Wet & Wild Sunday

The weather, that is.

On Sunday, April 25, seven of us from CHCC completed the More/Fitness Magazine Women's Half-Marathon in Central Park. Two years ago Dee, Tina Haig (Bryan's wife) and I walked in this race, kind of on a whim, and had a great time. So this year we recruited several more of our colleagues to join the fun: Kari and Elaina (whom you'll see manning our front desk in Lawrenceville); Liz, who may have set you up with heat and electric stim; and Val, our part-time PT who was Bryan's fill-in on Monday evenings. We walked every Sunday morning in Tyler Park in Newtown, the one place we could find with some formidable hills not unlike Central Park.

We were ready, mentally and physically. The only thing out of our control was the weather - and was it ever out of control. Saturday evening before the race, we gathered at Dee's house for excess carbs and a pep talk. We could no longer deny what each of us had been fretting about all week - the rain. All reports indicated a Nor'easter would be squatting right over top of Central Park from 8am to 11am - precisely race time. We quickly rethought our plans for footwear, gear, and travel, then parted to try and get a good night's sleep.

I awoke at 4:30am Sunday morning to a slight drizzle, which, as the morning progressed, became a solid downpour. Dee's husband Larry was kind enough to drive us through a mess of wind and rain on the NJ Turnpike and deliver us almost to the start point of the race; yet even that short walk to the start point was enough to drench us. Still, our spirits were high; I remember thinking, this isn't so bad.

The rain was relentless, then joined by a cold wind about 90 minutes into the race. We did our best to stay together throughout, since this one was more about camaraderie and fun than personal records, but keeping track of your friends amongst thousands of women - all looking the same as you, sopping wet in hoods and baseball caps - was nearly impossible. By mile 8 I was alone, soaked to my skin, cold, and in a battle with a thought that kept pushing itself to the foreground of my mind: this just sucks.

While we spent most of the time walking, there came a point where breaking into a run was actually a relief. So run I did, splashing through the rivulets running down the side of the path, fighting the blasts of cold wind, scanning the crowd for a familiar hood. Aside from the additional weight of my saturated shoes, running felt right.

Two miles later I heard a voice: "JILL!" It was Tina, and she, too was alone. So she caught up to me and we finished the last 1.1 miles together. As we rounded the last bend, I saw Bryan under a dripping umbrella, his jeans soaked up to his knees, running along the side with us. (He spent the morning criss-crossing the park in that mess, looking for at least one of us, never able to discern a familiar face in the crowd of women). It was nice to cross the finish line with a companion.

So we finished, all of us: soaked, frigid, plastered with wet leaves, starving, tired, but triumphant. Later, as the bedraggled lot of us sat in a warm restaurant on the Upper East Side eating omlettes and giant hamburgers, I momentarily thought of asking cheerily, so who's ready to do this next year?!? I reconsidered, deciding that the warm slices of raisin bread I would probably be pelted with were too valuable at that moment to be wasted.

Almost two weeks later, all our aches and pains have dissipated and we're none the worse for wear. I think it's safe to bring up the subject of next year to my compadres. My answer: sign me up!