a whirlwind. I went to my friend (and host for the weekend) Megan’s work party at a PR firm in New York, experienced a bit of the Brooklyn nightlife, slept like a baby, enjoyed some New York pizza, and roamed around the marathon expo to start things off.

Saturday night was the USTA Serves team pasta dinner at the Hyatt. Here, we’d meet our team for the first time, enjoy some quality carb-loading pasta,  and share marathon stories and expectations. The atmosphere was not that of a locker room before a big game, but that of new friends who were about to wake up early and embark on a trip together. 

There were no nerves or tension. Just genuine excitement for the race to come. From Dorothy’s movie recommendation of “The Spirit of the Marathon” (which I watched later that night) to Lee’s tales of his 11 marathons. I was feeling inspired. I wasn’t concerned with the grueling physical test that the marathon would present in the morning. I was more enthralled with and intrigued by the sociological aspect of the race. The crowds, the diversity, the international cast of runners, the constantly changing dynamic of the course.

That night after watching “Spirt of the Marathon” I tossed and turned and slept on and off, but woke up in time to leave the apartment in plenty of time to catch my 5:45AM Ferry. Of course, I can't forget my gear!

The journey begins. 

I strap on my vibrams, down some black coffee and oatmeal and head out for what promises to be a memorable day. Since the bars in New York City close at 4AM, I caught a few late night stragglers. As I waited for the L train in a dazed state of feeling in my element, a drunk hipster sat next to me. “I dare you to get that shovel on the other side of the station. I DARE you!” He slurred, while hiccuping and telling me how Jewish his friend is. I was affable despite the time and humored this hipster in his drunken stupor.

At the next transfer, I met Nick, an Englishman running his third marathon of the year. We shared Power Bars while he regaled me with marathon stories from earlier this year. He had a twinge in his knee from pounding the Chicago course and was a bit apprehensive about how it would hold up in this marathon. He’s a retired ski instructor living and working in Denver and with his sprightly, positive demeanor, he’s expected to run a time much faster than my own.

We headed towards South Ferry. I talked to a Nova Scotian who expected a 3:19 pace. In between his “oots” and “aboots” he realized that he left his Garmin and energy gels back at the previous station. He was not happy. I talked to a few recreational Mom-esque runners in their 40s who could tell by my questions that I was a first time marathoner.

The sun hit the snooze button and darkness still enveloped Staten Island Ferry.

Thanks to my new British ski instructor friend from Colorado with the 3:30 pace, I even got some photos of myself on the ferry! The anticipation was mounting and I was beginning to feel lost in the moment.

After I arrived, I met up with Erin (one of my teammates) and we excitedly boarded the crowded bus and headed to our starting village. We talked with fellow runners about everything from marathoning experiences to peeing off of the Verrazano bridge. After a winding, warm bus ride, our fatigue hit us. We were tired. The adrenaline hadn’t kicked in yet and we were feeling the effects of such an early morning.

Various languages were heard from the speakers in regards to the start villages. The slightly familiar harshness of the German language, the sing-songy Japanese vernacular, and of course, the Spanish and Italian. Erin and I strolled through the villages, in awe of the Dunkin Donuts hats everyone was sporting.

The start village was a frigid blur of a moment, filled with anticipation. As I downed my coffee and stretched my quads in the starting gate, I struck up conversation with a few dad-aged marathoners about Florida marathons, Garmins, and expectations. Time to head to the starting line. We shed our first layer of clothes, donating them to goodwill as we trekked to the starting line. As I shivered forward a cannon went off. There goes the elite women’s runners.

An obsessive compulsive female runner stood next to me as we made our way towards the starting line. “Is my number straight?” She asked. “How about now, is it crooked?” “My boyfriend runs marathons! I run with Ethiopians” She exclaimed as she got lost in the moment and told me all about her dream 3:29 pace for the race. She was ready. As she coated herself with bodyglide, I could tell, her mind was nowhere else. She was set to break her personal record.

I stood, ready to go. Sporting my Nike running gloves and my shirt, which read “Justin – Team USTA Serves” on the front and “10SNE1?” on the back. A pun to our great cause. 

