Charlevoix Marathon

Date: June 23, 2012

Location: Charlevoix, MI

Charlevoix was the first marathon I did with the 50 states goal in mind. Like Baltimore, I went into it with the just finish mindset. But this time I also went into it with the goal of simply enjoying it. I had already learned from Baltimore that my body was capable of running the distance, so this time I was hoping to have more fun with it, and possibly learn something new about myself.

Not to give away the ending, but as it turns out my ‘just finish’ goal became the primary focus (due to some not-so-unforseen circumstances). I did have fun (until mile 11), and I definitely learned something new.

But I’ll start at the beginning. The things I already knew: I’m definitely not the fastest or most gifted runner out there. But I’m probably one of the most often injured. I went into the marathon already nursing several injuries. Fortunately, the knee pain I had during Baltimore was a thing of the past. That was caused by my IT band. But of course, my knees are never going to give me a break, and this time I was having pretty severe patellofemoral pain… a pain behind the kneecap more commonly known as runner’s knee. But this was the least of my worries. What really worried me was the dull pain in my tibia, just below my right knee. Because I knew that with any step, that pain could become a stress fracture.

I had made a great training plan again and I stuck to it like glue. This time I ran two 20-milers instead of one, but that may not have been the best idea. About 2 weeks before race day, the pain in my shin started. Knowing that the only way to avoid a stress fracture is to stop running, I didn’t run very much those last two weeks, and just prayed that it would be okay during the race.

To fuel up, I ate spaghetti constantly all day on Friday. Jin and I arrived in Charlevoix Friday evening to pick up our race packets. Charlevoix is a small town on Lake Michigan. Having grown up in Michigan, I felt right at home and was excited to run a course with some of the most breathtaking views of the lake. Jin hadn’t fully trained by race weekend, so there we were: an injured runner, and an undertrained runner. It was going to be interesting.

On Saturday morning we approached the starting line. I was hopping up and down with my usual nervous excitement. The first 11 miles, I felt spectacular. We blasted Avicii from Jin’s phone and chatted with the people around us. There were only 340 marathon runners… much, much smaller than Baltimore. But I loved it. It felt more intimate and everyone was really encouraging of each other. We shared conversations, jokes, and in one case, even snacks! The course was an out-and-back course. The first 3 miles were through some neighborhoods, then the rest of it, up to the halfway turn-around was on a bike path along the lake. It was a beautiful sunny day and the stretches with views of the lake were gorgeous. We kept a 9 to 10 minute mile pace for those first 11 miles. I was having minor knee pain, but nothing serious or debilitating, and I thought, maybe I’ll beat my Baltimore time.

But then, disaster struck.

At mile 11 a white hot pain shot through my leg originating from that spot on my tibia. And I came to sudden stop. With horror in my voice I told Jin what had just happened. He encouraged me, “just take it slow, walk for a bit. We’re not in a hurry.” Jin knew all too well what it meant to have a stress fracture. In 2009 before I knew him, he was training for the Baltimore marathon and he got a stress fracture in the same place I did. While playing soccer one day, that fracture turned into a break. And now he has a metal rod and 5 screws in his leg. 

So I knew that I had to be extra careful. For the next mile I tried running as many strides as I could before it became too painful, then walk a little. I kept changing up my stride so that my weight landed on a different spot. But I was angry and extremely frustrated. I wasn’t even tired! Energy-wise I felt like I could run 100 miles. I hated being limited by something that I couldn’t control. What if I can’t even finish? As runner after runner passed us, I became increasingly discouraged. Seeing how much pain I was in, Jin said, “You shouldn’t run anymore. I think we’re going to have to walk the rest of it.” And it was those words that lit a fire inside me.

NO WAY was I going to walk 14 whole miles. “No. I can do it.”

We reached the turn-around and a runner near us said “and here’s where it really starts to suck.” You’re telling me. I tried focusing on everything around me, shoving the pain into a far corner of my brain. By doing that and by constantly changing my stride, I managed to keep going. And slowly but surely (and painfully), the miles trickled by. Of course, I had to walk often, but I was feeling a lot more encouraged. Those moments of doubt that I had about finishing were gone.

The sun got hotter and hotter as the morning wore on, and shade became sparse. Even though I had already seen every aspect of the course during the first half, every stretch felt infinitely longer. Every turn up ahead seemed to take much longer to reach. The mile markers felt impossibly far apart. Changing my stride may have been relieving the pain in my shin, but it was causing other issues in places that weren’t used to the stress.

By the time we reached mile 20 I felt beaten down, but in no way defeated. The last six miles were torture, but again, that single thought of crossing the finish line kept me going and made me feel stronger. By now Jin was having problems with cramping in his legs. So with both of our problems combined it felt like we were crawling. But we were also constantly checking the time on Jin’s phone and we knew we could make it in under 5 hours.

I ran without stopping to walk the entire last 4 miles while Jin did intervals to keep his cramping to a minimum. I can’t remember another time in my life where I was so intensely focused on a singular goal. Every cell in my body was working in overdrive to get me across the finish. So when it finally happened, it was that much sweeter. In the final stretch, Jin and I grabbed each others’ hands and raised them up together as we crossed the line. A bit dramatic, maybe, but it seemed only fitting considering what a dramatic race it was.

Afterwards, as we sat stretching, admiring the medals (so cool!) and stuffing our mouths with free pizza, I remembered a sign that one of the spectators was holding along the course. It said “Be proud, but never satisfied.” And that was exactly how I felt. After all the time and dedication I’d put into training, I wasn’t really satisfied with the finishing time. But, I finished, I had fun (at the beginning at least), and I learned that I can push myself so far beyond any imaginable limit. So, yeah… I was proud.

