On Sunday, 3 November 2019, I ran my very first marathon as one of a mere 53,000 entrants in the New York City Marathon. My finish time was 62 years, 342 days and 10 hours. Here is my race report:

In honor of Matt Dixon, our heralded Purple Patch leader and the man who had faith in me before I had it in myself - and our resident Brit - allow me at wax Dickensian for a moment.

It was the best of races, it was the worst of races, it was the race of wisdom, it was the race of foolishness, it was the race of belief, it was the race of incredulity, it was the dimming of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had 26.2 miles before us, we had Brooklyn before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way - or at least many parts of our bodies were.

The New York City Marathon was an amazing experience, one that I shall always cherish. The road there was filled with many and varied obstacles, which I believe are what will always make it so rewarding an accomplishment. The past few years have been filled with physical setbacks which torpedoed my triathlon seasons. Two years ago, I could not run at all due to back pain. This year, just days away from my first race of what was to be a busy and exciting summer of races, I broke my hand. I managed to squeak in a sprint tri in late summer but that was it. 

In August my broken limb had healed to the point that I could begin running in earnest. I made the best possible decision that I could at that point and booked a consult with the resident wise man, Matt Hurley. Matt and I came up with a game plan for training and racing that would best take into account my long layoff, the amount of training time until that race, and the endurance needed to complete it successfully. And off I went. As my training progressed, I discovered something that I had not encountered in decades. I remembered how much I loved to run. I was really having fun with it. My endurance was building, my form was improving, I was really beginning to believe that I might actually pull this off.

A month ago, the other shoe dropped. I am disabled. I suffer from persistent depression that can move into episodes of major depression. The lovely wiring in my brain decided that the beginning of October would be a great time for one of those episodes. When you’re in one, getting out of bed or off the couch can be an extremely daunting task. You have very little interest or energy. So, for the last month leading up to the race my training trailed off dramatically, as did my confidence in my ability to actually go 26.2 miles. 

I’m not exactly sure what got me to the start line on Sunday. I think it was a combination of four things: I had already paid for my entry fee, I had already paid for my airbnb, I had already paid for my greyhound bus ticket, and I really wanted the t-shirt! So on Halloween, I found myself in New York, race packet in hand, with a decision to make. I had the shirt, I could just catch a few shows and go home. But the depression deities were kind to me and decided to lift the dark clouds.

Sunday morning race day began with a fun-filled subway ride to the Staten Island Ferry in a train filled with racers. I was standing with a group of folks from five different countries and we had a great time swapping stories and wishing each other good luck. As we waited to board the buses to the race start, I did what every athlete does two to seven times before a race, I queued up for the bathroom. I stood in one line in the ferry terminal for 15 minutes only to discover that my line was only for the urinals so I had to join the much longer stall line, but there were plenty of people to talk to which helped calm my nerves. 

After a seemingly endless bus tour of Staten Island, we offloaded at the Verrazano Bridge, our starting point. They took great care of us with bagels and bananas, water and juice, as we tried to stay warm on a chilly morning. Eventually we got into our corral and moved onto the bridge on ramp and awaited the start cannon. 

With one loud blast we were off. The Verranzo Bridge is 2 miles long and the first mile is all uphill. I heeded the warnings of the race directors and did not let my adrenaline carry me out too fast on either the uphill or the ensuing downhill. That was good advice as I’m sure I would have paid for it later. We were now in Brooklyn and let me tell you in no uncertain terms - Brooklyn knows how to throw a party. The crowds were out in full force and full voice and there was a band playing on virtually every block. And their signs were extremely creative. We were in Brooklyn for what felt like an eternity - at least 125 blocks - but the people made it a lot of fun and brought lots of smiles to my face. I was really starting to feel like I could do this. I was sticking to mine and Matt Hurley’s plan - run three, walk two and it felt good. 

Things started to change around mile 10. My legs were getting a bit tired, as I expected them to be after what had happened in October, but my back had also begun to tighten up. This started to concern me. I have had four spinal surgeries, with plenty of fusions, and I was concerned that my sciatic might make one of its semiregular appearances. (For once, it didn’t.) I just tried to stay loose and keep my form to protect my back, and kept a steady pace. That lasted for another 90 minutes or so.

Before the race someone told me you had to finish in nine hours to get a medal. I don’t know if this was true or not but I set that as my goal. But as the race progressed, I began to think I could beat that, maybe do eight or even lower. At mile 16, I had my second to last big obstacle of the race. My back announced, in no uncertain terms, that it was now in charge and if I had any intention of finishing the face alive, I had taken my last running step. It was walk or nothing from here on out. It had nearly seized up. Fortunately, my back and I have a very intimate understanding with each other and I knew better than to argue. It was the right choice.

So walk I did, as quickly and purposefully as I could. And then at mile 20 I got to experience up close what everyone talks about - hitting the mile 20 wall. Once I passed mile 19 I was tired but feeling pretty strong mentally and very confident I would carry through that way to the end. And then I hit mile 20 and it was like, for you Harry Potter fans, a Dementor had taken residence above me. My energy, my confidence, my spirit were all suddenly zapped. I was honestly thinking that I might not make it. I got stuck in my head and needed to find a way out. At that point, I started silently reciting the Buddhist chant of Lovingkindness to every racer who passed me or who I passed. That centered me, put a smile back on my face and helped carry me to the finish. I also was able to realign my goal and realize that I had a chance to hit seven hours.

I’ve heard people talk about being so emotional as they cross the finish line that they broke down in tears, and as I got closer I began to wonder if it would hit me like that. But in the end if was much less dramatic. I was thoroughly exhausted, and in a great deal of pain. All I could think about was getting my medal, my poncho and a massage. According to my Garmin I did 26.8 miles in 7:07, so I’ll take that as hitting 7 hours. Now I have a baseline!

There are several people whom I would really like to thank. Matt Dixon and Kelli McMaster have welcomed me like family since the first time I met them several years ago in San Francisco and I honestly would not be who and where I am without them. Matt Hurley was so supportive in creating a plan that fit me and carried me to success. Laura Siddall and Sarah Piampiano for being my twin inspirations both for how kind and supportive they have been to me, but for the examples of how open they are about their training and racing in both good times and bad. Liz Lindsay for being such a font of positivity on every Office Hours call. Carrie Sapp Barrett for having answers to all my questions and being such a friendly connection to everything. All the Purple Patch staff. You are an amazing team. Jess Vandenbussche - nice to made a good friend through the Squad. 

May you all be safe. May you all be happy. May you all be free from suffering. May you all be at peace.