After the introduction of the elite runners, the signature song of the New York Marathon came booming out of the speakers. Frank Sinatra, booming out of the amplifiers, stating that “If I can make it here, I’ll make it anywhere, it’s up to you…”  Runners shed clothing, fist pumped, gestured to the flag-waving audience at the start and sang along to the song. The anticipation was undeniable. 

It’s up to me. It’s up the New York crowd to keep me energized and alive. Time to hit the Verrazano bridge.

A helicopter whizzed in the distance as I set off on my 7:45 pace in my vibrams, gliding across the bridge, careful not to kick it into full gear too early. As we eased into Brooklyn, the crowd, as expected took on its own life form.

A Drum Corps confidently pounded away and spectators reached their hands out for high fives. “Come on Justin! You got this Justin!” They yell as we cruise past (since my name was on my shirt), still confident in the early pace we’ve set for ourselves. I had a lot of energy, so I made sure to give those who shouted my name a proper acknowledgement.

The volume increased, the speed picked up, the street bands rocked on, and before we knew it, we were deep into Brooklyn. My indigestion was in full gear once we approached the Hassidic Jewish community of Williamsburg. I felt heavy and full, yet I was cruising at around an 8 minute pace. I remember my first bout of panic struck when I heard other runners in casual conversation while I was struggling to regulate my body chemistry. “What does this have in store for me for the rest of the race?”

The transition to Queens was seamless, and honestly, quite a blur. I don’t remember Queens. What was Queens? I remember clutching my power bar and chomping at it in fear that my glycogen levels were dangerously low. I remember people watching in Williamsburg as Hasidic Jewish families went about their day to day lives while I felt my breakfast coming up early on in the race. I remember a slightly Polish scenario in Greenpoint as I approached the half marathon marker. I remember cries of BLIND RUNNER COMING THROUGH when I haphazardly dragged myself across the center of the Pulaski Bridge. Queens was a blur, but the Queensboro bridge was clear as day.

This was when I first considered stopping and stretching out. My pace slowed and the crowd died out. Other runners, devoid of the crowd provided energy, stopped to catch their breath, stretch their calves, and take a moment to regain their strength. It’s a dark and lonely stretch on the bridges, and its moments like this that test your metal fortitude.

I remember what Lee, one of my teammates said at dinner the night before. “Once you get over that bridge, it will blow you away.” I kept the Christmas morning-like anticipation alight within me as I trudged along the bridge, and it was all worth it. 

The crowd erupted as we entered Manhattan and I felt like a pseudo running celebrity. I waved to the crowd and smiled as I kept my composure and rounded the corner, painfully aware of the long journey I had ahead of me while blissfully rejoicing in the crowd energy. You can really see it at around the 1:30 mark of this video.

Around mile 18-19 marked the toughest point of the race. I’ve come so far but knew I had so much left to go. In all my training runs, I knew how to feel. I knew the end was near. But here, the end was nowhere in sight. 

The crowd was amazing though. In all its youthful, creative, loud and boisterous exuberance, they enabled me to fight past the fatigue and shuffle my feet, taking it one mile at a time. I stepped on sponges, ingested power gels, fought off dry heaving, and kept shuffling towards the Willis Street Bridge.

This was the moment of truth. Between miles 19 and 20 is when the wall establishes itself in full force.

The white architecture of the Willis St. Bridge combined with my own fatigue provided an interesting optical illusion, making me think that I was about to pass out. I shrugged it off, but my body heaved. I dry heaved and cramped up simultaneously. Fortunately, this enraged me a bit and triggered my adrenaline, so I entered the Bronx with a new vomit adrenaline infused life. I waved as I saw myself on the big screen. 6 more miles!

The transition into the Bronx was much needed. The energy was as proud as it was rambunctious. It was a distinctive “Welcome to the Bronx” attitude as the DJ enthusiastically welcomed us down into the borough, past the Madison Ave Bridge and into Manhattan. 

“How about a shout out to everyone comin’ down the bridge!!!” He said into his microphone. I was nearing the wall, dragging my feet, simply trying to keep up with the guy in front of me.

