I have issues. I admit it. Some are of my own creation, others developed unconsciously. Allow me to explain.
I will subject myself to honesty at this moment, because it is too exhausting to lie or tell half-truths. I was slightly disappointed that I couldn't see my friend in Chicago. She had taken it upon herself to try and pick me up at the airport - all the way from Grand Rapids, Michigan. We were early, she was late. Trying to maneuver through the traffic to get to downtown was torture as she had her two toddlers in tow. So she forgoed seeing me to get them back home to eat dinner. I don't blame her, but I was disappointed. All through the run, I found myself searching the faces for any glimpse of her or maybe someone from my past that was there. I've encountered many people in my travels, but I doubt I met enough to know at least 1 out of every 40,000 strangers.
The music did help during the run, but I found it progressively hard to listen to the Rocky soundtrack. Not because it was getting old, but I hold a soft spot for that character and movie. All Rocky ever wanted to do was go the distance. I have experienced different things and learned how to overcome small obstacles, but none of it was for a solo victory. Every choice affected other people, in some form or fashion, but this marathon was only going to affect me. Whether I finished or not, I would be the one to live with the memory. I have watched Rocky enough to be able to tell you what scene is accompanied by which song. At mile 25, I heard the music. The exact moment of the music is the scene in which Rocky is fighting Apollo with everything he's got - blow for blow. The match is over and Rocky has done what he set out to do - finish. It took everything I had not to breakdown in tears on that straightaway. I tried very hard to mask the hyperventilating that was going on as my throat tightened, closing off the oxygen supply. I didn't want anyone to see me cry. (My Mother had told me not to let anyone see you cry because they'll feel pity for you. My Father said crying shows weakness. I guess it stuck.)
By the time I pushed back the tears the song had changed. I was still looking for familiar faces from my past. At the top of the hill I resigned to the fact that it was going to be just me. I am aware that I have aided in making my life this way. Ironically, most of the time I like being by myself. I have a loner nature. But for some reason, I wanted someone there. Someone who knew me before the Marathon venture, so I had documentation of another form. The finish was bittersweet, no offense Melissa.
It's just seems easier, most of the time, to keep a distance for when I decide to leave and move away. No close ties, no tears. I enjoyed being a part of something bigger than me. Some of you were like sisters, others like mothers - some were Really like mothers! I didn't mind.
I don't think I'll do another marathon with the group, but I will still run some more in the future. Thanks for letting me pour my heart out, rant and be crazy.

POST PARTUM DEPRESSION = 1 rack of ribs, pint of potato salad, chocolate - of course - and ice cream. Lots..of ice cream??!!!

Forgive me. As I have told Matt, I am currently in my Post Partum Depressive state. It began on mile 20 and progressed to this...bloated mass of unused energy. The funny thing is, I don't feel depressed. I feel like I need to be doing something. I just got through doing something Extra-0rdinary and now I am back in the mundane; but I KNOW I am capable of doing so much more!! Is it just me? Anyone feeling me out there? I know now to schedule my events closer together so there isn't much time to loll around and eat. Anyway...

Oct. 7 2005
Raced around Wal Mart at 7 a.m. to find iron-on letters for my "Sexy Mama" singlet. Still packing at 8 a.m. Craving eggs benedict, but will wait for post race gourging. Hallie and beau pick me up and wisk me off to meet the metallic bird that will get me another step closer to my destiny. Seated next to Lisa on the plane - noticed a very distressed "marathoner". After prodding and insistence the truth seeped out betwixt her trembling lips. "Claustrophoia". Chivralous as nature had intended me to be, I gave up my seat to accomodate the psychosis that could not and should not be cured in a two hour flight. Behold, sandwiched between two 'down-home' men of countrified manner. Between the hot breath on my left cheek and the incessant nurturing of an itchy balls - with reckless abandon, might I add - I wasn't sure if I should cry or laugh. I just prayed that the man on my right would not formally introduce himself.

I was excited to see that my name was on a poster amid the other 40,000 - give or take - runners displayed for all to see. My first thought was, 'Just like the Vietnam Memorial...' After describing the poster to a fellow marathoner and seeing the reaction I got from my reference, I hoped that I had not predicted my short future. 'Everyone's name is up there. Are they color coded for a reason? Is red good or bad? Wait, there are two Michelle Alexander's. Which one is me? Was the red good or bad? If red is bad, I'll just claim the black written one. No one will know...right?'

That's all I can write for now. Much happened and this is the abridged version. "Leave 'em wanting more" is what I say. I'll continue this later. Take care.

