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The Week
Monday:
Monday
was to be the last hard workout prior to the Philly Half the following
Sunday. I felt recovered from the
beautiful Palisades run the previous Saturday and I was ready to go. According to my training plan, I had stayed
away from all races and speed workouts until the beginning of September. Philly was to be the first real race in
preparation for my running the Dublin Marathon. For the first time in almost a
year I would run a race full out. Many
months of hard training were behind me and now at last I would get some
feedback on how I was doing. It was a
long time to wait and I was a bit apprehensive. My goal for Philly was to break 1:40:00, something I hadn’t done
in 2½ years.
The workout was 5 x 800
in 3:20. I warmed up a couple of miles
and got to the 6th Street track on the East River at about 8:00
AM. I hit the intervals in 3:24, 3:17,
3:20, 3:19 and 3:20. I was exhausted
but happy as I ran the mile back home as a cool down. As I said in a note to a friend that day: "The intervals went
fine … pretty damn consistent. I am getting confident and really positive about
Philly and then Dublin. … We can do lunch on Friday … you can wish me well for
Philly."
Tuesday, Sept. 11 2001, 8:48 AM - the world changed:
I was on a train to visit
my elderly aunt in Westchester. When we
got off the train around 10:00 o’clock, we couldn’t believe what we were
hearing. The images on TV were like
scenes from a movie. All day we spent our
time watching the drama unfold and trying to call everyone, our family, our
friends who worked downtown, everyone, anyone.
We couldn’t get back to
Manhattan and stayed overnight with my aunt. It was a sleepless night. We
wondered every time we heard a plane, what it was, was it another?
Wednesday:
I thought
about the half marathon I was supposed to do and I didn’t know if I should go,
I didn’t know if it would be held, I didn’t know if I could get there even if I
wanted to go.
I read an email message
from Ed Altman (thank God he was safe!) that there would be a group run that
night in the Park in lieu of the regular speed workout. I knew it would help to go, so I went up and
met the group. We had some discussion
and a moment of silence and then we started north around the park. I couldn’t help but think of that night in
September 1995 when I ran alone along this same path in the twilight and ran by
the candles in memory of Maria Montiero who was killed while running in the
Park the previous Sunday. In reflection
at that time I wrote: "There were flowers on one side of the road and
candles lighting the twilight on the other . . . What can one do? . . . When we lose one of our own we are all
diminished . . . The only answer is to
help, to care, to love one another."
The flowers and candles are back again, but the same answer is true,
truer today than ever before. We only
have each other!
While walking back to get
my bag I saw a chalk message scrawled by de la Vega on 79th Street: "An
eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind"
Thursday:
On
Thursday, the web site for the Philly Half said that the event would go on as
planned. I decided, based in part by
the lift to my spirit from last night’s run, that I would go. I emailed those whom I knew to be going and
Terry affirmed that he too felt it was the right thing to do. I took the day off from running
Later that day, my
daughter Susan called from her home on Portland, Oregon and said the one thing
she wished she had was an "I Love NY" T-shirt. I was touched in a nice way by this.
Friday:
It was
raining on Friday morning and I went for an easy run with Sarah. We headed down
along the East River Park but the deep puddles blocked our progress, so we
decided to just do some loops on the 6th Street track. As we made the rounds I remembered the
intervals I had done here on Monday, just 4 days but an eternity ago
Lunch with my friend was
cancelled. She was going home to be
with her mom. She had lost 2 close friends. "I need to go home.
Good luck this weekend. I hope that you have a great run! We're so lucky
we can run." Yes, we are so very lucky!
I found a poem on the
Internet written by the English Poet Siegfried Sassoon, who served in the
trenches in World War I. The Dragon
and the Undying - published in 1917. I
found it strangely prophetic, and the images perhaps more relevant today than
they were at the time they were set down:
The Dragon and the Undying
by Siegfried Sassoon (1917)
All night the flares go up; the Dragon sings
And beats upon the dark with furious wings;
And, stung to rage by his own darting fires,
Reaches with grappling coils from town to town;
He lusts to break the loveliness of spires,
And hurls their martyred music toppling down
Yet, though the slain are homeless as the breeze,
Vocal are they, like storm-bewilder'd seas.
