Broad Street Through the Eyes of a First Timer

**Note, I wrote this 2 weeks ago, but as life would have it, I haven't had a chance to finish it up until today**

This time last week I was experiencing the thrill of a lifetime: running the Broad Street 10 Miler for the very first time.

There is a lot of hype about Broad Street. It's THE largest 10 mile race in the country.

I marked the day in numbers as I went along.

40,000 people
10 miles
1 road

If you read my previous post you know what this race meant to me.

So, I wanted to give you a glimpse into what it was like to run 10 miles for the very first time in my life.

The alarm clock rang at 5:15am. I'd been awake since 4:30. Butterflies having a dance party in my stomach. Restless legs just waiting, waiting for the moment when they could be unleashed to do what I'd been training them to do.

I got up, quickly showered, went downstairs, could not eat a thing. Way too nervous.

I drove to my friend Stephanie's house in Gibbstown. She works for Shriners Hospital for Children. It happens to be located right on Broad Street, and she was leading a cheer section outside the hospital this year. She has run the race before and had offered to drop me off at the start line so I could avoid the subway.  She was my saving grace that morning. She kept reminding me that I could do this. That I would do this!

She dropped me off a block from the start. Her sage advice: get in line for the porta-pots immediately. And when you're done, go back around and get back in line and go again.

Genius.  I got in line three times.  I'm 30 and a mother of 2. 'Nuff said.

Already by 7am there were thousands of people milling around. I walked past the start line to find my corral. I went a block... still not there... went another block...  still not there... then another block....only then could I see the pink flag of my corral off in the distance.

Back of the pack baby.

I jumped into line with the rest of the pink corral. I looked around, marveling that I was surrounded by 40,000 other people and didn't know a soul around me. Stephanie had encouraged me that I would make friends in my corral.  I had laughed at her. In case you didn't know this about me, I am an introvert. Small talk ain't my thing.

But I noticed two girls standing awkwardly near me. They were wondering if they were in the right place. I saw the pink color on their race bibs and assured them that they had found the right spot. It was getting close to 7:30 and they still hadn't gotten in that crazy porta-pot line. We needed to be in our spots by 7:40.  I told them they better get moving. The lines were at least 30 minutes long at that point. I asked them if they'd brought toilet paper. A look of realization dawned on them.

40,000 people + 300 porta pots= not enough toilet paper


I had read about ten or so Broad Street blogs and articles ahead of time. They all said you make friends when you bring your own toilet paper. I still had some left in my clear race bag and offered it up to them. One of the girls said, "Thank you! You are my savior today!"

2 friends made.

As the time drew closer for everyone to get in their corrals the space around me started to shrink. As I looked around I saw people of all ages, shapes, sizes, and ability. My heart beat faster. As far as I could see ahead of me and behind me were people.  News helicopters hovered overhead, getting ready to cover the race.

A group of girls my age stood next to me. One of the girls had a shirt that read Running slow isn't a character flaw. Quitting is. 

I was totally in the right corral. These are my kind of people.

We waited in our corral. The race was supposed to start at 8am. I shifted my weight back and forth from foot to foot, getting antsy. It was breezy and I was glad I had brought a fleece to wear. Stephanie had told me that people wear old shirts to keep warm and then throw them on the ground as the race began. Race volunteers would collect the clothes and give them to a shelter after the race.

8am came and went. I was so far in the back I have no idea if the race started then or not. All I know is I didn't move an inch.

8:30... 8:45... still not moving.

Finally just before 9 we began to inch forward. A large roar from our corral filled the air as we knew our moment was coming.

I was close to the front of the line. I stood just under the start line, looking ahead at the runners who had already begun. The moment I had been waiting for was just seconds ahead.

7 months to the day of my knee surgery. 
3 months of training
Years of dreaming about doing this

The gun went off and we started running. Suddenly, all the nervousness I had been feeling standing in my corral evaporated.

One foot in front of the other. The sun was shining, people were cheering, music grooving in my ear.

Stephanie had told me she would be between miles two and three.  Typically in my training that is my hardest mile. My legs usually feel heavy and I wish I were sitting on my couch stuffing Doritos in my mouth. I don't hit my groove until after 4 miles.

Not today.

As I ran that first mile, gratitude like I have never felt washed over me. My whole body tingled with excitement and that phrase "my cup runneth over" couldn't be more accurate.