Next up: The Disney Marathon in Florida! January 2013.

The Baltimore Marathon

Date: October 15, 2010

Location: Baltimore, MD

I decided to run the Baltimore marathon in 2010 because I ran the half marathon in 2009 as a junior at Hopkins, and when I finished I thought, I could totally run that again. So, I made a promise to myself that I would run the full marathon the following year. I found a 16 week training plan, and stuck to it. I was very loyal to that plan. As an engineer, I’ve always been systematic about these things. Sticking to a plan generally guarantees success. And for me, failure is never an option.

Since the marathon was in October, most of the training was during the summer. And summers in Baltimore are HOT and extremely humid. You walk outside and immediately you are covered in sweat. Because of this, my body was well prepared by the time the marathon came around. And training in Baltimore also made me prepared for the hills. This course is considered one of the toughest because it’s so hilly. If I had trained somewhere else, it could have been a completely different story. 

On the day of the race, I was excited, and very nervous. I’ve never run track or cross country competitively, but I’ve always felt nervous before any type of run where I’m being timed, even if it’s just a fun 5K. It goes back to the timed mile in middle school when I was aiming for the presidential certificate. Because when I race, I’m not competing against other people. I’m competing against myself. But I welcome those pre-race jitters, because the day they’re gone is the day I no longer find races exciting.

As soon as the race started, I left my nerves behind. It was exhilarating for me to be a part of this race. It was the culmination of months of hard work. All my friends thought I was crazy, but now I was surrounded on all sides by other people who were equally as crazy and had shed just as much blood, sweat, and tears to get here. I felt connected to them in a way that I can't describe. I was also just so happy to be running through the streets of Baltimore - a place that had become my home over the past few years.

During the first half of the course I could notice and appreciate certain aspects because I wasn’t in pain yet. We immediately headed north out of the downtown Harbor area. I remember how nice it was running through Druid Hill Park past the zoo. It was a quiet and beautiful oasis compared to the craziness of downtown. After that we ran by one side of the Hopkins campus - an area that I could practically run with my eyes closed. It was here that one of the relay transitions was located so it was insanely packed with cheering runners and spectators.

Speaking of spectators, I could hardly believe how many people came out to watch and support the runners. In my opinion, that’s one of the greatest things about city marathons. Everywhere you look there are people holding motivational signs like ‘Pain is temporary, achievement is forever!’ Families are sitting out on their porches cheering the runners on. At every turn little kids are lining the street reaching out their hands for a high five. I think it’s a beautiful thing how everyone can come together for an event like this, and support people they don’t even know.

By the time I was back in the Inner Harbor – about halfway done – I felt like I had hit “the wall”. Marathoners always talk about this wall as the point where your body runs out of its glycogen stores and running suddenly becomes 10 times harder. But for me, it was more of a mental thing than a physical thing. I just remember thinking, I feel so horrible and drained of energy… and I still have SO much of the race left! How am I going to finish this? My knees were also killing me (I have always had knee problems), but I knew I had no choice but to run through the pain.

And then, just when it all felt hopeless, I got the greatest boost I could have asked for. A bunch of my friends were volunteering at the marathon, and there they were, at the edge of the crowd, calling out my name and cheering me on! Just seeing their faces and hearing their voices was all I needed. It made me feel 10 times lighter and faster. I’m pretty positive I ran the next few miles looking like a fool with a huge smile on my face.

Things got rough again around mile 16 when my knee pain was so bad I could barely keep running. We were on a downhill too which made it hurt worse. I really wanted to stop and walk, but I kept pushing on, because all that mattered was crossing that finish line.

I only have a few hazy memories from the next few miles. I think I entered a different form of consciousness, trying to put the pain I was in out of my mind. Then we got to lake Montebello at mile 20. I remembered this part of the course vividly from running the half (the half marathon is the second part of the full marathon course) and I knew that I was SO close to being done. Maybe it was because I could practically taste the finish line, but that was when I got my second wind. And from there, the rest of it felt like a breeze! Even my knee pain magically disappeared. After the lake, we passed my house on Guilford, and it was just 3 miles of downhill from there to inner harbor.

The very last stretch through Camden Yards seemed to take forever. There were people EVERYWHERE lining the stretch to the finish, and cheering all the runners on. All I wanted was to cross that line. It was literally all I could think about. Such a simple, singular goal. Then finally, FINALLY, I was there. That beautiful orange strip of paint on the pavement, and the blown-up arch over head. I could practically hear a choir singing "Haaaallelujah!" as I crossed the finish line. I vaguely remember registering the time on the clock: 4h31m. (Not bad… I wasn’t really aiming for a time… just to finish). Someone handed me a medal and a foil blanket. And then I saw my friend Jesse who was handing out water bottles. I hobbled over to him, threw my arms around him and – I will never forget this moment – screamed “I JUST RAN A MARATHON!” And then I started crying. There were so many emotions going on inside, and I was too exhausted to try to understand them. So all I could do was cry.

I can't really come up with words to describe that feeling of finishing something that has taken so much out of you. Just knowing that you’re physically and – more importantly – mentally tough enough to get yourself through all 26 miles and across that finish line. It’s a feeling so great that it makes you forget the pain and how horrible you felt just minutes ago. And it’s a feeling so great, it makes me want to run at least 50 more marathons.