... twas a rainy day in NYC - where I learned the real beauty of DRS... it^s all about inspiration and believing....

Race eve:
a most congenial, jolly gathering graciously hosted by Daniel Wellner and attended by a delightful collection of deads. Good food, great company, utmost confidence booster and nerve settler.

Prerace:
how does one handle the hours of wait and crowds of thousands? Hang out with a dead! In this case, Julie Hermann who has become a most fabulous running buddy during my visits to NYC over the last year. Julie and her Achilles running partner, Jill, were my anchors in the milieu of the start at Fort Wadsworth. Icing on the cake: dead rendezvous at the uphill end of the WLU.

Start Line:
thank you to each and every NY dead who said just shoulder your way to the front of the pack. My number was F925. By the time I got through the baggage logjam, another portopotty line and to the start, I was at the back of the Xs. So shoulder my way I did. I could not totally forsake my midwest upbringing so issued a few hundred Excuse Me^s as I made my way well into the Fs. And did that ever pay off...just 12 seconds to cross the start line!

The plan:
This aging female needs only to run the 26.2 miles in 3 hours 55 minutes to qualify for the Boston Marathon..... After training mile after mile in the quiet solitude of bone dry Colorado, cajoling my body back to marathon shape after bouncing around inside a rolling car 15 months ago I find myself planning to run along the avenues of the largest metropolis in America, accompanied by thousands of athletes packing the streets, on a humid rainy blustery day. The plan was simple. 9 minute pace through 20 miles, then pick it up.

Flashes of memories of the first 16 miles:
- wind buffeting my legs cross-wise as we crossed the Verazzano bridge.
- warmth in Brooklyn so off with my drs singlet and coolmax shirt, back on with the drs singlet, tie on the shirt...wondering if all the cheering and whistling is for the quick strip...
- crowd getting a little too quiet? Just yell Yay Brooklyn! And they go nuts!
- 3 foot high boy with a 3 foot wide sombrero.
- runner jumps in front of me and stops to take a picture. I brake and my left leg goes *twang*. Gotta ignore it.
- cheer to the woman and dog hanging out their window - they cheer back.
- 7 miles in 60 minutes, slow it down and start hitting 9s as planned. Hard to judge pace when one isn^t even breathing...this sea level stuff is *great*!
- church steps crowded with cheering congregations. Music everywhere.
- men merge with the women, unbelievably more crowded. Have to *really* pay attention. Tough to spot the mileage markers now. Miss most of them.
- clusters of adorable wee Jewish girls, each cluster in matching coats and dresses.
- feet tangle at an aid station, sprawl forward and somehow right myself before face hits pavement. Gulp. Back and hips complain. I tell them to shutup.
- backsides of male runners along empty warehouse lots
- sudden blast of cold wind and rain as the Queensboro bridge approaches.
- into the bridge, singlet off, coolmax shirt back on, singlet back on.
- 15 miles, time 2:13 something
- long frigging bridge.
- Snack stations-what a concept! Grabbed Tea at the 1st, coke at the 2nd.
Yum!

16 miles....the glory of the dead come to life: By pure, dumb luck fellow Boulder Dead Rick Schaefer was to be in Manhattan over the weekend of the marathon. Schaef has seen me through my rehab from the accident, joined me for track workouts, offered a helping hand and sympathetic ear when I crumpled to the ground in pain during the early recovery days. So, heck, why not join me somewhere along the marathon course to say Howdy! Neil Cook drew a map of a likely rendezvous point and the plan was set. I approach the spot....no kidding this is a good spot, there is no other person to be seen. Gosh, I wonder if they are letting anybody onto this side of the road. Yo Ho! There^s the tall guy with the purple hat. SCHAEF I holler and Bang, he^s at my side offering proventil and ginger ale. What more can a gal ask for?! Turns out he had to bluff his way to that spot with a line about having my inhaler and something about a heart attack if he couldn^t get it to me. What a guy. We turn onto First Avenue...me rejuvenated with the great company and the gingerale....not to mention the boisterous crowds as the throngs of runners parade down this most magnificent setting. ....the rain starts to fall, crowds still line the streets, shoulder to shoulder, umbrella to umbrella. ....Schaef is able to spot the mile marks and catch my splits, bouncing around 9 minute pace. ....flash of light. What was that? Schaef says ^^either a huge flash bulb or lightning, but there was no thunder so....^^ .....KABOOM.... ....over the bridge into the Bronx with thunder and lightning dancing overhead. ....the carpet on the bridge is much too crowded, pretend it^s a rocky trail and zoom past the crowds whilst skipping along the metal stuff. ....hit the 20 mile mark: three hours and three seconds on the watch. Okeydokey, gotta do the last 10k in 55 minutes. Schaef asks if I want to pick it up at 22 or 23 miles. I say *NOW* and off we go. Ya know, sometimes it is just *so* much fun to run fast. ....the rain picks up, the crowds go wild, and every time I dig deep, the well gushes. What a blast! I will *never* forget the sights and sounds and feel of all those people cheering at the top of their lungs, the runners, drenched to the bone, frolicking through Central Park, rain, noise, water, umbrellas, muscles and soggy t-shirts EVERYWHERE. And the pure unadulterated energy. More noise? Run faster! More rain? Run faster! More hills? Absolutely run faster!!!!! And through it all there^s Schaef, bursting out with a *Wow you ran that hill great* and a *You are Cruising* and a *What a phenomenal mile you just did*. The epitome of inspiration, the absolute confidence booster. Put it all together and it is no wonder that my body and soul responded with everything I asked of it.

....the crowds of runners got thicker, the puddles got deeper, and the clock continued to tick.... Schaef bids me adieu along Central Park South and I^m off on my own charging through the puddles, dodging and weaving around thousands of runners making my mad dash for the finish line. Final turn into the park, 26 miles goes by, the finish line approaches.
The clock looms above: 3 hours 54 minutes 15 seconds. ...All together now.....Singin in the rain, she's singin in the rain:-)