Their faces are the fair, unshrouded night,
And planets are their eyes, their ageless dreams.
Tenderly stooping earthward from their height,
They wander in the dusk with chanting streams,
And they are dawn-lit trees, with arms up-flung,
To hail the burning heavens they left unsung
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Saturday:
I
took the train down to Philadelphia but didn’t find anyone I knew either at the
station or on the train. I got to the
hotel and checked in and then went in to get my number. The energy of the crowd felt good and except
for some grating music that seemed out of place, it was good to be with these
fit and energetic folks. I met up with
David and Marge Kos and we did a little catching up. I then bumped into Moninne from my Tuesday night group, and then
I saw Joel, Simone, Jay and finally Terry and Anne. It was good to be among friends.
I wasn’t up for anything
organized, so I wandered down to the lobby to decide where to go by
myself. There I unexpectedly ran into
my old friend C. She had a happy
glowing look on her face and somehow seemed to escape the somberness most
people were feeling. She came over and,
after a hug, said: "I’m expecting twins". This short announcement literally turned my mood around.
The wonder and excitement of new life drove
away the negative thoughts, and some of C’s happiness infected me.
Then I saw Debbie and
Joel, together with some of their group, and realizing I belonged with friends, I
invited myself along to the dinner they had organized. We took a few cabs to the Spaghetti
Warehouse, and there we met more of the group.
We had a fun meal where talk alternated between politics and personal
matters: a new girl friend, a hair color, what to have for dessert.
I was pretty somber, and mostly stayed out
of the conversation, but when I looked over at C, her obvious happy glow
cheered my spirit. We returned to the hotel, very full and tired, and I slept
better than I had for the last 4 nights.
The Race
Sunday, Race day:
I got up
about 6:30 AM and was remarkably well organized, considering my mental
state. I ate something and got dressed
for the race. I jogged to the start,
about a mile. There some Gospel Music
was playing loudly on the PA system, but this time it was more uplifting than
grating.
Before the start we had a
moment of silence, and then the race organizer read off two bib numbers of
people who were registered to be here, but were lost in the tragedy. One was for a woman named Danielle who was
just turning 30. This was a chilling
moment. We then held hands and all sang
"God Bless America" which was quite moving. I did my best to focus on the task at hand and I was determined to do my
best, and in so doing try to affirm life in the face of death.
The Start:
When the horn went off (I’m glad this time it
wasn’t a gun) we surged forward. My
part of the pack had a few bumps and stops, but by the actual starting line we
were running free. The race starts down
Market Street and goes over a long highway overpass just in sight of the
Delaware River and turns back, emptying into Walnut Street.
This is a lovely street of shops and parks.
I never did see the
marker for mile 1, but I tried to rein in my excitement and get into a steady
pace. I was supposed to run the first
two miles in 7:45s, but there was no way to know.
Mile 2, 15:20:
At the 2nd mile mark, the clock said 15:20. I
thought I had lost about 15 seconds at the start so this gives a bit over a 7:30
pace, a bit too fast, but what can you do. (Couldn’t go back, that’s for sure.)
Later I would discover that the actual start delay was close to 30
seconds, so the first 2 miles averaged 7:26.
It’s probably better I didn’t know this at the time – one more thing to
worry about.
Mile 3, 7:34:
As we came around the traffic circle by the
museum, just before crossing over the river, I tried to lock myself into a
steady rhythm. I repeated the mantra:
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[Smooth, strong. Smooth, strong.]
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and fell into a more
consistent, controlled pace. I noticed
that underneath my mantra, another rhythm, an inner cadence, came into my mind.
I realized it was the
tune "God Bless America" which had gotten into my head and would stay there for
the entire race. I seized onto it to
help steady my pace. Very often while I
run, a tune will keep me company for mile after mile.
