Run, Interrupted

As the week unfolded post Hurricane Sandy, the inner torment of my friends and fellow runners grew.  The storm damage was worse than we feared.  Many of us were lucky, eating Thai food in Park Slope, watching dvds in the warmth of our not-flooded homes.  Tuesday came around and as I celebrated my 35th birthday out at a bar in the neighborhood, it appeared the city took a wallop, but would bounce back in time for Sunday's race.  The mayor agreed. But he was wrong.

Storm run at about noon on Monday, maybe 6 hours before the eye hit the coast

Bloomberg declared that he'd be happy if restoration of power and the MTA took only a few days.  In the same breath, he suggested the Marathon should go on.  By Wednesday, the true destruction of the storm was being discovered and the casualty numbers increased.  The inner debate amongst my running friends had already begun.  Should I run on Sunday? Is it right? Many of my friends asked this question. I could feel the inner conflict brewing in them.  I jumped in the debate suggesting that the race would benefit the city economically, which is no doubt true. And pushing forward would help the healing process. But how about the resources needed to hold the race?  And was holding this celebration of human will disrespectful to a city still reeling?  That afternoon, the mayor confirmed the race would go on.  Some felt relief to finally have an answer, but no relief came for that knot in the pit of their stomachs- or to mine.

I ran to work on Thursday morning to avoid the troubles via MTA or car.  I was confronted three times and told, "They better not hold that marathon if I don't have any power yet."  Bloomberg, I'm sure, was hoping for this event to be unifying for the city, but that was not what was developing.  Already conflicted runners were now becoming the target of the city's frustration.  That inner conflict became inner torment in many.  I couldn't focus on my daily job.  I needed to get out and help this city get back to right.  I needed to do this immediately, and definitely before Sunday's race.  I couldn't imagine feeling this way come Marathon day- the day I describe as a New York City holiday.

I urged my marathon friends to run on Sunday for the city and to avoid thinking that *not* running the race would be helpful.  Rather than be passive, be proactive- get out there and help.  Many of them had already done so days before.  This race was going to go on, so we had to make the best of it.  Where do we start?

This running blog is about to turn into a Sandy Relief blog...

I started Thursday night.  Saira and I made an attempt to deliver a few bags of canned goods freshly picked from our respective cabinets.  We first headed toward Red Hook, because it was the closest, and because I knew of the location thanks to the help of my friends. Alison created a Facebook group that would serve as a how-to guide in serving during the recovery.  It has proven to be an amazing resource.  Unfortunately, by 9:30PM, it seemed the Red Hook drop off spot was closed, so we made our way toward St. Jacobi Church in Sunset park, where we discovered Occupy Sandy.

The site was bustling with activity, even at that hour.  They were receiving donations and sorting them appropriately.  We were greeted with a smile and when I asked about us coming back in the morning, they were thrilled, even more so when I offered up my car with 3/4 of a tank of gas.  They could use us.  I was happy.  That knot started to loosen.

St. Jacobi Church- the Occupy Sandy hub in Sunset Park (taken by Jeremy Zilar)

Saira and I arrived back at Jacobi Church after breakfast and were fast put to work preparing food.  They had a pick up scheduled in about an hour and we, along with a couple dozen other volunteers, were preparing sandwiches.  More donations came in.  Then more people.  Lots more.  Too much, even.  There weren't enough tasks.  We found ourselves in dish-washing duty for a couple hours, which I was happy about.  It was steady work.  And really, that's all most Americans ask for, right?

Lara, my college girlfriend, was then suddenly next to me.  It was great running into her.  I wasn't surprised.  We've run into each other in random places in the city.  This one probably made more sense than any.  Her heart led here here.  As did mine.

After noon at some point I was summoned by one of the coordinators and dispatched to the Rockaways.  My mission- to stuff my car with as many supplies and volunteers as I could and get to the St. Francis School on 129th Street and Rockaway Beach to lend a hand.  So Saira and I, joined by Jennifer from Connecticut (took a 4 day weekend to come volunteer in NYC), Andrey (from Bensonhurst) and Jeremy (a NY Times staffer) piled into the car stuffed with blankets and diapers and headed out.

