Finish a 10K? Check. What else you got?

Yes! I finished! And we'll talk about that in just a moment. But first I have to note that after I posted that absurd rhyming ditty yesterday I couldn't stop coming up with additions to the poem. Last night in bed, just before slumber took over, I thought of a really great stanza that I wish I had thought of yesterday:

The bib number pinned to the tech tee with care,
laid out by the running shorts (with built in underwear).

Sweet, right?

So, back to the whole race thing.

I finished! Maybe I already mentioned that. But it's kind of the whole purpose of this entire blog so I s'pose I'll just keep saying it. I finished!

The official results don't seem to be online yet, but the clock read 1:09:something when I crossed the finish line. The final time while change depending on how long it took me to cross the start.

UPDATE: Final time: 1:06:22. That's 4336th place. More importantly, I beat 812 people. All race results on beachtobeacon.org.

See, not everyone can cross immediately. There were 5,500 runners jammed into the starting corral. It takes a while for that mass of people to get moving. Pretty cool looking view, though.

Wanting to avoid the traffic and ensure a parking space at Cape Elizabeth HS, I left my house at 6:00 a.m. this morning. Note to runners for next year: that's unecessarily early. But the morning went breezily. Easy parking, easy onto a shuttle bus, easy to the start. In fact my bus was one of the first to arrive, so I was able to take in the starting line.

5:00-minute mile. Riiiight. I mean, I could, but I prefer to take in the sights while I run. You know, get the full experience. These elite runners - sure they're fast - but they're really missing out on life, don't you think?


At any rate, there was plenty of time to kill before the 8:00 starting gun (which, as it turns out, was a horn instead of a gun and was at 8:10 as opposed to 8:00. But I didn't know these things at the time). People were pacing around, stretching, warming up. I didn't see the point in walking when I could be sitting, so I sat. I thought about napping but I didn't trust that anyone would wake me before the start and getting trampled didn't seem like fun.
So I people watched. Lots of fit people. Lots of people like me, just hoping to get it done. And then there was Sir Canada.

I don't even know what to say.

I have issues with Canada that I don't care to get into now, but let it suffice it to say that I found the Canadian flag/maple leaf on the rear concept wildly disconcerting. Is it a tribute or an insult? Who knows!

But I was amped. I was confident. I was ready to get this party started. I snapped a photo of myself right as Ann, Anna and I were officially crossing over the start. I clearly look enthused. Maybe too enthused. My smile is kind of creepy. Is it always like that?


I decided to take a photo of myself at every mile marker. As it turned out they all pretty much look the same. Me, sweating a great amount but still smiling. This one is at mile three. You may recall mile three from last year - I sure as hell do. It's the place where injury compelled me to stop. It's the place where I sat with an ice pack and a some shame.

As we ran by I noted, "Here's where I died last year." A stranger nearby responded, "And look at you now - you're good to go." Good to go is right. As we ran past the mile marker I told mile three to eat it.

And now I'm not bitter any more.

See? The whole "photo at each mile" thing didn't doesn't work when it's humid and sweaty. The lens gets clouded and you end up looking like an Edvard Munch practice painting.

Around mile four we passed under the American flag draped from two fire engine ladders. It's an image of the race you may have seen before - but for me it was the first time I'd witnessed it in person.

Sure beats the Canadian flag from earlier - no one wants to run under this flag, am I right people? That'd just be uncomfortable for this guy and everyone else involved.

Mile five had a banner that read, "It's no jive, it's mile five!" Reminded me of the movie Airplane, when they're in court and someone asks, "Does anyone here speak jive?" and the old white lady does. Ha ha. Airplane. But I digress.

I've also failed to mention all the spectators and woohooers along the way. I tried to get pictures but all the sweating and the jostling hindered that attempt. But the cheers came from everywhere.

I got "Go Shannon!" from a few people I knew. I got "You can do it" or "You look great" or "Almost there" from a bunch of people I didn't know. And that was cool. Strangers out there dishing support and encouraging you along for no other reason than because you're there and you're running and they want you to finish.

I have family members that aren't that nice to me (not you, mom, don't get offended!).

Particularly on that last mile, just coming into the park, there are so many people just shouting, just clapping or telling you that the finish is just ahead and to "finish strong!" If you'd had any inclination to walk or slow down or forfeit you wouldn't be able to for fear of letting all those people down.