That morning a friend had given me the advice to take some time during the race to look around and just take it all in.

I looked ahead of me. A sea of runners stretched out as far as my eyes could see. Heads bobbing up and down. William Penn off in the distance. I looked to my left, people lined the streets clapping and cheering.

Tears came to my eyes.

I'm running Broad Street.   

I'm really doing this. 

I'm here. I made it. 

Suddenly I passed the 2 mile marker.

What? Two miles already?

Ok, only a few more until I see Stephanie.

I moved over to the left side of the road where I knew she would be standing.

I saw her before she saw me. I raised my hands over my head, waving. A broad smile came across her  face as she gave me a huge hug as I passed her.

There's something about seeing someone you know cheering for you with all their might.

I kept running. Suddenly I passed mile 3.

3 miles already?! Usually I hate mile 3! It felt like nothing!

I felt my phone buzz. My texts hadn't been working that morning because of the overload of people in one place. But I'm so glad I got this one.

Ok. Starting mile 4.

William Penn is getting closer. He's at mile 6.

I'm coming for you William. 

Mile 5. It's getting hot now. The sun is beating down. I stop at my first water station. A volunteer hands me a cup. Instead of drinking it I dump it on my head. She laughs and asks if I want the whole jug dumped on me. I smile and tell her yes. I lean back and she pours half a gallon on my head.

I get back out there. I'm getting closer to City Hall. I'm feeling it a little bit in my legs, but the excitement keeps me going.

But I keep cruisin'
Can't stop won't stop movin'
It's like I got this music
In my mind , saying it's gonna be alright.

Suddenly I'm at City Hall. The crowds are picking up. The streets are lined with fans. I feel like a professional athlete. There are funny signs everywhere.

An old lady stands in the middle with a sign that says, "Gram's here!"

A row of girls holds up signs that say, "Run like there's a hot guy at the finish!"

Someone else's says, "Your feet hurt because you're kicking so much ass."

Oh yeah that's right. I got this!

We round City Hall and I realize that I've left William behind. I'm already headed to mile 7. Running a strong 11/11:30 minute mile. Pre-knee injury that would have been slow for me, but since the surgery, my knees feel the best when I keep it at an 11 minute mile.

In the weeks leading up to the race a lot of people had asked me, "Are you running for time or running to finish?" I'd had a lot of setbacks so I said without hesitation every time, "Running to finish." But let's face it, I'm always trying to best myself. I really wanted to finish in under 2 hours. It looked like I might actually do it!

Mile 7 arrived. It was one of the miles with a chip timer on the road laid flat like a line across the road. I knew Ben was tracking me real time, and had gotten updates at miles 3 and 5 already.

As soon as I saw the mile 7 marker in the distance I sprinted with all I had and stomped on that chip timer as hard as I could. BOOM! 7 miles. Done.

I only found out later that the mile 7 timer was acting up, and he never got that update... and was hoping my knees hadn't given out and that I was still running.

Miles seven through eight are a blur. I was starting to get fatigued. I turned my music up even louder and tried to focus on the beat and the lyrics.

Sometimes I change lyrics as I go to make them about running.

We're a thousand miles from comfort, we have traveled land and sea
But as long as I am running, there's no place I'd rather be
If you gave me a chance I would take it
It's a shot in the dark but I'll make it 

This is my chance. It's a shot in the dark but there's no place I'd rather be.

I cross the mile 8 marker. Just after I cross I get a sharp pain in my left knee. The one that I did not get surgery on. The one that I have not had a problem with before.

As I keep running, the pain worsens. My knee tightens up. It's having a hard time going through the range of motion. I start to worry that it's going to give out on me. The pain is identical to what I had in my right knee before I got surgery.

Up to this point I had not walked in the race. I'd been alternating a jog with a faster sprint as I neared the mile markers. I knew at this point I would need to slow it down and really make the goal to finish in one piece.

I slowed to a walk. I counted to 60. My knee loosened up a bit. I started back at a slower pace. I was limping.

Mile 9 approached.

Half a mile to go before I get to see Ben.

It was the distraction I desperately needed.

People around me were dropping like flies. They'd come to a full halt in the middle of the road, as though they couldn't take another step.

Keep going. One foot in front of the other.

I was approaching the overpass, and knew he was in the crowd somewhere. But there were so many people, I ran along the left edge of the road scanning the crowd over and over. I stopped thinking about my knee.