The drive there was a tour of destruction.  We hopped on the Belt Parkway and after passing the Verrazano, we had an open view of destroyed boardwalk, washed out asphalt and guardrails, and tons of deposited sand, left by the surge.  As we crossed the bridge into Rockaway, we could see sand covering all the streets.  It was eerily quiet.  The power was out.  The roadway was collapsing in some spots.  I turned the pop music off.  It didn't seem appropriate.  We drove by washed out possessions piled high in front of flooded out homes.  And we passed mounds burned debris, piled in front of the ruins of burned out homes.  There was a lot of gasping in the car. Jeremy took these photos while we were there.

St. Francis was swarmed with trucks and cars making drops.  Dozens of people were lending a hand- many of them locals.  We were told to contact Dean or Steve by our dispatcher at Jacobi.  Dean suggested some things we could help out with- sorting clothes, canvassing the area to let people know the relief spot was there, carrying things, or even delivering MREs (meals ready to eat) to anyone who seemed to need them.

Dean gives us direction at St. Francis School in the Rockaways (taken by Jeremy Zilar)

There was definitely a demand for help at this joint and I was quickly roped into a train of people unloading water and food from a huge truck.  Soon after, I found myself directing traffic between those donating and picking up.  I helped load an unload other vehicles.  And at some point that afternoon I met Yunice.  She was another coordinator at the St. Francis site.  She was coordinating with FEMA and I found myself helping her fill FEMAs little car full of supplies to take down to 92nd street.  We were told they were pretty desperate for supplies.  I offered to fill my car to bring more down and Yunice decided to come scope that site out.

On the way, Yunice pointed out her parents' apartment building, one of the Dayton Towers.  She described what she saw during the storm and how she felt- cars being washed around by powerful waves and the fear of death.  She had actually come back to be with her parents rather than evacuate.  She hadn't driven around yet and was shocked to see the destruction of her childhood home. 

When we arrived at 92nd Street, what we found was basically two young women manning a table, trying to dole out goods to people as orderly and fairly as possible.  FEMA had a big truck that was used for charging cell phones.  I was a bit blown away by this.  The FEMA guys really didn't seem like they knew what they were doing.  In fact, they seemed happy to be helping and taking orders from the two young ladies manning that table.

Yunice and I quickly emptied the car and returned.  I commented on how inept the FEMA guys seemed.  She agreed.  I asked her how she became involved in the relief effort.

"I decided to come in and help sort clothes today."

What? I didn't comment, but I assumed that she had been doing this for days and was probably recruited for her medical skills.  Nope.  Maybe for her leadership abilities?  Nope.  There was no recruitment.  She'd been volunteering as long as I had.

Later that afternoon I chatted with Dean a bit and asked how he found himself here.

"I was walking by.  I came to help my friend clean out his basement and decided to come in to see if they needed help.  That was yesterday."

I was simultaneously impressed by his and Yunice's initiative and saddened by how inept they made my government seem.  The city wasn't coordinating this effort and neither was FEMA.  This was quite literally a grassroots movement, manned by volunteers who simply care and with Occupy Sandy creating connections and developing a relief network.

Perhaps the government was quick and effective in other areas affected by the storm, but I didn't witness that first hand.  City employees- cops and even a bus load of corrections officers from Rikers Island were lending a hand.  But it was Dean and Yunice who were coordinating them and helping to set up the 92nd street site with a supply infusion.

Rikers officers lend a hand (taken by Jeremy Zilar)

It soon became dusk and we raced the sun to get everything into the school before darkness took over.  Without power, this relief site was shutting down for until dawn.  A bit after 6PM, I said my goodbyes to Yunice and Dean and thanked them for what they were doing.  Our carpool gathered and we took off back to Brooklyn.

As we crossed the bridge, mobile service returned and I received an influx of texts, including this one from Rachel: The NYC Marathon has been cancelled!!!