[From the mountains, to the prairies,
From the mountains, to the prairies,]
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I pushed the pace
slightly to get under 7:30 per mile and felt strong as we crossed to the west
side of the Schuylkill River.
Mile 4, 7:28:
As we started moving down the lovely parkway along
the river, I noticed the beautiful old trees along both sides. I had a fleeting
thought of the image of the spirits embodied in the trees in the Sassoon poem,
and also thought of how this country is not just steel and concrete, brick and
mortar, but trees, water and all the beauty of nature together with strong
determined people like those around me now, which could not be taken from us.
[From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam.]
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Mile 5, 7:20:
Miles 4 and 5 had been solid and strong. For some reason my thoughts suddenly turned
to cell phones and those poignant messages that went out from those facing
death. I though to myself what would I
say if I could call Joy or the kids one last time, and had only a few seconds
to talk? In practically all the
conversations we read about, no one talked of hate or of revenge. It was just one thing.
It was everything. "I love you". In the end there is nothing else.
[I love you. I love you
I love you. I love you.]
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Mile 6, 7:34:
After a couple of miles on the parkway my pace
fell off slightly and I knew I needed some help. Ahead of me I saw a young man who looked strong who was running
just slightly faster than me. Call him
"Red Shorts, No Shirt" (RSNS). I
connected myself to RSNS and let him pull me along. I slowly closed the gap and
stayed with him for about 2 miles.
Mile 7, 7:26:
My pace and strength was steady but I noticed a
slight twinge in my right hamstring. I
decided to squelch this with a new mantra:
[Strong form, strong form.
Strong form, strong form.]
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At around 8 miles we
cross Falls Bridge back to the east side of the Schuylkill and head back to the
finish. As we approached the bridge I was able to pass RSNS and move
ahead. My hamstring felt better but now
I needed a new helper.
[Stand beside her, and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above.]
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Mile 8, 7:26:
The marker for mile 8 is right in the middle of the bridge. When I hit my watch, I somehow hit the wrong
button, and suddenly it was off in some weird mode.
I was discombobulated and almost decided to give up keeping my
splits, but finally I pulled myself together, got my watch back into the right
mode and relaxed. It’s funny how a
little unexpected stupid thing like that can break your concentration.
I looked for another helper and saw "Woman
with Short Hair and Tattoo" (WWSH&T).
But after trying for a couple of minutes, I couldn’t hold on to her, so
I cast about, without success, for another helper.
Mile 9, 7:21:
At mile 9 WWSH&T started coming back to me so
I made another attempt to connect. This
time I could hold on and I felt that, unlike last year at his point, my
strength would not fall off in these backstretch miles. I held on to WWSH&T.
[Thru the night with a light from above.
From the mountains, to the prairies,]
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Mile 10, 7:26:
By mile 10, I knew I would make my goal of
1:40. But wouldn’t you know it, a voice
in my head started to say: "OK, you’ve made your goal, now slow down".
I pushed to resist this temptation and hold
my pace. It was not so hard physically
as it was mentally.
Mile 11, 7:21:
Around mile 11, I was running next to
WWSH&T. She had helped me through
this difficult period and I felt bad to move ahead of her but I knew I must do
that. As RSNS had done, WWSH&T had
done what she had come here to do.
[From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam.]
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The 12th mile
goes up a gradual incline to the Museum. Hardly perceptible if you were driving, this mile can sap your remaining
strength and slow your pace if you are unprepared – physically or mentally.
Mile 12, 7:34:
The split
was slightly slower, but the incline was past and now there was nothing left to
do but just do it. My mind and body
complained that surely I could slow down now, but I endeavored to go on.
I tried to look good for the photographer at
the traffic circle but I’m afraid I just looked beat – which I was.
There was no 13th mile marker, but later I calculated I had done a 7:19 for this last full
mile. Don’t ask me how this came to be
my fastest mile, but I guess I just hung in there.
I wish there was a way to remember how to make these efforts, but
it just has to happen when it happens. In the last .1 mile, who
should pass me, but RSNS!. But this was
OK, he had done what he came for, and now he could do his own thing.