My casual, haphazard drink station stops now turned into a necessity as I stopped to a slow jog to chug Gatorade. I felt high maintenance as I denied someone who tried to enthusiastically hand me Gatorade. “No, no, water! I want water!” I shouted.

It’s a straight stretch to Central Park. About 5K to go, yet I only feel as though I’ve only reached the half way point. I shuffle past Marcus Garvey Park as spectators shout my name. “Stay strong Justin!” “You go this Justin!” “Come on Justin, only a few more miles!” The enthusiastic wave in which I greeted them with in Brooklyn has been replaced with an exhausted exasperated hand raise. Yeah, I hear you loud and clear.

I still feel full. My legs are heavy, my stomach is heaving. My face is in a permanent grimace. I’m on the verge of tears due to the sheer exertion of it all.

As I turn the corner into Central Park, the crowd energizes me a bit. I begin to think I can finish this race. Around mile 24 the crowd is deafening but my fatigue is prominent. 

They cheer my name, I drag my feet at around an 8:40 pace. Mentally tough runners pass me by. Exhausted runners exasperatedly walk. A few stretch out their tired calf muscles, Others are sprawled out in the grass, attended to by a medical staff. Delirious, drooling and completely exhausted. I didn’t want to be one of them.

I went on. Mile 25. I thought of my friends. It would be nice to see them after I finished! This last mile or so was the longest of the entire race. The stage was set, the crowd was loud, I saw the finish line. My stomach started to seize up again. Someone at the line shouted “It’s Justin from USTA!? This energized me the slightest bit.

I finished at the 3:49 mark.

My legs felt raw and heavy. Remember the scene in Rocky where Rocky pounds raw meat in the meat packing plant? Well, my legs felt like that meat. I was sore, shaking, stumbling and delirious. I took my medal and posed for this surprisingly normal looking picture.

A month or so before the race, I asked my aunt what it was like to finish. I couldn’t imagine the state of my body or my mind after running such a distance. She simply said “…you cry.” Surprisingly I didn’t see a lot of runners crying. As for me, I had a few moments during the race where I wanted to. Miles 17-24 were particularly painful and borderline emotional. 

But the moment I sat down to let the emotion of the race wash over me shortly after the finish line, the red cross staff rushed over to me. “Are you ok? Are you cramping? Do you need help? You can’t sit down, you’ll cramp up!” They were carefully herding us like exhausted cattle across Central Park.

My head was spinning, my face was raw, and I limped around covered in my “cape” as a guy shouted monotonously through a megaphone “Wow. 26.2 miles. That’s amazing. I can only run about 3 miles. While watching TV. And you guys didn’t even have a TV. Wow.”

I limped on and met up with my friends Megan (from home) and Meredith and Karen (from Prague). I didn’t see them during the race, but they made these great signs for me! No, Meredith didn't misspell my name. It's some sort of Czech vocative tense. 

Afterwards, we went to Starbucks, headed back to Megans, made friendly marathon small talk to my fellow caped runners walking around the city, and went to a Czech restaurant for dinner. Unfortunately, I was unable to eat or drink anything, but it was a sentimental way to close out an extremely memorable day.  

After drinking ginger tea, lounging around, and going to bed at 9:30 like an old man, I woke up early and went to the USTA Serves/Women's Sports Foundation team breakfast at the Hilton  Midtown. 

Here, we had breakfast with Kathrine Switzer: The 1974 New York Marathon winner and the first woman to run in the Boston marathon as a numbered entry. For all you tennis fans out there, she's basically the Billie Jean King of women's running. The food was great, and I made sure to stack my plate 3 times. 

Kathrine was very engaging and curious about our marathon experiences. We talked a lot about the sociological aspect of the marathon, the impact of the crowd, hitting "the wall," our future running plans (I decided running marathons is the perfect excuse for me to travel) and of course, strategic ways to relieve yourself mid-race when you've had a little too much water and gatorade.  Here is a picture with me, some members of the Women's Sports Foundation team, and Kathrine (second from left). 