Besides, the finale is just ahead and the adrenaline has come flooding and dammit you're going to finish this thing because you said you would and you know you can and besides, the sooner it's over the sooner you'll find yourself at breakfast with an empty plate, a belly full of hash browns and a warm mimosa-induced haze.

And the sooner you'll get to take a stupid-looking photo of yourself at the finish line.

It's a ridiculous picture, I know. It looks like I'm trying to show off my guns but I'm too lethargic to actually lift my arms up any higher.

Okay, you're right. I was trying to show off my guns but was too lethargic to lift my arms any higher.

So I'm an idiot - what of it. I ran a 10K today, cut me some slack!

An any rate, thanks again to all the cheerers (in person, via e-mail or via this blog). It's nice to hear "way to go" now and then.

And thanks to those of you who stopped to say "hello" to me today. I can now confirm to my boss that there are other people reading besides my mother (no offense, mom!).

Congrats to all of you who took on the challenge - and congrats to all of you who killed that race today.

You all deserve many beers. As do I.

Thus, I'm off to get started on that.

And, of course, the comments are still broken. Why wouldn't they be?

On the eve of the race: Ode to the Beacon

After all the talk and all the running and all the stupid photos - it's come down to this. The race. The actual race. As in, dang, I'd nearly forgotten there was a purpose to the yammering.

The Beach to Beacon is tomorrow morning. The gun goes off at 8:00 a.m., though runners will be lined up like cattle long before then.

But around 9:00 a.m. I'll likely be just nearing the finish line.

By 9:15 a.m. I'll be commenting to some random stranger, "I can't believe it's over." And I'll laugh, like I'm glad, but I'll probably feel a little sad, too.

By 9:30 a.m. the race will be a memory for most.

By 10:00 a.m. tomorrow I hope to be on a bus headed back to my car.

By 10:30 a.m. tomorrow I hope to be enjoying a celebratory (read: alcoholic) breakfast with friends (read: people I know who don't frown upon drinking alcohol at 10:30 a.m.).

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's still the eve of the race and I should be reveling in the anticipation. I should be taking stock of all the effort (and those few weeks when there was no effort at all) I've put in since April.

I should be saying that I'm confident, even if I'm not, because saying it sounds better.

But I am confident. No, really. I don't expect to break land speed records tomorrow, I just plan to finish. Maybe that sounds stupid, but I sure as heck haven't forgotten how impossible finishing became last year.

So yea, I plan to finish. That's all. If I can finish in under an hour - well heck, I'll take you all out for a steak dinner.

So, you all fight over which day works best for you and enjoy a bit of pre-race poetry:

T'was the night before Beacon,
and all through my insides,
it felt like I'd spent too much time
on amusement park rides.

The nausea in effect,
some anxiety on the side.
And an unrelenting desire
to escape to Canada to hide.

But what's all the fuss?
It's a 10k for Carl's sake!
Besides, my own death
would be too hard to fake.

And let's face it, I'm ready.
I've been training for weeks.
My running gear proves it -
that tech tee sorely reeks.

I've mentally prepared,
and I've read all the tips.
I even refuse to let
any beer cross my lips. (Today anyway.)

So why should I worry?
I'm a fit and capable woman!
But if needed I can always
latch onto a Kenyan.

I'll cross that finish
with grace and with class.
To the race course I say,
"I will kick your behind." (What? Kids could be reading!)

Thanks for all the good words over the last few months and thanks for following along.

I'll catch up with you tomorrow - after I've collected my winnings and posed for the press photos and whatnot.

And yes, the comments are still broken. That stinks

Some love from 207 and my new B.F.F.

I've wanted to update sooner, I really have. But in case you haven't noticed, our servers are...um...well...messed. Sorry for that. And by "sorry" I mean "I'm apologizing because I don't know what else to say and I feel badly but I really have no control over the server issues so really my apology is essentially useless, but I'm trying to comfort you anyway because I care and doesn't that make us all feel a little better?"

It's been a while since I've included any entertaining images in my blog (remember months ago when I had that entry with the turkey photos in it? I bet you didn't think turkeys had anything to do with running. Well they do. They have a lot to do with it. Just wait. One day you'll see).

