It Takes a World Class Crew to Lasso the Unicorn
It’s All About the Crew
Legend has it that Pheidippides, an ancient Greek messenger, raced from Marathon to Athens, a distance of ~25 miles, collapsed and died after making his announcement. And now all marathoners have him to thank for. Had this poor lad, let’s call him Phil for simplicity sake, had the top-notch crew I had last Sunday, he would have lived to tell the tale. The story would start with Phil’s teammate reaching out to him days ahead of the race to offer words of support and assured him that he would be under her meticulous care. Phil would then have another friend drive him to the starting point at 4:15 in the morning. Another teammate of Phil would prepare a care package filled with energy boosts, drinks, gels, salt tablets and lots of hearts drawn on the zip lock bag (hand-drawn heart cures all ills in the world). More friends would accompany Phil to the starting line. (Note to all race directors: Mark your starting point with a “Start” sign. Turned out it was nearly impossible to find a race start without any signage or direction.) At last when Phil’s friend saw the race started at gun time and Phil missed the start, his friend would advocate on his behalf and the race director would shave off 30 seconds from the start time. Fellow marathoners, learn from Phil’s story — choose your friends and crew carefully.
And so the race began.
How It All Started
But it didn’t begin there for me. It actually started two years ago. A social half marathon at the NJ Marathon morphed into a quixotic quest for BQ. Chasing and lassoing the mythological unicorn. Literally. My time was 1:51:21 or 8:30min/mile. BQ for my gender and age group at the time would be 8:23min/mile for twice the distance. Out of my depth? Out of my league? Is it laughable? Or is it possible? I consulted a trusted voice and the affirmation comforted me. How? Go read this book. So I did. I read more than a book. I replaced my entire bedtime stack.
Training – How to Not Love Running
I started listening to podcasts. Investing in more gears. Shoes. Heart Rate Monitor. All kinds of trinkets. Read more books. Look for inspirations. Combed through Strava records of more experienced runners. I started following a training plan in late 2019 with the goal of attempting to lasso the unicorn at the 2020 NJ Marathon. Instead I struggled with the training. I HATED speed work. I dragged running. It was no longer fun. On the day that I completed my best tempo run, a major injury on the ankle and heel set me back for weeks. At that point, training and I had a fairly nasty divorce and parted ways.
COVID 2020 – When Running (and the World) Ended
Then COVID hit. I was case #7 or #8 in my town. I was a serious at home case which meant I gasped for air and could hardly walk more than 5 steps without huffing and puffing. All my muscles were gone. I lost 13 lbs in three weeks. I felt like a rag doll. A week after recovery I ran for the first time and had doubts if my lungs were permanently damaged. There was no conclusive study, just hearsays and I accepted the possibility that I may never run again. It felt dark but if the world was falling apart which was what it seemed like at the time, running was probably the least important human concern. So I put an end to the self-pity. Finally I felt normal again after a few months.
New Running Goals
After COVID, I had decided that I would only run for fun and set aside the quest to chase the unicorn. Instead, I got back on my saddle and started riding on my road bike again. I dabbled in trail running. I made a commitment to run everyday if I could. At any pace. I was having fun. I overlooked the technicality of the sport. Instead, it became a mental exercise. How can I enjoy my long runs? What do I fill my head with for an hour? two hours? three hours? What should I focus on?
My pace was characteristically dull if that was the only metric. My Strava does not warrant any following but I was back to enjoying running. I started running every street in Fort Lee. Then other towns in Bergen County. I am on town #11 now. It is like treasure hunt. I discovered hidden streets. Less-frequented parks. Secret pathways. They were all gems. I was becoming a local legend in my own mind (a title that Strava denies me of. No offense taken.)
The Illusion of the Unicorn Returns
With the dim prospect of in-person races, most, if not all races were taking place virtually. Without any concrete goals or target, I volunteered at my team’s virtual Boston Marathon event and I think I really excelled in the cheerleading and signage department. I ran 22.3 miles that day for fun and pleasantly surprised myself with a pace of 8:35min/mile. A teammate asked why I didn’t run the entire distance. The truth was I didn’t set expectations which was the path of the most resistance to any disappointment in my running. Plus my daily runs offered no insights that I could possibly chase down the unicorn. That day I realized there was a race-day-Amy who I just met for the first time and the idea of lassoing the unicorn returned.
Then came the Virtual NYRR NYC Marathon last October and I shocked myself with a time of 3:37:50. I held an incredibly steady pace of ~8:15-8:20min/mile and easily finished the race. When a teammate who helped pace me asked me for my time at the end, I did a double take because I thought I read the screen wrong. Who was this person? I reside in the 9 to 10 min/mile pace handle on my daily runs. This race-day-Amy was a stranger who I affirmed her existence for the second time. I thought when there is an in-personal run that I’d give it a go.
The Real Unicorn Chase
So came the Bi-State Challenge: Xcelsior Marathon at Rockland Lake State Park last Sunday. A USTAF certified course. Even though the registration site looked primitive and dubious at best, I signed up after seeing other teammates committed and invited others to join. If running does not make you a morning person, I don’t know what else will. To minimize my focus on the race, I decided to do some fun stuff to distract myself the day before like blowing all my disposable income on embellishing my digits. Looking the part was part of the strategy. It would have been my consolation prize.