Suddenly, I saw him, standing at the top of a hill. I started waving like a wild woman, a huge smile across my face.

This was the moment that had kept me going through months of training.  On the runs when I was tired or sore or hot or cold, I would imagine seeing Ben on the sidelines, cheering for me.

Suddenly I was supercharged with renewed energy. I sprinted towards him and gave him a high five.

Only half a mile to go!

I was really going to finish!

The Navy Yard sign glistened in the sun ahead of me. A beacon of hope. Only a quarter mile to the finish.

As I approached the finish line, my throat closed in, my eyes welled up in tears. I threw both hands up over my head in victory.

10 miles.

1 finish line

1 impossible goal achieved

I looked down at my watch.

1 hour and 56 minutes.

I had done it. I had really done it.

I made my way through a sea of people and got into the line for my finisher medal.

As I hung it around my neck my whole being filled with gratitude. I soaked in the moment, feeling a sense of pride I have never experienced before.

Ben met me shortly after in the Navy Yard, beaming with pride. It's a pretty fantastic feeling when you make your husband so visibly proud of you. Months of cheering me on, watching the kids, and kicking me out the door when I was too tired to train. I'm a lucky girl.

We went out for lunch to celebrate, and then home for a long, long nap.

I could hardly walk down steps the next day. And even now, a week later, my knee is still giving me trouble.

But it was worth every ache and pain. I wish I could run it again today. It was that thrilling.

I don't know what my running future looks like. Don't know if another surgery is on the horizon. Don't know if I will ever get to run 10 miles again.

But this time I did it. And it was incredible.

Thank you to my friends who encouraged me during my training. And a huge thank you to the city of Philadephia, the incredible fans,  especially Stephanie and Ben who made the day unforgettable.

Broad Street Run... what's the big deal?

If you follow me on Facebook you know I've been blowing up my own newsfeed with updates on my training for the Broad Street Run. My running friends have been posting tips, articles, and encouragement. If you're not a runner, you might be thinking, "what's the big deal?"

Let me explain.

This race is a defining moment for me.

Scratch that.

This whole experience: the training, the failures, the successes, all of it has been a defining moment for me.

If you're not familiar with the Broad Street Run, it is the country's largest 10 mile race. 40,000 runners will follow a course straight through the heart of Philadelphia on Sunday, May 3rd.

I'm one of the 40,000. In fact, my race bib is #39450. I don't know if I was one of the last 50 to get into the race or if I'm one of the 50 slowest. Either one is a strong possibility.

This is my first 10 mile race. In fact, it is the first race I have ever entered that is longer than 3.2 miles.

A lot of people have been asking me when I tell them I am running it, "Have you always been a runner?"

Every single time I hear that question I laugh out loud. Sometimes I wonder if what they really mean by "have you always been a runner" is actually "so is this easy for you... you know, like second nature?"

The answer is a resounding HELL NO.

I have never before been a runner. In fact, in high school I played field hockey, and the thing I hated most about the sport was running. I only ran because I had to get in good enough shape to play. Running was a necessary evil.

So what changed?  A lot of things, really. I had my first child in 2010, and I was unhappy with the extra baby weight. I heard about a 5k coming up in the spring that a group from church was running, and I thought hey, I think maybe I could do that. I trained for 3 months, I lost most of the weight, and I completed the race.

Running became an opportunity to get outside without my kids, listen to music with lyrics I'm not allowed to play in the car (Meghan and Katy I'm talking to you), and an opportunity to push myself. I started to think maybe there was something to this whole running thing.

A few months after my first 5k my dad, sister, and brother were diagnosed with muscular dystrophy. It is a genetic disease that is progressive. It takes over your whole body, weakens muscles, and causes extreme fatigue. My dad had been showing symptoms for a while, but for years no one was able to diagnose it.

My dad used to be a marine. He could run 15 miles with a 40 pound pack on his back. He used to fly planes, play tennis, was an avid skier. This disease has changed all that. It's taken away a lot of what he loved to do. I've watched the progression of it and I've felt helpless to do anything about it. I can't cure it, can't change it, can't make it go away.

But I can run.

What's the connection?

For me, when I am out there running I'm feeling my heart beat fast, my lungs burn, my legs ache. And I feel alive. I think about how I am the only one of my siblings who was spared the disease, and I think I run because I can. I run because it's hard. I run because with every single step I feel like I'm fighting for my family. I'm doing something hard because they do something hard every single day.