 I didn't sport the medal that morning for fear of being "that guy." I thought it was a little ostentatious and that nobody else would be doing it. I was wrong. "That guy" was all over New York. Runners limped around and wore their medals with pride. I felt a twinge of sympathy as I watched medal-sporting tourists struggling to walk up stairs or into subways. I sported the medal while waiting for a bus and 2 people immediately struck up conversations with me and another foreign tourist took a photo of me and the medal. Man, I should've worn that medal all day. 

As I took my Bolt Bus home and delved back into "A Race Like No Other" I had some time to reflect.

Nothing captures the human experience quite like a marathon.  And no course seems akin to my life more than that of New York. The energizing diversity, constant changes and well calculated moments of solitude all resonated with me and my life decisions in my 20s so far. 

It was truly a memorable experience and I can't wait to do more. I'm already considering Nashville next April and possibly Chicago next Fall. I even mentioned something to Kathrine about running a marathon that she's organizing in Mallorca! 

But who knows. Like the dynamic of the New York Marathon, you can't always guess what's next and exactly how it will affect you. All we can do is make it memorable. Here's to a great first marathon and more races to come!

Final Week!

"If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon." -Emil Zatopek (famous Czech Runner)

This week is going to be remarkably easy. Just a few 3 mile runs, a light work load, and a lot of time to

get mentally and physically prepared for the race. I just tried to book an hour long "sports massage" for the week, so hopefully that works out. The race is coming at a perfect time. My fall season at work has finished out, it's becoming too cold to teach private lessons outdoors on the side, and the marathon is coming at a very docile time. The calm before the programming, marketing, staffing, planning and teaching storm that will hit again in January. I'm feeling great and I'm ready to go. Here are a few updates on how things are going. 

Fundraising: I'm closing in on the $2,500 mark and am almost 70% to my total goal. We had a great event a few weeks ago at the Just Tennis Clinic and Raffle. Read more about this on our Just Tennis Blog. 

Fitness Level: Despite the pumpkin pie blizzard with whipped cream and nutmeg I just devoured while Halloween costume shopping, and the cup of pumpkin spice coffee I'm savoring right now, I'm feeling very fit. 

I don't feel like I've evolved into a rippled, superhuman, accelerating blur of awesomeness, but I do feel more energetic. There's more of a spring in my step, I feel quicker and lighter, and I feel like my body has become more fuel efficient. I was always fairly good. Maybe along the lines of a Nissan Altima. But now, after all this training. I feel like a Toyota Prius or a Honda Fit. Not the quick, muscle bound sprint of a Maserati or the awkward yet dependable clunkiness of a fuel efficient SUV. Yep, I'm in total Prius mode. Let's hope I can add a little more horsepower!

Highlights: I'm really looking forward to the diversity of the crowd in this race. I tuned into all of our conference calls with Kathrine Switzer, the 1974 winner as well as the Director of Philanthropy for the NY Roadrunners. As he went through the course, he emphasized the energy and diversity of the crowd. In certain stretches, we'll be cheered on by hoards of hipsters. In others, Hasidic Jews. A few miles down the street, we may be entering a vibrant Hispanic Community. I'm really excited to see the unique personality that each borough brings to the table. I know that my Mp3 player won't be necessary for this run. The cheering of the crowd, the competitive spirt of the runners around me and my own thoughts will be all I need. 

USTA Middle States: Michael, Kate, Marge and the entire team at Middle States has been very helpful in getting my name and my cause out there. The most recent story was great. I know not everyone is able to donate, but it's nice to be out and about or teaching on the court and hearing a parent say "HEY! I saw you in the USTA Newsletter!" That's much better than what I used to get recognized for: "HEY! Aren't you the guy that wears those weird toe shoes at the gym?" The answer to both of those questions is a resounding yes. 

**One last thing. I've always wanted to "Run with the Bulls" in Pamplona. This weekend, I may not be getting chased by bulls throughout the streets of Spain, but I will be "Running with the Pigs" in New York! My friend and fellow avid traveler keeps an active Piggie Blog of her always interesting travel and life adventures. 

In each post, she featuring photos of local sights and locations, starring her 3 plastic pigs. I'll be guest-posting with my own plastic pigs at the New York Marathon. Maybe next year, they'll visit the original pigs in Chicago for the Chicago Marathon! 

