DEAD MAN RUNNING
I was slipping on my running shoes early one Sunday morning, getting ready for a routine long run, when suddenly I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my chest.
Was I having a heart attack?
I quickly discarded the thought. I felt fine. Actually I was in peak condition. My 8th half marathon was only 1 month away and my training was going well.
Maybe I pulled a muscle in my chest. Maybe it was nothing.
I ran 11 miles that morning.
The next day I woke up in severe pain. My skin felt like it was on fire! The stabbing pain in my chest now spread around my back and down my left arm. An hour later I was playing 20 questions with my doctor. The good news? There was nothing wrong with my heart. The bad news? I had Shingles.
The Shingles virus travels along the nerves in the skin. The pain can be unrelenting. I was unable to sleep. I was unable to think. I laid in bed for weeks.
Every day I glanced at the calendar. My next race was fast approaching! I needed to get back to my training. Unfortunately Shingles can linger for weeks, maybe even months. 3 weeks before race day I called my doctor to find out if I can run with Shingles. The doctor said I can do anything I normally do.
I told myself, “I normally run 13 miles.”
The next morning an arctic blast swept across the city bringing snow, brutal freezing temperatures and an extreme weather alert. I turned off the news and dragged myself out of bed. I ignored the weather warnings. I ignored the pain. And ever so gently slipped a running shirt over my rashes, opened the front door, stepped out and started running again.
RACE DAY
While I was making my way to my next train inside the sprawling Times Square subway station, I crossed paths with a fellow runner wearing the same racing bib I was wearing. She was walking the opposite direction.
“I think you are going the wrong way,“ I called out.
“Am I?” she asked. She spoke with a heavy accent. “The subway is confusing. I don’t live here.”
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“I live in Brazil.”
I suggested she follow me. She agreed.
We walked together down the long passageway talking and laughing like we were old friends. Runners on race day are the happiest and friendliest people on the planet.
“It is hot in Brazil all the time. Sometimes, when I run, it is over 100 degrees!” She paused occasionally for emphasis. “So I wanted to pick a race that is the opposite of hot.”
I laughed. She picked the right city, and the right month, but it turned out she picked the wrong day. January races in New York City are usually notoriously bitter cold, but not this race. Today’s temperature was unseasonably warm, it was already 43 degrees before sunrise! It was ideal running weather.
The 2018 Fred Lebow Manhattan Half was 2-plus loops around Central Park. The race honored the late Fred Lebow, one of the founders of the NYC Marathon. It was a difficult race to run. Half the course is hills.
Over 5,200 runners assembled along the West Drive. I stood out in stark contrast to the other runners around me. My skin was drained of color. My eyes were dark, sunken and hollow.
Quietly I shrugged off the burning rash beneath my running shirt. Tomorrow I can be sick again. Today I was ready to race. Quickly I absorbed the energy in the air and took off running!
I successfully avoided the temptation to go out too fast. For the next 3 miles I stayed disciplined and concentrated on my running form. At Mile 4 I glided over Harlem Hill, the toughest hill in the park, with surprising ease and greeted the endless Rolling Hills with enthusiasm.
To the unprepared runner, the infamous Harlem Hill followed by the Rolling Hills can feel like a one-two punch to the body. I watched runner after runner in front of me begin to fade back. One runner let out a loud ghastly moan with each step he took. I immediately picked up my pace inserting as much distance as possible between me and the groaner.
At the first sight of the next mile marker, a young exhausted runner shouted in celebration, “10 miles!”
I glanced over and smiled.
“Never look back!” I shouted. “It will just remind you of how tired you are. Only look ahead. There was no past. There was no 10 miles. There is only this mile.”
Between her huffs and puffs she nodded in agreement.
At Mile 11 the consequences of my abbreviated training and sleep deprivation began to show. My legs felt heavy. My muscles ached. Nevertheless I refused to become a dead man running!
My goal was to finish strong. I was determined not to let myself down. I ignored the pain and focused all my attention on my running. Amazingly I began picking up speed. I took my own advice and ran my last 2 miles like it was my first 2 miles.
I crossed the finish line with a faster time than my last half marathon! This was my best worse race ever.
Statistics
Overall: 3435 / 5188
Age Division: 128 / 199
Gender: 2341 / 3074
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