Ok, back to running...


Most of my friends were relieved. All were disappointed. As a friend who was supposed to run said, It's a lose/lose situation. I'd say the biggest gripe runners have was the way it was handled. It would have been better to just cancel right away. They (and I) spent the week trying to rationalize why it was ok for them to run. We all wanted to believe that running was somehow a good thing for the city at this time. An economic boost? A rallying point? Something.

But that wasn't the reality. What the city needed most was a morale boost and man power. NYRR, the organizers, have been on a trend to cater to international runners more than local and it really showed this week. A significant number of people scheduled to run the marathon were directly impacted by this storm- home flooded, no power, family dead. And nyrr's action and words basically implied, "oh well, not everyone will show up." I can't say this is their true intent and I can't pretend to know what they were thinking (partly because they did a pretty bad job of communicating), but to me, NYRR and the mayor seemed way out of touch.

I spent Saturday coaching and preparing for Sunday's outing: Team in Training was going to Staten Island.  Scheduled to run the marathon starting in that borough,  this selfless group that I have the fortune to be a part of rallied how they saw fit.  100 runners were bussed to Staten Island from Brooklyn that Sunday as planned.  Rather than running shoes, the team donned work boots. We carried shovels and brought our good will to our neighbors in need.

I sorted the hell out of those clothes.

On Marathon Sunday, literally thousands of marathoners descended on the city and volunteered. This was probably the most precious resource that was not being counted. All those bodies- like 40,000 or so- that would have been diverted to support or run the race- not just cops or generators- but neighbors as well as foreigners who sucked it up and stayed to give a hand. It was just one day. But what a morale boost this was for those hit the hardest. A woman in SI told me, "You are all angels from heaven! Now I know we're going to make it through this." I corrected her: "Actually, we're angels from Brooklyn."

We are not *just* runners.

For me, to have or not have the marathon was not about disrespect. I never really bought into that. People can do whatever they want. Thousands did a marathon in Central Park anyways. I don't blame them- they trained a loooong time to get to that point. And I bet a large number of them probably did that AND volunteered. But having the marathon tore up most people I know inside- they felt so conflicted wanting to both. The work that it takes to prepare for a 26.2 mile run is not trivial. But cancelling, though disappointing, made the choice easy and clear and nearly all spent the day doing something for their city that was still in pain and that they love.

Ok, that was only *kind of* about running...

Today, yesterday, and last weekend brought some much needed closure to many runner's training season.  Today I spent the day cheering on Amanda, who has been training for way longer than she should have been, and she housed the Brooklyn Marathon.  She conquered all 2 little and 6 big loops of Prospect Park.  Much of the rest of my NYC Marathon refugee friends had similar stories, running in Philly today, Richmond yesterday, Harrisburg, PA last weekend, and sheesh, even a couple doing a the Knickerbocker 60k in Central Park.  Yup- no marathon?  Screw that- let's do a 60k instead. 

And all throughout their extended taper, they volunteered their time and money toward supporting and rebuilding our city.  Brooklyn TNTers teamed up with Two Boots to make meals and deliver supplies to the Rockaways last Sunday.  Manhattan TNT headed to Staten Island to help out some more.

I'm constantly inspired by these people.

Amanda's sub 4 hour marathon mission is a success!

The 41st Running

3:29:06. That was my time at this year's NYC Marathon. Not a Boston Qualifying time, but it is a PR by 20 minutes. Yeah, I had a calf issue. But bottom line, I didn't have a 3:10 in me. Let's recap this painful, yet glorious event.

"Your calf feels more like a pull." Leslie, my sports massage therapist broke the news to me. I had hoped it was just a knot of some sort that needed to be worked out. I walked gingerly home and took the prescribed epsom salt bath, pondering how my week would go. The compression socks I ordered arrived that day. I would spend most of that week in them. I wouldn't be running until if felt better or the marathon Sunday came, which ever was first. I had 8 days. By Tuesday it did not feel better, so I made an appointment at Finishline PT to get some more advice. Coach Michael has helped me through other injuries and events, including last year's NYC Marathon, and I was counting on the same magic.

