RUNNING WITH THE DEVIL
It was 6 am. The sun was rising, somewhere, but not here.
The rain was coming down hard. The cold, damp weather made my ribs ache. I was still nursing a broken rib. (I accidentally broke it 8 weeks ago.) The plastic poncho I was wearing kept me dry but it was useless against the brutal, cold wind. I was dressed to race, not stand around in a rainstorm.
I was one of thousands of runners huddled together, on the wet streets of Brooklyn, trying our best to stay warm and limber before the race. It was a difficult task. Still, rain or shine, we were ready to race. Obstacles and challenges only enhance the racing experience.
The 2018 Brooklyn Half, the largest half marathon in the country, runs from Prospect Park to Coney Island. My goal today was to run even splits. Even splits means running the same pace through the entire race. This goal requires discipline.
Standing at the starting line I ignored the persistent rain, discarded the poncho and started running. A GPS watch is tricky, and mostly useless, on the hilly terrain around Prospect Park. I ran the first 5 miles by feel using perceived exertion to gauge my pace.
My running cap successfully kept the rain out of my eyes. My wet shirt clung tightly to my skin. My pace was steady. Occasionally I needed to jump a puddle. Twisting an ankle is always a possibility on the wet pavement. I focused on every step.
At Mile 7 we headed out of the park and onto Ocean Parkway. My legs were beginning to ache. Luckily the hills were now behind me.
The wind was a lot stronger on the wide open parkway. I started to feel cold again. Goosebumps traveled up my arms and legs. Nobody jumped over the puddles anymore. We couldn’t lift our legs that high. We just plowed right through them splashing each other with no ill intentions. My wet shoes felt like lead.
At Mile 10 I began to feel light-headed. And my wet socks now strangled my feet. My toes were dead. I ignored the discomfort and concentrated on keeping a steady rhythm.
As we got closer to the shore, the icy winds grew more aggressive. Suddenly an angry gust of wind pushed the runners backwards. We leaned forward, directly into the wind, and kept on running. We ran down Surf Avenue, around the bend, onto the boardwalk and over the finish line. We made it!
I shook hands. Collected my metal. Wrapped myself in a heat sheet. And walked slowly down the boardwalk. My teeth began to chatter. I pulled the heat sheet tighter around my chest. I felt exhausted. I felt alive.
A broken rib. A rainstorm. I was definitely running with the devil that day. But the devil never crossed the finish line. He can’t. Hell is only 13.1 miles long. I was now in Heaven.
Statistics
Overall: 18,405 / 25,378
Age Division: 329 / 468
Gender: 10,753 / 13,021
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