Cue: Rocky Theme Song

There is nothing more definitively Philadelphia than "Rocky." I think every Philadelphian, in the back of their head, envisions themselves as a kind of underdog faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges. As 19,000 of my closest friends lined up on Broad Street on Sunday morning, the scent of Rocky was in the air. Actually the music was too as a speaker blared "Eye of the Tiger." I think everyone felt like they had a bit of Balboa in them.

In the beginning of my training I dreaded the long runs and the idea of doing Broad Street. But in the days leading up to Broad Street I was really excited. I had gotten in some great long runs and felt good. We kicked around some times and thought maybe, if conditions were right, I could eek out a 1:30.

The week before I was a good little runner and followed Tom's advice to taper. This is hard to do. I enjoy my running and the idea that I should back off some is a hard pill to swallow. But, Tom is fairly knowledgeable in this area so I was a good student and listened.

Tom and I had talked a lot about what to expect race day but you can't really appreciate it until you see it. Runners of all shapes and sizes and abilities everywhere. Cramming 19,000 people on to Broad Street is a major organizational feat. We started near Broad and Olney and the sea of people was overwhelming. At one point Tom lifted me up so I could see the waves of people and I was stunned.

We lined up: me, Tom, and our babysitter Molly. Tom had tweaked his hamstring earlier in the week and wasn't ready to race. So, with Survivor blaring at us, off we went. Getting the sea of people to move was a bit like herding cattle. No one seemed to line up where they were supposed to. People who were running 15 minute miles were ahead of me trying to run under 9 minute miles. And then there were the walkers. Perhaps they missed the all important word "race" in their registration. And then there were the rec center kids creating a slowly moving wall covering almost all of Broad. And then there were the people who just stopped short. And the people who repeatedly almost tripped me, clipping my heels to get a drink of water.

I tried not to let any of this get to me but it was frustrating. Molly or I would see a hole and surge through it only to slow down again. It was a lot of stop and go which made it hard to establish any kind of pace. Tom was keeping our splits for us and I was surprised we could even pull out 8:45 miles with the mess in front of us.

To fly down Broad Street was exciting. To come down the hill and see City Hall looming ahead was pretty cool. But honestly, we were working so hard trying to keep a pace and avoid clumps of slow moving people, the scenery went by rather quickly. When we hit City Hall I was actually surprised it had gone by that quickly. Bystanders were cheering or moaning that they just wanted to cross the street. The crowds began to thicken, some random bands were out, and the excitement was growing. All this came at a good time for me.

Once we headed around to South Broad, my legs started to really ache. I felt like that was the moment I really started working. 4 miles left and we began to pick it up some. The crowd finally began to thin and I felt my breathing start to kick in. The knees began to ache and I felt a damned stitch come on. As soon as I felt it I panicked. I have this thing with stickers. I don't know why I get them but I've gotten them so bad in the past, they're brought to a painful stop.

I began deep breathing on the alternate foot which seems to help me. I was not going to get way-laid by a stitch. I notice the occasional Mummer's string band, pondered the number of funeral homes in South Philly, but really began to work. One bystander was yelling "thank you" as we ran by and it gave me a good chuckle. Why was he yelling thank you?

In the beginning I had been pulling Molly through the holes. Now she re-paid the favor and began pulling me through the holes. We threw down a few 8:30 miles and I felt my face burning and red. The back of my neck was drenched. I wanted to get some water but in the past that has brought on stitches from hell so I declined. I saw Elvis and, my ever timely husband, began a conversation about wouldn't it have been better if it was Patrick Dempsey? I whole-heartedly agreed. On we went.

I finally realized that we were in the thick of the real runners. The people who actually run day in and day out and who most definitely trained for this thing. The pack was working hard. Not too much conversation--just a lot of deep breathing. But then I caught site of a runner down, getting oxygen, and the smell of bactine. A reminder to focus, concentrate, and be aware.

Miles eight and nine were rough but, as I later told Tom, my tempo runs had prepared me for this. I was breathing hard but not gasping and the aches were working their way into my butt and hamstrings. I knew these aches because I felt them every week and I knew I could work through it. Mile 9 approaches. I look over at Tom and he gives the the silent nod and wink. He started to get a goofy smile in the corner of his mouth. He surged ahead for the first time and I knew my pace must have been dropping. I called him a "f'er"--he asked "Why?" all innocently but I knew he wouldn't take me beyond what I could do. I think about stopping. Yup--the thought crossed my mind. But no way was I going to stop. I re-focused on the work and shoo'd that thought away.

We see the stadiums and I know we're close. I think about saying out loud: "I can't do this" so I can hear Tom say "Yes you can." But in rare Jen-logic I decide not to--knowing I could do it and I didn't need to hear it from Tom. I later shared this with Tom who seemed seriously confused. Welcome to my head.

We passed the Eagles water station and they were blaring the Rocky theme. I actually really needed to hear that because I was feeling a bit defeated at that moment. I felt like I might be holding Molly back so I said go on, we'll see you at the end. But then I caught site of the crowds.

I don't think I'll ever forget the screaming crowds of people as we approached the Navy Yard. It was amazing to see all these people cheering for us. As we crossed the finish, in typical fairy-tale fashion, Tom swooped me off my feet and I could now see the big, goofy smile on his face--thrilled I had finished my first big race--in not so shabby time.

I had thought 1:30 was realistic. In the back of my head I thought maybe 1:35 and that would be ok. I finished at 1:27. I am just tickled by this time especially given the effort of the last few miles. I had nothing left in the tank at the end. I had given it everything I had and that's a damn good feeling (even if it slightly nauseates you). Overall, I was 6985 out of 19112 runners. And 2179 out of 9291 for women. I'll take those numbers--that's for damn sure. In case anyone was curious, Tom was a poke and came in one second behind me. Who says chivalry is dead?

Some pics:

Grace was excited for our race. She explained to Luke in her little mommy voice that we would be running a race today. Luke responded "TRUCK!" I don't think he got it.

Here we are after the race. We decided not to wear our "divorce express" or "I'm with stupid" t-shirts.
Here we are with Molly! Team Hillside! Watch out Jenkintown 5K!