After my son was born in 2013 I set a huge goal for myself. To run a half marathon. 13.1 miles. About 6 weeks before the race I injured some cartilage in my knee and ended up having knee surgery.  That was October 3, 2014. I was crushed that I had spent so many months training only to fail at my goal.  The day I went in for surgery the doctor asked me if I was ready. I remember looking him in the eye and saying, "I'm ready. I'm running Broad Street in May."

After the surgery the doctor said he'd found arthritis already starting in that knee. He said in the big picture, running long distances probably wouldn't be the best idea for me.

I spent almost 3 months in physical therapy to get my knee strong again. I wrapped my mind around the fact that I would need to adjust my goals and accept my physical limitations.

But Broad Street was still calling my name. It was the impossible goal.

I started back into some short runs. My knee was feeling pretty good. Sometimes it would hurt because I was so paranoid about whether or not it was going to hurt. I was afraid to push it too hard.

Then in January, I saw that they had announced the day of the Broad Street lottery. It would be held in early February. It was now or never. I had to decide then and there if I was going to do this thing.

I signed up. I held my breath. The day I got the email that I had been accepted into the race I was both excited and terrified.

What if I failed? What if my body failed me again?

And see that's where things started to change. I realized that my fear of failure was not stronger than my determination.  I also realized that whether or not I actually finished the race wasn't the biggest point. The point was to put myself back out there, push my limits, take a risk.

I started telling everyone who has ears that I was running Broad Street. Some of you might think I'm bragging. That could not be further from my motivation. In fact, I told everyone I knew so that whenever I thought about quitting I'd remember the sheer number of people I would have to face and admit that I had quit. It was my insurance policy to keep going.

I trained for 3 months. In that time I had to take off a week while my husband was away and my kids refused to stay in babysitting at the gym. Then I had to take off another 2 weeks for bronchitis.

My training hasn't been what I'd hoped.

But isn't that life?

We plan ahead. We set goals. We hope for the best. And sometimes life doesn't cooperate.

But I am wiser this time around. I'm listening to my body more. I'm reminding myself that just the fact that I didn't give up in the middle of this training is a win.

That's the great thing about running. I've always been a competitive person. I'm in it to win it. But with running, even though it is a race, I'm not racing anyone but myself. I'll never be an elite runner. I am the back of the pack, last corral, 11 minute mile and proud of it girl. And with every single mile I clock, I've won.

For that mile, I have silenced the demons of doubt, discouragement, fear, and negativity. For that mile I have proven to myself that I am stronger than I thought I was. For that mile I am truly alive. 

Tomorrow is race day. It is exactly seven months to the day from when I had my knee surgery. It is going to be the culmination of a long journey filled with disappointment and some failures.  But mostly, it is going to be the moment when all of my hard work and refusal to give up is rewarded by the satisfaction of knowing I have just done something I literally thought was impossible. The  big shiny medal around my neck is just a plus.

I looked up the definition of bragging. It says that it is saying something in a boastful manner. One synonym is "swagger."

You know what? I do have a little bit of a swagger. And it is not the "I'm better than you swagger." No, it's the I just did what I thought I could never do swagger. And I am owning it.

That is the other great thing about runners. I never used to call myself that, but let's face it, I am one now. The running community is full of people who are doing something they never thought they could do. And they love to celebrate each other. I have friends who could LITERALLY run Broad Street twice before I even finish it once. And you know what they're saying to me? Jenny, I am so proud of you! You are amazing! I have a friend that ran it in the past, and whose time I could never come close to. And you know what she said to me today? Jenny, I am so proud to know you.

 It doesn't matter how fast you go, how far you go, what races you actually complete. We're all in it together. We're cheering for each other.

I saw a snarky Facebook post about "runners just shut up" today. It was funny, it made me laugh. It probably does get annoying when people post all day about their runs. But clearly the author doesn't get it. I know that's cliche, but really he just doesn't get it. We're not posting because we think we're better than you. We're posting because we just feel so alive. We are doing what we didn't think we could. We're not judging you. We're not saying you should do it. We're just so grateful for the experience.

Tomorrow is a big day for me. I am incredibly nervous. I literally tear up every single time I think about it. It might be corny. I don't care. This IS a big damn deal.

I'm running for my dad. I'm running for me. I'm running because I can. And I am really, really, proud of what I have done.