Rocking the expo with Syed, Jim, and TNT Elvis

"I don't feel any scar tissue or separation in your muscle," Coach Michael declaired. This was fairly good news. Was my pain just in my head? Definitely not. But it implied the injury was minor. I asked about permanent damage. I was really hoping to be pain free by Sunday, but worst case scenario- if I were to run on it, would I do any permanent damage? "No. You'll be fine. You'll just feel pain. It may warm up and go away." Relief.

"You know what you should do? Dunk your whole leg in ice for 25 minutes every day until the race. That's what I would do." Bart Yasso has quite a bit of experience running through pain, so I heeded his advice. I stopped by the Runner's World booth to purchase my own copy of his book and get it signed. I couldn't help but mention my ailment. I went home that night and wrapped my calf with a large ice pack and did that again on Friday. Saturday, I did it 3 times.

Icing le calf on Saturday night

Sunday I woke up with my calf aching. Not good. But oh well. With Finish Line's blessing, I had no intention of sitting this one out. I got into my gear, and my "throw-away" warm clothes, grabbed my bag, and headed out the door toward the park to meet the Team bus that would take us to Staten Island. I was calm. I had been for a few days. Friends had asked if I was excited and I would hesitate a bit and say either "yes" or "no". You know, I was excited, but I wasn't jumping out of my shoes in excitement. Riding that bus toward the Verrazano Bridge felt familiar. I reflected a bit on just how calm I felt. This would be my 4th marathon, my 2nd NYC marathon. Am I getting used to this type of thing? I’m not quite sure that was it. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It just felt right, like I belonged on that bus. I should be going to Staten Island on Marathon Sunday. What else would I do?

I chatted with some of the other participants on the bus. Murph, a leukemia survivor was aiming for a 3:30 finish. He was capable of going faster, but he factored in some family-hugging time. John, another survivor, was going for sub 3 hours. I admired both of their goals and race plans and admired their strength on so many levels. Their perspective on the race was optimistic. No matter what, it was going to be a great day. And their character- these two guys fought their battle with leukemia, and then joined TNT to fundraise and encourage others. To top it off, they were both quite athletic.

Pre-race lunch included jelly fish, cow stomach, roast pig, beef noodles, clams, chinese broccoli and more

We arrived at Marathon Village and before the team separated into their assigned color corrals, we exchanged hugs and good luck greetings. My group, green, settled on a nice patch of asphalt while we awaited our starting times. I was in wave 1 and would start off at 9:40. My plan was to finish in 3 hours and ten minutes, recover while walking to my bag truck at the finish, meet my family, eat a sandwich, and get my ass back out onto the course before our team’s waive 2 runners passed mile 23.5. No problem.

I sat on my sleeping bag, closed my eyes, and visualized the race for the last time. I played it out in my head, knowing I’d have to deal with some pain, mentally pulling back in the beginning so that I wouldn’t go out to fast, knowing that the end would be tough and I’d have to “hold the line”. That’s my mantra when running hard. Hold the line. It was soon time to line up at the start.

All bundled up, TNT waits patiently for the start.

In corral 6, I started taking off my many layers. First, off came the socks, then my sweat pants and the jacket. I had actually gone out and bought new sweatpants and a new jacket just to toss. Last year I was shivering because I didn’t have enough warm clothes. I don’t really have much in my closet I’m willing to part with. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. I spent $17 on the winter coat and $7 on the sweatpants. And I ditched them where nyrr would pick them up and donate them. It was a well valued $24 donation.

I warmed up my calf a bit. It was tender. I contemplated taking the ibuprofen in my pocket, but didn’t do it. I looked around, sizing up the runners around me. It’s not really a competition against them- I’m not gonna win this thing- but I was wondering if they were the type that goes out too fast? Are the conservative in the beginning like I planned to be? You can’t really tell by looking, but I was trying. I was truly excited now. The gun went off and 52 seconds later I was crossing the start line. 52 seconds. I can honestly say that there was a point in the race where I was only 52 seconds behind the winner.