...I Want To Bang On The Drum All Day!

I have had a day to reflect on the past weekend and although many parts to this unknown life of mine remain a mystery, I did have a moment of clarity during my lunch break. But let me go back in time for a moment...

I wasn't nervous leading up to the race. Not even on race day, standing among 40,000 runners. I wondered how I would feel or how much I would miss of all the things to see. Despite being with fellow Makeover participants, I was in a surreal moment, like in the movies when the main character is in slow motion while the rest of the world is in real time. In a word, peace. And HOW COOL was it when the first song on the loud speaker was a Van Halen song? The very song I had quoted to you all on a prior blog, 'Right Now'. At that moment it was clear that it was meant to be.
Much similar to everyone else's statement, the first 13 miles for me was a breeze. I felt no pain, no worry. By mile 16, however, concern set in. At 19, I was worried. Mile Marker 21 met me with a furrowed brow and doubt. 'Never went past 20 before. Just 5 more to go.' Honestly, I hadn't felt that sense of struggle since I was in bootcamp. It never occurred to me to quit, but I was annoyed at how those last five miles were much longer than the first 5 miles.
OH! And I saw the HOUND! I saw his spy first. I believe the owners were unsure I was staring down their dog, but he knew why. He never barked or moved. His eyes followed me until I was past him. When I looked back, there were runners blocking the view. But as they drifted along, I noticed that he was still staring at me. That was at mile 9, I think. Still going strong. I later saw the Basset Hound. Huge! Wouldn't look me in the eye. VICTORY! How sweet. I am only glad he wasnt't there at the latter part, but I have a feeling all those dogs along the way were his cronies.
Anyway, I was thinking back to when I started all this. I had doubts, others had doubts. But regardless of those doubts, it just felt right. I wasn't suppose to be anywhere else doing anything else. That's how it felt at the start and finish of the marathon. I ran, I danced and I laughed...and it was all to the beat of my own drum. And it felt right. Whenever I followed it, things seem to fall in place. I cut my hair, again. Despite the winces and 'What were you thinking?' questions, I know what I did felt right. There were times when I've pissed people off for following my own beat... But it felt right. Maybe my drum isn't the right pitch or the beat is calypso, whatever the case, I gotta do what feels right. Right?! (If I have ever caused any feelings of unease or discontent with any one of you at any time, know that it wasn't personal - the drum beat was probably ringing in my ear). So, I am no longer going to subdue the resounding echo that beckons me to follow. Nor will I be sorry for it.

As for writing a book... I don't know if I've even 'lived' enough to write a book. I think while I can still move fast enough, I'll keep moving and living. When I can't move as fast anymore, then I'll sit and write about it all. By then, I may have more answers than I do questions. (Don't you love the feeling of suspense?)

Though it was sad to see everyone leave the airport one by one - much like graduation - we all knew it had to be that way. For several months, however, we all shared the same beat. How sweet was that? I am excited and proud to say I ran with all you Marathoners. Mark, Robin and Matt, thanks for doing this a second year - you helped me grow. And to the Reservoir Rockettes - you kept me honest and laughing and let me follow my own beat. I'll see you next week - kicking and screaming every step of the way. To the rest of you...Fare thee well and God Bless.

....pa rum pum pum pum...

AIN'T NOTHIN' GONNA BREAKA MY STRIDE, AIN'T NOTHIN' GONNA SLOW ME DOWN! OH NO! I'VE GOT TO KEEP ON MOVIN'!!!

HEY!
If I don't get to the library during this busy week, this will be my last blog. So without further ado... I now bring you the final excerpts from the book, The Looniness of the Long Distance Runner... An unfit Londoner's attempt to run the New York City Marathon from scratch.