At any rate, I dedicate this entry to the less literate out there. You know, those 'readers' who tend to stick to the newspaper comics without a lot of words. Those readers who skim magazines and pause only at the pretty pictures. Those readers whose Sunday morning reading consists only of the "Back to School" promotion on the side of the Lucky Charms box.

To you I vow to keep the words to a minimum.

Wait. I'm sorry, I can't do that. I have to use words. And lots of them. Probably double what is necessary. I'm kind of a talker. But then, maybe you sensed that already.

Nevertheless, you're still free to do what you normally do - ignore me altogether and look at the pictures.

The 207 piece on Maine Running Company's Reach the Beacon program aired last night. I missed the show, but thanks to the technology of the internets anyone - that's right, men, women, children alike - can watch it online.

Yesterday I watched the segment with a hand over my eyes, two fingers split just enough to peek at the footage. I was ready to cringe. I think at first maybe I was cringing.

Then suddenly, there I was! Running! "That's me!" I shouted from my cube (loud enough to cause one spilled coffee, three dirty looks and what later turned out to be a mild heart attack).

A few moments later, in the background, me again!

Me!

Sure, no one but me would ever notice. I'm in the back of the pack usually, hidden from view (remember my "run ugly" issues? Me being hidden is definitely for the best). But I noticed. And even though I was there and I know how it all really went down, I was proud of that segment.

Oh yea, I guess it's good promotion for John's running store, too.

But anyway, back to me.

Last night I went to the last Hannaford run - partly as a last ditch effort to train, but mostly because Joan Benoit Samuelson was going to be there.

I admit it - I'm a little bit star struck. I mean, it's Joan Benoit Samuelson!

Before we set out on our slated 5.5-mile run, Joan offered up some race-time words of wisdom. I think they included "run your own race," "don't watch the mile markers," and "it's easier to pass other people than it is to be passed." But really I just stood there going, "It's Joan!" over and over in my head.

Just like a couple of weeks ago, we were split into pace groups. Anna and I opted to stick in the last one, but as I scanned my fellow runners I felt suddenly very…um…slow.

No offense to these fine older fellas, but I'm a little shamed that at 29, I can't run faster than them. Or that my lack of running confidence makes me think I can't. I don't know which is worse.

But Anna and I kicked arse. We lingered at the water stations, it's true, but were able to maintain a steady run for nearly all 5.5 miles.

5.5 miles - that's nearly a 10K.

There wasn't much of a reprieve from the sun, either, but it's expected to be warm and sunny on race day, so we might as well get used to it.

Plus, just prior to the halfway turn around point near East End Beach, we happened to catch Joan on her way to the finish. She was offering up "nice jobs" and high fives. And I made sure to get me one.

(A high five from Joan Benoit Samuelson! Highlight of my year! And the birth of what will be a long and 100-percent hallucinatory friendship! Three cheers for delusions! And three cheers for Photoshop for further enabling said delusions!)

Last night was surely a confidence builder. We kept it slow in an effort to not overdo it before Saturday and timed in at just over an hour. Fine with me.

It never was about the time. It's about NOT limping to the first aid station at mile three with an overwhelming sense of failure.

And really, I don't think that's too much to ask.

The comments section isn't cooperating this morning, but bless you kind folks for e-mailing me anyway!

JC says:
Hey Shans,

I think you're going to do great!!

One thing though, well actually a couple. I once met Joan Samuelson, well,
I stood behind her at a funeral, and I've met you once. I seem to remember
her being significantly shorter than me, whereas you, not so much. Also, I
don't remember her head seeming quite so, well, BIG, in relation to the
rest of her body.

Maybe I just haven't had enough coffee yet.

Good luck, you'll do F-A-B

JC

SJO says:
KICK SOME ARSE THIS WEEKEND HON!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'll be thinking about you!

xoxoxoxo

Karen says:
Wow, Shannon! You are so ready for the 6.2 miles come Saturday. I bet JBS
will be cheering you on again as you sprint to the finish line with all the
old men. Just don't piss her off by bring a beer and a sandwich on the
course to keep you going. Run hard, run fast, run to the finish knowing your
BFF is waiting up ahead. So jealous!
SYN2F