At the last, we’re all on our own.
[God bless America, my home sweet home.
God bless America, my home, sweet home!]
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Finish, 1:38:03 (chip 1:37:35):
Home! Yes, home, sweet home. Staggering past the finish line, I was
exhausted, almost sick. I had given it
my best shot. My time was very
satisfying, and there was no doubt that the positive energy had trumped the
negative. At the last we’re not
all on our own, but we’re all together! My time was the best I have done in 4
years and my pace was more consistent than I had ever done before. At long
last, my training showed some real positive feedback
I got some refreshments
and started to look for friends who had finished, and I noticed that
subconsciously, my inner cadence had changed it’s tune. No longer was "God Bless America" going
through my head but suddenly it was that old Sinatra Favorite: "New York, New
York". Maybe it was the conversations
with strangers who, seeing my New York Flyer singlet, would ask: "Are you from
there?" "Did you know anyone?" It was clear that people from everywhere cared a
great deal about our hometown. The tune
would simply not leave my head and stayed in my subconscious even on the train
ride home.
[Start spreadin’ the news, I’m leavin’ today,
I want to be a part of it - New York, New York.]
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I bumped into WWSH&T
on the refreshment line and thanked her for pulling me along from mile 9
through 11. She recognized me and
thanked me also. She said I had helped pull her along and had finished just
seconds behind me. It was good to know
that energy can flow both ways and can help both, when two runners are pushing
each other. (Or two peolple are helping each other!)
[These vagabond shoes are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it - New York, New York.]
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I found first David and
then almost at the same time, Marge Kos. I caught them right at the finish, so they were exhausted, looking for
water, for relief, for food. I helped
direct them to the food and headed back that way myself.
[I wanna wake up in a city that doesn’t sleep
And find I’m king of the hill - top of the heap.]
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I then found Anne, who
was literally beaming; she had run a 6-minute PR! I told her I was very happy with my time too, but no, it was not
a PR. (My PR was in 1990 and I won’t be
seeing that again.)
[These little town blues are melting away,
I’ll make a brand new start of it in old New York.]
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I circled back again and
ran into first Jay and then Moninne, Jo, Joel and Debbie and the whole Tuesday
night group together with the crowd I had dinner with last night.
There was a general feeling of accomplishment
from everyone concerned. And then there was C, just standing there, glowing
with a new life force.
[If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere
It’s up to you - New York, New York.]
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Going Home
I finally headed back to
the hotel to clean up and check out. And as I walked from the hotel to Suburban Station around noon, the
whole race setup was practically dismantled. I suppose the local travelers were glad to see this disruption to their
everyday life gone.
[I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps,
And find I’m A number one, top of the list, king of the hill, A number one.]
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The train ride home was long and tiresome. I didn’t find another runner on the entire train,
first the SEPTA train to Trenton, and then the NJ Transit train from Trenton to Penn Station.
Numerous passengers got on, especially at 30th Street station and at Princeton. The car was
filled to overflowing, with some passengers actually standing. I sat crammed into a seat with two young
Princeton co-eds who were talking about doing their laundry and other day-to-day inanities. It seemed an
inordinately crowded train for mid Sunday afternoon. My stiff, tired legs were uncomfortably stuffed into the seat in
front of me.
[These little town blues are melting away
I’m gonna make a brand new start of it in old New York.]
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When we passed the Newark
station and crossed the Jersey Meadows, I glanced at the lower Manhattan
skyline and got my first good glimpse of that empty, ghostly skyline. My head was filled with things that couldn’t
be put into words.
[And If I can make it there, I’m gonna make it anywhere,
It’s up to you - New York, New York.]
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Finally the train entered
the tunnel, and I thought: It sure feels good to be home.
We're gonna make a brand new start of it in old New York
Yes, we can make it here, they’ll see it everywhere,
It’s up to us - New York, New York.
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Postscript
Friday, Sept. 21, 2001, 2:17 PM:
Life and love have the last word! Jarod, my first grandchild, is born.
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