I'll post once again on Saturday from New York City and I'll be sure to include lots of pictures, posts and stories. It should be a truly memorable weekend. 

Tapering, Updates, and a Minor Injury

"Ok, you guys are getting a lot of shots back. NOW, it's time for a challenge." I said.  "I'm going to start playing the points out with you!" I stood in the loud, echoing gym of a local elementary school, trying to speak over the cacophony of kids and bus announcements. Just a typical day running the after school elementary "Tennis Club" to twelve 3rd and 4th graders.

The first point of the first drill, I reached up to gingerly tap a backhand back to the player, and of course, my ankle gave way a bit, resulting in a slight "roll." The funny thing is, it was that SAME kid who hurt himself last week after reacting to a ball that I hit. The tables are turned now! I felt a dull, nagging pain that I knew would inhibit me from training for a few days.

I really need to stop joking about getting injured. Or at least make sure I have a wooden table, chair, or other surface near me each time for me to knock on.

So yeah, needless to say, I took Thursday off of running. I was able to manage 30 minutes on the arc trainer today and it was completely painless, so I'm just taking it one day at a time. Hopefully I'll be feeling pretty close to 100% for the upcoming marathon.

This weeks training program felt like a breath of fresh air. I'm basically "tapering" now. I've already reached my optimum training capability for this marathon, and now my only job is to maintain the level so I feel fresh on race day as opposed to achey, creaky and burnt out, which is always a possibility with overtraining.

Here are a few updates on all things USTA Serves and running related for me right now

Fundraising: I'm very close to the $2,000 mark, thanks to generous donations from friends, families, clients and colleagues (my Making it Happen page is updated with Thank You's).

Tonight, I'll be hosting a tennis fundraising event at my neighborhood courts, following our successful "Tennis Olympics" event I held a few months back. This event will benefit the USTA Serves Foundation, my run, and the Philadelphia Area Team Tennis Association.

It will feature a 10 and under match, a junior clinic, and an adult clinic followed by pizza, beer, refreshments, and a small scale raffle in the clubhouse. I'll definitely surpass the $2,000 mark after tonight.

Inspiration: I recently finished "Born To Run:" The book everyone was talking about, which chronicles an American writer and casual runner traveling to Mexico in search of the remote Tarahumara tribe who live deep within the copper canyons in their own isolated existence and are regarded as "super athletes" with uncanny barefoot distance running ability.

The book goes into great detail about the people he meets while in Mexico, the motley crew of unique and talented runners they assemble in the states to travel to Mexico for the race, while simultaneously delving into the kinesiological/research behind successful running. From bushmen in Africa tracking prey for miles and miles until they collapse from exhaustion, to extensive research done to prove that humans are born to run long distances while quadrupeds like Cheetahs, antelope and rabbits are not. Sure, they're extremely quick, but not over the course of long distances.

The dichotomy made for a very good read. The scientific running research, the social and cultural phenomenon of the Tarahumara, and the feel-good story of the race itself.

It inspired me to not only conquer this marathon, but to conquer more races. Longer races. I finished the book and immediately emailed editors at Men's Health and Runner's World magazines in search of a freelance running gig. I was feeling inspired to explore the remote corners of the world to do something similar. Think Anthony Bourdain meets Dean Karnazes.

I'm now reading 2 completely unrelated books ("the Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Biography of Dave Grohl") but the inspiration from "Born to Run" is still lingering.

Feeling: Aside from the nagging ankle pain and the occasional nights out on the town, I'm feeling fantastic. The 19 mile run went flawlessly as I cruised down the Chester Valley trail armed with my Camelback, energy gels and mp3 player in hand. 10 mile runs now seem like casual strolls on a beatiful day. The key  element now is my "mental game." Hopefully this 10K run this Sunday will be yet another reminder of my development as a runner during this training.

I'll post next week with more fundraising updates, a recap of my 10K race, and any last minute rantings I want to get out of my system before the big day!

Feeling Ready, Experimenting with Fueling Strategies, and Conquering a 19-Miler

When my NYRR Training Week #9 Schedule arrived in my inbox, I knew I'd have my longest run yet on the agenda for the week.

