To meet my goal of running a half-marathon in each of the five boroughs, I had to run this race in Queens. I did not want to. The weather, which I checked obsessively as the race date loomed closer and closer, was supposed to be HOT. Although the race started at 7:00 A.M., which meant slightly lower temperatures, the humidity was still supposed to be about a billion percent (my estimate, although I'm confident that the National Weather Service would back me on this one). Still, there was nothing to be done about that. I got an email about a week out with instructions for picking up my race materials (number, d-tag, free t-shirt) before the race and a warning about running in hot weather. Don't push too hard, the email encouraged. Know your limits. Listen to your body.
Usually, the New York Road Runners' (NYRR) office is buzzing on the day before an event. But when I went to pick up my stuff on Friday, there were about as many volunteers as there were runners. I collected the materials mentioned above, plus three samples of Power Bar energy gel and a pamphlet about running in the heat. Know the warning signs of dehydration, it encouraged. This is not a day to set a personal record. Cruise.
The starting line was in a part of Queens I'd never visited before. After a breakfast of half a bagel with peanut butter and some Gatorade I headed for the Subway and emerged at 6:20 A.M. at Mets-Willets Point. The Mets stadium greeted the stream of runners as we headed towards the park where we'd start this stupid race.
Heading to the starting line with the other lunatics who thought this would be a good way to spend a Saturday.
citiField, where the Mets play
I checked my bag (contents: hairbrush, flip flops, duct tape, Metro card, picture ID, health insurance card), waited 15 minutes for the opportunity to use an unpleasantly popular row of Port-a-Potties, then found my group in the starting corral. Runners are grouped by number. I was in the 3000's. The announcer told us some interesting facts about the area where we'd be running, encouraging us to look out for the Mets stadium (duh), the courts where the US Open is played (cool!) and the largest body of fresh water in New York (huh). He said there were 10,000 runners out, and that we should drink lots of water because it's hot out here, folks. The runners around me, many of whom were breaking a sweat just standing in the corral, didn't look to surprised to hear this. Then a representative from NYRR took over the mic. Don't be a hero, she told us. It's hot and humid. Take advantage of the hydration stations. This is not a day for a personal best. I wondered whether the officials thought we were going to forget that it was hot out unless we were constantly reminded.
The gun went off. Instead of the usual pre-race electricity that surges through a corral at this point, people either looked at each other resignedly before starting to plod forward, or else heaved heavy sighs and kept their eyes fixed on the ground. The upbeat music that blared through speakers aimed at us did little to help.
Generally, I hate the gridlock during the first mile or so of a race. I like running in packs, but there's something to be said for having the space to swing your arms freely, and for being able to weave easily in and out of the slower runners so that they're not in your way and don't impede your progress. I also tend to find the first six miles fairly easy; miles nine or ten are where I really start to feel tired. None of this was the case in Queens. I loved the gridlock because it was a great excuse to go slowly. And the first seven miles were painful. I felt unreasonable fatigued, which was frustrating, and I kept getting sweat in my eyes. I could feel myself turning the trademark Guadagni Red. Every mile or so there were rows of tables with cups of Gatorade and water, preceded by someone holding up a hose so that a shower of mist fell onto the runners who wanted to go beneath it. I did. I alternated between drinking just water, or Gatorade followed by water. Gatorade puts back some of the calories and, importantly on a day like this, salt one's body burns through during a race, but the sticky, too-sweet lemony taste it leaves is pretty gross so the water was a necessary chaser. I had an energy gel pack tucked into the waistband of my shorts, but it was so hot I couldn't bear the thought of using it.
Under normal circumstances, I do not believe in racing with an iPod. During my long workouts I bring one along and listen to podcasts or audiobooks, but in a race I like to be alert to everything around me and to use all of my mental energy to think about how I'm running. I correctly guessed that today would be a day to leave my morals by the wayside, however, and my iPod was a godsend. I listened to a mix I'd made of the most upbeat, cheerful songs I had.
Although it was brutally hot, things could have been a lot worse. Often there was a gentle breeze, patchy shade fell on most of the course, and the sun mostly bided its time behind a patchy cloud cover. I was reminded of how much more miserable things could be each time it peeked out for a few minutes. My black racing shorts drew its heat like a magnet, making me feel like I was standing next to a fire and giving "hot pants" a whole new meaning. Rather amazingly, I saw only one person down and receiving medical aid the whole time. There were lots more walkers than I'd ever seen in a race, and a few people who dropped off to the side to stretch, but only this guy seemed to be a victim of heat exhaustion, and he went down in the first half of the race.
By mile nine my body seemed to resign itself to the fact that my brain wasn't going to let it off the hook, and things started to get easier. I cruised through the next three miles easily. I could feel my form improving, and my pace, which stayed between 8:30 and 8:50 per mile once I was out of the pack, hovered near or below 8:30. When I passed the mile twelve marker and its hydration station, I opted to just keep going and get the damn thing done. I'm not sure whether this was the cause or my subsequent near-collapse or whether I was just wiped out, but either way, about a quarter of a mile later I hit a wall. The last mile is usually euphoric - I'm absolutely drained, but the rush of being almost done and the lure of a faster finish time usually shoot me forward. Not so in Queens. I felt like I was running along a road flooded with honey and that I had to pry each foot off the surface with every step. I saw a slight improvement in the last tenth of a mile and crossed the finish line with, if not pride, immense relief. This fled quickly, however. I was still just as unbearably hot as I had been on the other side of the finish line. The only difference was that I wasn't moving anymore.
Although the announcer said that there were 10,000 people out, I saw bib numbers that went only as high as 5,000. My final time is not posted on the website yet, but it will be much slower than the one I recorded. I stopped my watch each time I paused for water, and so my actual running time was 1:54:19. (I'm guessing my recorded time will be somewhere around 1:58.) This is ten minutes slower than my personal record, but under the circumstances it's far better than I had expected; I had hoped to break two hours, and so I beat my goal handily and was pleased.
Relieved the whole thing is over, and that I don't look as red as I feel.
I gulped down three cups of Gatorade and a cup of water, ate a banana, and collected a bagel for later. After resting and stretching for a while, I headed back to the blissfully air conditioned Subway, which was almost too chilly after I'd been on it a while. Other runners either chatted with what seemed forced cheer, or else gazed off into the distance like people who had just witnessed something traumatic. I guess, in a way, we had.
Blister prevention, consisting of band aids covered with duct tape. This combo ensures that the tape doesn't stick to sensitive areas and that the band aids don't come off because of sweat. My feet were fairly comfortable during the race. Strangely, my left foot has never shown even a hint of a blister.
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