Steve captures me as I approach my family and friends on 4th ave.

My first mile split was 8:20- slower than I was planning which was great. Usually I find myself going too fast. Mile 2 was 7:10. That’s right on target. Up Fourth Avenue I was averaging about 7:20 which was a bit faster than I had planned- I was going for 7:25- but it’s Fourth Ave! With all the cheering and being on my home turf, that I was only about 5 seconds faster on average wasn’t too bad. Anthony and Shannon brought their son Braden to cheer all the way from the Jersey shore. Steve and Vicki brought their boy to support me as well. Lisa and Amanda also made it out. And my family came down from upstate to be there for me. Not to mention the TNT cheering! Wow! I saw Robyn at 6th Street and Laura at Baltic. That stretch, I ran a 7:05 split. Sure, it was too fast, but on average I did a good job reigning myself in and never hit my lactic threshold. Things were going quite well… kind of.

That calf of mine ached from the very first step. Specifically, it was painful when I landed on my midsole. I found myself heel striking immediately. Well, more than heel striking- I could feel the impact reverberate in my legs with every step. It was more like heel pounding. It wasn’t the Verrezano shaking; it was me. This did not bode well. I was killing my quads and favoring one side. I had to force myself to land more on my midsole- where it hurt. Getting into a consistent rhythm, while doing this, was difficult. I naturally wanted to avoid pain, of course. That’s when Lady Southpaw’s song "Every Step Together" popped in my head and stayed there throughout most of the race. At 166 beats per minute, it was helping me find a more efficient stride- almost as if the artist created it that way on purpose (she did). It established a rhythm that I couldn’t on my own and distracted me from the pain of each footfall.

TNT pumps me up!

Somewhere in Williamsburg, while Melka was hanging from a lamp post firing off an air horn in support, I was contemplating abandoning my goal. My legs were not feeling as fresh as they should have. After the Lafayette Street hill, around mile 9, my intention was to drop down to 7:10 splits. It wasn’t happening as easily as I was hoping. As I approached the Polaski Bridge and the half way point, I decided to back off. Today wasn’t going to be the day. I’ll still finish strong, just not a 3:10. Perhaps a 3:15.

I flew through Queens, passing more TNT stations and seeing Coach Steve. “How’s it going?” he asked me.

“I’m tired.” I replied with a smile.

“Well you look great!” I don’t know if he was sincere, but the encouragement felt good. As planned, I took it easy on the Queensboro Bridge. After cresting, I ingested a bunch of salt. This bridge, in my mind, is the defining point of the course. If you survive it, you’ll be ok. Well, maybe it’s not just me. Haile Gebrselassie had to pull up here because of his tendinitis. I think he knew it too. He didn’t survive. It was after the bridge, on my way up First Avenue, where my legs began cramping last year. Proactively, I drank more Gatorade early in the course and took in a lot of salt on the bridge, picking up speed as I descended.

Then, on First Avenue, my legs started cramping.

“What the hell?” I thought to myself. “What have I done wrong?” I still don’t have the answer to that. Though I took in more fluid and electrolytes than I did last year, my legs were cramping even earlier in the race. I slowed down. I was expecting to find my family along First Avenue, so I used that as a mental excuse to why I was going slower. I was nervous. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. I looked for their faces. “What am I going to do?” I looked for their signs. “Where’s the next water station?” I couldn’t find them. “I’m going to miss them…”

Suddenly MP popped out on the course. “Hey man, how’s it going?” This is the same MP I did the NPT hike with. The same MP I planned on doing Boston with. The same MP that I will be doing Comrades with. And he lives in Berkeley, CA. He has a habit of showing up three thousand miles away when least expected. He does it so much it’s not really a surprise any more. He’s crazy. I love this guy.