The night before I gathered all my belongings, carefully chose my attire, fueling items, gratitude list (I pinned this on my shirt on the race day) and went to bed. (Note to self: never share the gratitude list with your family. It’s like answering the death trap question if your mom, brother and husband fall into the water, who would you save first. A lose-lose sitch.)
The forecast for the day was abysmal. Windy. Rainy. Chilly. High 40’s that felt like Low 40’s. I figured I know this course: friendly, flat and fast. What’s there to worry. Plus I would warm up after the race started. It would just be like last time. Easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy. Instead a mix up at the start rattled my head. It didn’t help that I missed the gun start so I sprinted at the start and out went my original pace plan.
Even though I was running ahead of my planned pace, I felt good so I continued. My strategy was to run at a comfortable heart rate and keep it there. Of course luck would have it that my Garmin would go wonky at the wrong time and was picking up my cadence. C’est la vie. The race must go on and I just went with my gut.
The Real Superstars
My crew of pacers was second to none and I was thoroughly enjoying their company and support. They were all superb runners in their own right: the Chubby Cat, Cici who seemed to be affiliated with a zip code, Chunying, Jimmy, John & Pan Yan. Other pacers include the Master Zither, Captain Wan, Haiyan & Hong. The cast of pacers that day was akin to having heavyweights like Meryl Streep and Denzel Washington as the supporting cast to budding actors and actresses like me. Serious, right? What have I done to earn this? The King wasn’t my pacer this time but we ran the first lap together so technically we were each other’s pacer. To say I didn’t borrow from their presence and strength would be an outright lie. I leaned on them and they gave me their time, spirit, support and company on a rainy, windy and chilly morning. Anywhere else on the planet that morning would be a more pleasant destination; yet, here they were, right next to this pair of Little Legs. (I have learned that the accomplished runners tend to have a regal nickname like the God of Wind, the King, the Statesman, Goddess, etc… Little Legs is my screenname at my spinning studio. Not nearly as regal but seems fitting given my shallow running experience.)
Onto the cheerleading and fueling squad, led by the dream team: Captain Renny, Coach John and Coach-Lady (Is that a word) Michelle. Need I say more. Add Captain Never-miss-a-detail Samantha. Boss Lady Joyce. Ellen. Coach Jerry. Lee who saved me with a coveted jacket. Mandy who looks amazing even in a storm. Eternally-optimistic-cow-bell-Kevin. Little Pan Pan. Mom of Vogue (Ahem I mean Mom of Four). Elegant Jing. Speedy Eileen (even when she all caped up). Coco. Ann. If I miss anyone, please pardon any error of emission. Separately and more importantly, if you don’t have a nickname by now, get one. Make up one. Steal one or barter one. Before I even reached within 1,000 feet of the station, the welcoming cheer rang through the course. This is where I looked forward to the most on every lap to mentally refuel.
Sam. Where do I begin? His commitment and dedication leaves me speechless EVERY single time. He got there as early as the runners and was the last to leave with us. Every lap I wondered where would Sam be on the course this time. I learned later that there was a second photographer from another team Misty Mountain. Just mind-blowing to have so many moments of the day captured under their artistic eyes.
The Race
And back to the race. At the start of the third loop, I was handed a gel and a salt tablet that I had never had. I hesitated if I should take them and figured the alternative is under-fueling so I took them. By the end of the loop, my stomach started knotting. Perhaps it was the weather. Or just a draw on the short straw. Bells rang off in my head but I kept going. I managed to hold my pace for 22 miles but it got colder and the rain came down harder. I had already used the loo multiple times at this point and decided to suck it up for rest of the race. My stomach twisted and knotted harder. The pain travelled down to the lower body and the legs and I started to shiver. I could barely pick up my feet and the prospect that I might have to walk brought tears to my eyes. Each time I looked at my watch, the pace slipped by 15-30sec and at one point I was 2 minutes behind my earlier pace. My heart sunk. Yan Pan who paced me on the last two laps kept cheering me on. Then I saw Kevin and he said “Embrace the suffering.” He knew I was suffering and I just laughed. His humor and positivity were exactly what I needed. I heard Rachel’s strong words of encouragement. I heard Ellen cheering me. I heard Samantha. I heard Michelle. I cried harder. Everything hurt. I wasn’t making eye contact anymore for fear of a full blown tear fest. On the last 400 meter, Michelle grabbed my arm to help me charge through the finish line. I tried to give it one last push and crossed the finish line. I collapsed in Samantha’s arms, on Rachel and Michelle’s shoulders and burst in full tears. I didn’t walk. And Boston, I am coming.
It’s been a long long long time since I wanted to reach for a star or in this case lasso a unicorn. My feet carried me through the course but I traveled the entire distance on the arms and shoulders of my Bergen Runner family. Without you, I would probably still finish but it would be laced with misery. Instead it was full of blessings and gratitude. No man is an island. You added meaning, context, purpose and depth to a mere 26.2. Your outpour of support outsized any and all adversity. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. (Phil, you really need to find a world class crew like the Bergen Runners).
“When your legs get tired, run with your heart.”