The training guide used effective foreshadowing and alluded to it last week by stating the following in regards to the 11 mile run I had that week: "you'll scoff at the distance run this week, but you need to squeeze a shorter distance in between your 2 longest runs." I knew it was coming. I've never run this far before, so the night before the run, I chugged water, made a nice pasta dinner, and went to Sports Authority to pick up some gatorade chews, energy gel, and a Camelbak so I could stay hydrated and not end up face down on the trail somewhere. I always thought these Camelbaks looked awkward and clunky, but my hydration comes first!

I opted for the Chester Valley Trail this time around; a winding, scenic trail that effortlessly combines dark, wooded stretches with open, sunny trail space. The way the scenic woods transitions into the sunny open space makes this trail a little more energizing than Struble.

I actually went for a late evening run there last week and as I entered the dark stretch of the woods, the sun set. Being the 5 year old kid that I am, I blasted my headphones and sprinted like a Kenyan towards the homestretch for fear of forest-dwelling hermits, creepers and monsters emerging from the woods. Your head really does some interesting things when you run.

Anyway, I won't break this run down mile by mile, but let me just say that opting for a fueling strategy this time around was absolutely pivotal.

If you go for a run longer than 16 miles, I'd highly recommend the following strategy (assuming you have a Camelbak).

• Every 20 minutes, take a swig or 2 of gatorade from your Camelbak
• At mile 13, indulge in a small packet of energy gel. This time around, I chose strawberry banana. I don't know if it was the deliriousness of the long run, but the taste was almost orgasmic
• As you cool down, have a pack of 6 gatorade energy chews

Aside from the fact that I couldn't get out of my car after getting gas post-run (my hip and achilles tendon felt like they were on fire), it was a successful run. I ran it at a pace of 8:27 per mile (my anticipated marathon pace) and because I survived with flying colors, I treated myself to a Wendy's double cheeseburger meal before I had to go teach tennis for the afternoon.

For every long run, I try a different training playlist. My first one, I enjoyed the earth shattering, mind numbing beats of my dubstep/electronica mix to help zone me to the end. This one contained a little more hard rock, pop and contemplative pop rock anthems. This song powered me through a few key moments: 

I'm thinking that this will be the longest run of my training and it was great to not only get it out of my system, but to do so successfully. My training plan prepared me for the chance that the run may not go well. Let's just say, I don't think I'm going to take 2 days off. Looks like my legs won't be thanking me any time soon. 

"What if your Long Run does not go well? Although you will undoubtedly be upset, you can learn a lot from this. First off, try to determine anything that may have contributed to your bad day. Did you forget to fuel, sleep poorly, get a blister, have a bad dinner the night before, etc? If this was the case, then you just learned what not to do for the marathon. If you did everything right, then perhaps you are a bit tired. We have plenty of time to rest up but it would be a good idea if you take the next 2 days completely off. Yes, that is fine and your legs will thank you."

Post Run Thoughts: As I inhaled my gatorade chews, checked my emails, and somehow willed my legs to walk back to my car, I realized I wasn't THAT fatigued. Sure my legs felt like jelly and my head was spinning like I just inhaled one of those helium balloons, but my lungs and my heart were ready for more. If I can maintain this pace on race day, feed off the adrenaline of the crowd and not get excited and jump the gun early on..well...I'll let this guy tell you how I'm feeling. Let's just hope I don't run the wrong way...

Stomping Cancer at my first Practice Race (5K)

I decided to mix up my training a bit and replace my scheduled 3 mile "easy run" with a 5K evening race throughout the surprisingly scenic streets of West Chester, Pennsylvania. 

The reason I say "surprisingly scenic" is because I'm used to the streets of West Chester at night. A time when they possess a uniquely quaint quality of subdued chaos. 

The small, college town charm of the main street and the side streets dotted with trendy looking restaurants are apparent, but there is added haze of spontaneity and recklessness in the air that hangs over the town on most Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.  

This time around, the  haze of spontaneity and recklessness was replaced by that of philanthropy, friendship and athleticism. Over 230 runners gathered off Market street to run in the 2013 WC Stomps Cancer race, with many others participating in the walk as well. 