“Hey MP. I’m hurting.” He ran with me. I needed it. Just as I did last year, I started double fisting water and Gatorade. I have to keep these cramps at bay. It was just my left hamstring at first, but soon, both hamstrings, both calves, and my left quad were all cramping. That original calf issue? Yeah, I didn’t feel that anymore.

Coach Pete ran with us a bit heading up to The Bronx. I received cheers all the way up First Avenue from a bunch of familiar and friendly faces. It’s a pretty amazing thing, being part of TNT and running in NYC. I felt like the mayor. I felt like everyone in town knew me. It really was great support.

MP kept me moving forward at a fairly consistent pace of 8:00 per mile, maybe a bit slower than that. I had stopped looking at my watch miles ago. I was fighting those cramps as best I could, but didn’t think I could maintain till the end. As we approached the 5th Avenue Bridge, I let MP know I was going to stop and stretch just after the 21 mile marker. This is where I stopped a year ago to talk with my legs and I was going to do it again.

“Thanks guys. You’re doing great. We’ll figure this out.” I was thinking about why I was cramping so badly. “I gonna push you. I need to you hold on. Hold the line.” I had no intention of backing off as I had last year. My energy level was good. I wasn’t breathing hard, my legs didn’t feel heavy. They were just seizing up. MP waited patiently as I had my two minute stretch session and pep talk. Starting again was hard, but I managed to find a rhythm after a few minutes. MP hung with me until 111th Street. He had a flight to catch. Yeah, he arrived Saturday night and was flying out Sunday evening. He came in running shoes and a fuel belt loaded with amenities. He came for me, just in case I needed him. Did I mention I love this guy?

More friendly faces and TNT cheers along First Avenue encouraged me to finish strong. I pushed up the incline at mile 23 and then started looking for my family. I had missed them on First Avenue, MP confirmed. They were out there for me. I had to be sure to see them. And there they were, at 91st Street, looking for me. I ran by waiving and calling for them, but they didn’t see or hear me. So I stopped, and walked back to them.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” I said nonchalantly.

“Where did you come from?!” My sister asked in surprise.

“You know, just hanging around.” I walked up to my mom and gave her a big hug. I was inspired my Murph. This was a good idea. I greeted all of my family and thanked them for being here. “Ok, I’m gonna go finish this thing.”

“Do you want the pain killer stuff?” My sister called out. I had her hold some capsaicin just in case.

“No. There’s no holding back the pain now!” I thanked her anyways and took off.

I found the line and I held onto it, pulling harder and running faster. These cramps would not stop me. I was determined. I looked into the crowds and listened to the cheers for TNT. Central Park South was amazing, packed with people supporting us. I was passing a lot of runners- the exact opposite of last year. That felt good. I saw the 800 meter sign. “Yasso,” I thought to myself. I could do this last stretch in 3 minutes if I hold the line. I picked up the pace. The cramps were quite strong, but I was stronger. 400 Meters. We turned into Central Park and that last bit of a hill greeted us. I greeted it back by running faster. I could see the clock at the finish. I ran even faster. I looked up and took in the crowd. I raised my arms in victory as I crossed the finish line.

“Yeah!” I clapped my hands together in approval of the accomplishment and exchanged pleasantries with the runners who finished next to me. I immediately thought to myself, “I want to do this again next year.”

--------------------

Recovering with John P.

It took quite a while for my legs to stop cramping. After retrieving my bag, I happened to find John from my Warriors team. He had also just finished and was recovering. I sat with him for a spell, changed into my TNT Coach shirt and made my way to where my family was waiting. I couldn’t run. Walking was challenging. There was no way I could get on the course and run with any participants. But after meeting up with my family and eating a ham sandwich, I stayed on the course to cheer and support. By this time, I had missed all of waive 2 and the beginning of waive three.

I didn’t leave the park until 7 pm or so, cheering on those still finishing up their marathon and waiting on a couple TNT participants from Brooklyn, Carmen and Jenique. It was a long day, but a triumphant one. I’m proud to have been part of this TNT season.