...Half of us runners are wearing old jumble sale clothes which we intend to discard before the race, therest are dressed as giant Power Bars thanks to a complimentary hand-out of yellow binliners printed with the logo of this energy-boosting snack.
...An announcement on the public address system informs us that the pre-Marathon religious services are about to start. We have a choice of denomination: Christian, Jewish or Muslim. The Muslims probably find themselves better stretched for the race with all the bowing they do and the Jews get to wear little hats to keep out the cold, but sadly I am stuck with the nominal faith of C of E.
...An Episcopal priest in full running kit hops up on the podium and delivers a rousing sermon about the "inner running" he has been doing inpreparation for the Marathon. This, he tells us, involves prayer, meditation and relaxation. And I'm the mug who's been slogging round Hampstead in the rain, I think ruefully. The priest says a short prayer and ends with, "Go for it! Amen." (God) probably is grateful for anyone He can get - but surely He draws the line at 200 worshippers singing "How Great Thou Art" dressed as Power Bars?
...Now it's time for Communion featuring, no doubt, Energy Hosts supplied by Power Bars Inc, enabling worshippers to combine Absolution with Carb-loading. I decide to pass on this and slip off to search for the so-called Longest Urinal in the World.
...My bowels and bladder are now thoroughly evacuated and I don't know what to do next. It's too cold to sit down, but I don't want to tire myself by just walking round and round....I decide to go to the loo again. Now out of any physiological need but because with a cold Atlantic wind now blowing the loos are the cosiest place to sit, especially after they have been used a few dozen times and the warmth is rising from the open cesspit beneath. As I stand in line - now 15 deep - one guy runs along a row of 75 cubicles banging on each door and shouting urgently: "Come on! Come on!" Terrified occupants emerge, jogging pants awry, fearing they have missed the start of the race.
...And excitable man takes the microphone and informs us that, "This is the New York City Marathon." As if some of us might be in the wrong race and not yet have noticed. "I'm so sorry", we might say, picking our way through the 25,000 strong crowd. " I thought this was Boston."
...I know I am not going to win this race, literally or metaphorically, but someone (and I hope lots of people) will finish behind me. Not coming last: that's the point.
...We are running, tightly bunched, now and the first thing I discover is that the Longest Urinal in the World is not a 100 metre gutter - it is the Verranzano Narrows Bridge. To my amazement less than half a kilometer into the race, men are lined up along the iron parapet voiding nervous bladders into the bay.
...One man is running backwards. Please God, don't let him beat me. Another man in dark glasses, presumably blind, is holding hands with a hopefully sighted companion.
...As well as spectators, we also encounter our first drink station. I grab two cups of water, drink one and pour the other one over my head. I'm not particularly hot or dehydrated, this is just what real marathoners do.
...A marathon is like a pregnancy. It is a huge endeavor that people undertake sometimes by choice, sometimes , like me, by chance. Once embarked on it you experience joy, fear and pain in various degrees. But you know you have to go through with it and that in the long term you won't regret what you've done. Now I am in the finish chute i am about to reach the marathoning equivalent to post-natal depression.
...Running is something we just assume we know how to do. It doesn't occur to us that we should have any lessons or take any advice on it. We would never be so complacent if we were thinking of hang-gliding or pole-vaulting. Yet most of us probably haven't refined our running technique since we scampered round the playground as infants.
...I pass a bench where a couple of runners are seated blank-faced and uncommunicating like old people. This is exactly what I want to do, I think, and hobble over. I sit down. Sure enough it hurts. I wonder if I'll be able to get up again. I don't care. I don't want to think about anything else. I stop existing and sit there for probably quite a while.
...I force myself up from the bench before my leg joints stiffen in a permanent sitting position. My mother has my tracksuit and money so my first thought, sensibly, is to find her. I must strike a pathetic and woeful figure as I trudge along and a concerned steward asks me if I want the medical tent. I shake my head. What I actually want is to burst into tears and shout "I want my Mummy" but I realize this would be embarrassing and unproductive as they don't know where she is either.
...The week after a marathon is spent trying to draw people's attention to your achievement. This is not so hard really. The fact that your aching calves oblige you to descend staircases backwards is bound to provoke comment. Then there is your medal. Throughout December mine was deplayed on the top of my Christmas tree for maximum visibility.

...I have now completed a marathon and thus have the right to call myself a runner...


I hope you enjoyed those as much as I did. I am trying to keep from laughing out loud in the library. I am not as nervous or excited yet. I may feel it the night before. I am just enjoying the carb-loading. I have faith that everyone will finish, even those that are doubting themselves. (Old habits die hard.) Just remember that you deserve good things and that if there were no challenges in life, how would you build your character? It takes a special calibre to embark on such a journey. We all embarked on this journey for a reason. You're not in this alone. Heck, you got 40,000 people stepping out on faith with you this Sunday. Yes, some have done it before, but each day is a new day...you never know. If you see someone struggling, give a word or hand. Positivity can be contagious if you let it be. So smile, pat yourself on the back and say "I've made it." One last run to complete the journey. If you give up now, you'll always wonder, 'what if'. And that is surely no way to live out the rest of your life.

Rockettes, I'll see you in the a.m. . To my fellow Marathoners, I'll see you Friday wearing a smile... and the rest of my clothes.