 

Let me just start by saying that I didn't feel like I was in the ideal condition to run this race on this particular evening. I worked most of the day, drove about 2 hours in stop and go traffic and had a nagging, inevitable side stitch that I knew would latch on with a relentless grip during the race. 

Maybe it was the Turkey Jerky I inhaled so that I wouldn't be hungry during the run. Possibly the 2 cups of coffee. Or maybe it was the fact that just the night before, I was immersed in the subdued chaos of West Chester in the evening, making a stop at Alibis and Side Bar to add a little spontaneity to my Thursday evening. 

The starting line was a melting pot. Old veteran runners stretching their quads, the faint smell of Bengay following them on their warmup jog. Young kids excited to run with their parents. Weekend warriors looking for a unique start to their favorite time of the week. The diehards with the spandex, headbands, sport goggles, racing flats, and bulging calf muscles. The families. It was eclectic.

I took a few wind sprints and jogs around the neighborhood, looked around, and decided "hmm, I may be able to place here!" It looked more like the type of crowd you'd see at a relay for life event or even at the Exton Square Mall. Not necessarily a race

We were lined up and ready to go. A few speeches were made about the impact that the Bringing Hope Home Organization has had on the lives of people, a message from the sponsor, and finally, the start. A split second before we took off, I heard my name being shouted in the distance. To my surprise, my family was there cheering me on at the starting line!

I got off to a quick start, blistering through my first mile and trying to keep up with the short-shorts and headband sporting die hard runners blazing the trail and trotting confidently at the front of the pack. I kept up my speed, but slowly lost sight of the top of the pack as we curved around the streets of West Chester and my side stitch crept in slowly like an impending storm. Somehow I kept up the pace and stayed within the top 10 or so at the start. 

Somewhere around mile 1.75 on a downhill slant, 2 girls no older than 12 flew down the hill at Usain Bolt-like speed. 

They were huffing and puffing but had stoic looks on their identical twin-like faces that said "psh, we can do this in our sleep." But my thoughts of "I'm not losing to a 12 year old girl" overpowered it and I kicked it into gear, passing them around mile 2. 

The final mile was an absolute battle between me and about 3 other people. An experienced runner in his mid 50's, a very serious, seemingly regimented diehard mid 20's runner girl, and a college-aged, backwards hat sporting athletic kid. I passed him, he passed her, she passed me, I passed her, he passed me again. There was even some interesting dialogue here as we're all running sub-6:25 miles. 

The mid 50's guy spotted a lightning fast woman way ahead of us. "I told you she was fast!" he said. My response was something along the lines of "I had her earlier in the race!" As we ran side by side for about 400 meters, I felt a false sense of bonding, as if we were some sort of team. "We can pass this guy up ahead" I told him. He totally ignored me, kicked it into gear, and sped up. 

I crossed the finish line at the 19:46 mark and exchanged high fives and handshakes with my fellow semi-fast finishers. "You just lost to a 56 year old man" was the one guys response. Of course, I responded to that with "....I was out drinking last night." 

I watched more of the race on this beautiful September evening in West Chester, met up with my family, and then enjoyed some free food, affordable beer and live music at Barnaby's, which hosted the event. Nothing like some Yuengling, chicken fingers, ziti, and a meatball sandwich after powering through a 5K. 

Events like this not only give me confidence in my running ability. They also instill within me a sense of community pride. Something I should really be a little more grateful for. After nearly 2 years living and working in Europe, it's become easy for me to downplay where I'm from. But it's events like this that bring my community vibrance and life and make me proud to be from this Southeastern part of Pennsylvania.

Sure, I plan to run a marathon (or at least a half marathon) on every continent and I have full intentions of exploring more of the world in years to come, but in this moment as the upbeat sounds of a Hawaiian looking dude jamming top 100 hits on his acoustic guitar filled the air, everyone was cheerful in their endorphin induced runners high. They were having a great time spending time with their families, their running teams, their charities and their friends. I was there alone, but I had some good conversations with fellow runners, first time runners and families.

I came to the race alone and I left feeling a bit more indirectly connected to the local community. We're nearly at the one month mark now! One more practice race (this time a 10K), some more fundraising, and a hell of a lot more training to go