RR (CMM) 'Till I Collapse - Part II

Pre-Race:
Thunderstruck: AC/DC

I was caught
In the middle of a railroad track
I looked round
And I knew there was no turning back
My mind raced
And I thought what could I do
And I knew
There was no help, no help from you

Sound of the drums
Beatin' in my heart
The thunder of guns
Tore me apart
You've been - thunderstruck ….

Now we're shaking at the knees
Could I come again please?
Thunderstruck, thunderstruck
Said yeah, it's alright
We're doing fine
Yeah, it's alright
We're doing fine (So fine)
Thunderstruck, yeah, yeah, yeah,

So, I’m going to be honest here. I started looking at the weather 2 full weeks before the race date. Neurotic? Yes. Stupid? Yes. But, I couldn’t help myself.

I was well rewarded for my neuroses. The entire week before Saturday April 29th, I saw only suns. And, for the first week Saturday’s forecast said “scattered thunderstorms.” I thought, “Oh, that’s okay. Most thunderstorms start in the afternoon. I’ll be done by then.” I also thought that the forecast would shift a day, like it always does. Friday looked beautiful. So did Sunday. I waited. I waited some more.

Two days before the race, a major freak out ensued. Thursday dawned, and the weather went south. Now the weather stated simply “thunderstorms, with a possible world ending.” Okay, maybe not, but that’s what I thought.

And before you get the idea that I melt when wet, I don’t mind the rain (See Hartford Half-Maraswim RR.). It’s the idea that the event could be canceled, and then what? Thunderstorms in the south are bad. Like hide-under-the-covers-with-your-favorite-teddy-bear-BAD. Like pee-yourself-BAD. Like cancel-the-race-BAD. Okay, point made. It doesn’t help that I loathe thunderstorms.

So, I did what any normal and sane (tapering) person would do (Well, that’s an oxy-moron and we all know it.). I freaked out. Big time. Then I did a search for local marathons the following week. I found one 10 miles from my house. I calmed down, and then wondered why I was spending money to go to Nashville. :) I would find my answer soon enough.

So far as sleeping that week went, I was on the hell-train. I was minorly worried that I was now wasting the last 18 weeks by not getting enough sleep, but the truth of the matter was that I was just too keyed up. I figured that I’d crash sooner or later, and I just hoped that would happen before, and not during, the marathon.

Thursday, I left work early and went home. I putzed around for a few hours and only started packing around 9pm. But it was a great night. People from all over the country were calling, texting and emailing me. For some reason, it made me very emotional, and I cried. I was just overwhelmed that people really cared that much.

Another sleepless night. I had set three (yes, three) alarms. I was petrified that I would oversleep-get a flat-miss my plane… You get the picture.

Friday

I got to the airport fine. Of course. The weekend magic started when I realized that the girl seated next to me was going to CMM to watch 2 of her sisters run the half marathon. We had a great time chatting, and I really started to get excited again.

Of our big group going to CMM, only Lisa, Dan, Marty, Leslie, and Letty ended up being able to go. I was sad that the others couldn’t be there, but honestly a little relieved too. And for a selfish reason. I’m an introvert. There. I said it. I can’t stand huge crowds. And, this sounded like a great way to meet and really get to know part of my running family. I couldn’t wait.

I got my chance at 9am sharp on Friday morning. Lisa, Dan and Marty had driven down 8 hours from the mid-west the night before and had so kindly offered to pick me up at the airport. I couldn’t wait. As I made my way to the baggage claim, I saw Lisa. Wow, she’s so pretty, I thought! But, then I saw Dan… hiding behind this huge pole. What the…? They were hiding from me! “Boy, I must have horrible airplane head,” I thought… Finally I said hi, and we all exchanged hugs like we were family. It’s like I knew them already. They’d left poor Marty sitting in the car (grin), so we exchanged more hugs and were on our way. I remember them remarking that I had packed lightly. I’m going to savor that, and remind any future man who has the pleasure of helping me with my bags that it has been said that I can pack lightly!

After some catching up and eating (a common theme for the weekend… I was ever so thankful that I had found someone that needed regular feedings like I did! Marty was my partner in crime, and I was never hungry. He also somehow managed to pay for every single meal that I had in his presence…. Of course, others felt left out, so every time Marty ate, Dan had to pee. And that caused Lisa to text message. We had quite the OCD bunch, folks.), we made our way to the Expo.

Now, I’m not sure where these volunteers had been trained, but I had a feeling it might have been during the Third Reich. Talk about belligerent, mean, not-had-their-coffee, need-the-giant-stick-up-their-butts-removed, GRUMPY! Not like ANY other race I’ve been to before. They also had these cute little cut-out feet on the floor to show you where to go, and Lisa started to walk on them. I followed her because it was funny, you know? And then this GUY... This Volunteer Guy with a big-stick-up-his-butt said (in an exasperated voice), “Ladies, be careful. There are people walking behind you.” Ohforheavensakes. Lighten up, fella. We were joking kind of loudly that they were a lot like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld… And the one girl there with a sense of humor goes, “That’s right! NO SOUP FOR YOU!”

Anyhoo, we behaved for the rest of the time. The expo was fairly organized, but it was a little scattered. Every other race I’ve been to they have the race number, your chip and the t-shirt in all one spot. In a bag. Your gear bag. Not this place. Here you had 4 different stations to go to. The direction was all very militaristic as before so you couldn’t go wrong, but wow.

We shopped a bit, and I tempted the race gods by buying a Finishers T-shirt. I barely touched it. Barely even looked at it, even! Just stuffed it right in the bag to be worn at a later date. We finally made it out of there (remember I hate crowds.) to the fresh air. I decided I needed a nap. I had finally gotten to my breaking point, and I was so tired, I could have cried. They went to lunch, and I died. It was great. Thankfully, we had already made arrangements to meet for dinner… I got up, still feeling tired, but much better. Plus, I saved my legs. J

Dinner was cool. I had kind of insisted that we get going early (at 4) figuring that we would still have to wait, but would beat the major dinner crowd. I was right. It worked out beautifully. Once we got to the restaurant, I was able to call our mystery guest, Lisa from TRI-DRS (a native of Nashville, who was really sweet and helpful!). I tried to surprise Dan with meeting her (I know he was very happy to meet her.), but he guessed like 5 minutes before she got there. It was so great to meet another TRI-DRS member. All of us had a great time chatting and eating monster portions of spaghetti.

Now, my pre-race meal really starts with dessert. Before every huge race, I make it a habit to have icecream, and there was this tre-cool icecream shop just a few blocks from the restaurant with life-sized icecream cones/photo-ops. So, we parted ways with Lisa, and made the pilgrimage. Here is where I give my gratitude to Leslie. She had scoped out the place the day before and had tried their “birthday cake icecream” and gave it her highest recommendation. Two words: Wicked good! Thank you, Leslie!

So, a plate of pasta, 3 really good rolls, and 2 scoops of wicked good icecream later, I was pretty full. Pleasantly full just a little later J We wished Letty and Leslie and company good luck the next day and parted ways. Dan, Marty, Lisa and I spent a couple more hours chatting and laughing and then it was time to get serious.

I set out everything for the next day. Stared at it for a while. Took a picture because I realized it would last longer. I felt calm. Pretty relaxed. And happy. I knew tomorrow was my victory lap. And the weather was looking great. They were forecasting 60s and clouds. Perfect! Just a tad warm (remember, I’m from MA), but perfect. I wasn’t complaining anymore. Someone during the weekend remarked that being a weather forecaster is the perfect job. I mean, what other job can you screw up so monumentally on such a regular basis and not get a pink slip?

More to come!
'Zilla out....