Garden Spot Village Marathon....hanging with the Amish and singing with P!nk

The April 3^rd morning was chillier and windier then I had anticipated as I made my way to my first marathon of the season. I could hardly believe that I would be doing two marathons this year. I decided my first of two marathons would be The Garden Spot Village Marathon in New Holland, PA. When I signed up I forgot to check the evaluation map to see that this would be the hilliest run of my life. However, what initially drew me to the marathon was the purpose of the marathon; all proceeds would be used to help the Benevolent Fund at the Garden Spot Village Retirement Community. The race was staffed by a volunteer staff that was predominately made up of residents. I chuckled when I saw that the parking lot attendants were residents of the community, the men in their electric orange hats and vests waving (unnecessarily I might add) their orange glow sticks and greeting runners with a smile and good morning. It was quaint and heartwarming.  

 I stepped to the start line shortly before the 8am start. My normally peaceful starting line routine was interrupted by a “Chatty Cathy” who felt compelled to discuss my calf sleeves and her own personal sock issues. I tried to be polite but dismissive in hopes that she would leave me alone. She finally got the hint, or spotted something shiny, and left me to gather my thoughts and find the right music to start off my first marathon of the season.

I have never been at a road race, much less a marathon, with so few people. With barely 1200 of us in line for a half marathon, relay and full marathon, I was unsure of how to act when there wasn’t pushing and shoving for space. Also to cross the start mat in less than 15 seconds after the actual start was quite strange for me as I am so use to the Marine Corps Marathon nearly 20 minute wait from the first running crossing the start line to when I get my chance to cross the start line.

It was a little congested at first as we wound through the cottage area of the community and out into the town of New Holland. Once we left the residential areas we were able to spread out on the country roads. The fresh country air was amazing, though the biting cold and wind was definitely an obstacle. I made it over the first hill large hill and was greeted by my enthusiastically cheering mother and fiancée standing at the end of the driveway of the house where we were staying. It was sweet to see my mom, who had never attended one of my road races, cheering for all the runners as they went past, shouting encouragements as they went by. Jesi even ran with me for a few minutes to see how I was doing and to see how the course was.

 I was, despite the hills, on record pace. This was the first race where I had studied the course map and made a plan for how I would tackle the hills and other course features.  I had done the pre-planning because I had allowed the weeks to slip by and had only put in 48 training miles over three months (compared to my normal 350 miles over 5 months). I decided to focus on my carb loading and studying in hopes that it would help me overcome my lapse in training.


 There were water and aid stations with porta-pots every two miles, which is a fantastic treat for any distance runner. Especially the porta-pots. Though I will admit to a slightly disastrous, and somewhat embarrassing, pit stop around mile six. I will forgo the details other than to say cold hands, confined space and the monthly curse do NOT make a good combination. My shriek of surprise from cold hands could be heard by the EMT standing nearby. Upon my exit he asked with a concerned look if I was ok, I merely stated the seat was cold and went running on my way for fear that there would be further questions.  


 It was at the next mile that I ran into, almost quite literally, Jesi, Mom and the friends whom we were staying with. The four had kindly piled into the van to come find me on the course and cheer me on, however I was unaware of their supportive plan or the fact that the road had been opened up to vehicle traffic-and my focus on the turn in the course I nearly found myself as a hood ornament on their Toyota van. My initial thought upon seeing the closeness of the van and the drivers seeming ignorance of the large mass of oddly dressed people, was a string of non-Mom appropriate words followed by an internal chuckle when I realized my mother was in fact in the van and would have lectured me for my words. After I got over being startled, we all waved and they cheered through the windows as I turned down yet and other hill and went on my way.

At the start of the race there were a lot of spectators given the overall size of the marathon pack which was a surprise. However by mile 7 and change, just past the half marathon turn around point I noticed that the supporters began to thin out. Within feet of passing the half marathon turn around point I was alone. Not only were there no spectators there were no other runners. I felt briefly that perhaps I had made a wrong turn somewhere on the flat road, but realized I had been on a flat road so it was unlikely that I had been misplaced. I thought briefly of the times I got stuck in Beltway traffic, barely going 5 mph for miles, with what seemed like thousand of cars in front of me, only to get through the congestion to find that all the other cars on the road had seemingly been abducted by aliens. It was during my pondering of Baltimore traffic patterns, that I spotted the orange cone that marked the course, and the object that would keep me on course, literally and emotionally, for the rest of the race.

As I came to realize that I was alone I took stock, there I was, just me, my Superman shirt and my iPod on unfamiliar roads in an unfamiliar place. At first the experience was cool. I focused on my now personal record setting pace and enjoyed a portion of the course that was moderately flat. My goal to not step in any “road apples” (a local euphemism for horse poop) kept me focused as well. I would occasionally spot other runners ahead of me in the distance and we would play leap frog more or less as we would alternate passing each other near water stops until they usually pulled ahead of me.

I continued feeling wonderful with myself having made it to the half way point in roughly three hours. I still felt fabulous, even though I felt slight discouragement seeing the faster marathoners on their way back where the out and back portions of course crossed together, but I had decided before taking off that the days goal would be to finish, so I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

But it was shortly after the half way point that despite my pleasure at doing so well granted my lapse in training that my forward motion started to become more and more difficult emotionally. While the water stops were close together and well stocked in the beginning the further I got on the course I noticed that the selection of protein and food was dwindling to bananas that had been sitting out for awhile and gu’s (a product for which I have a love hate relationship with, emphasis on hate). The promise of pretzel fish and mini Oreos were dashed by the time I got to the tables as the supply was depleted or honestly looked so picked over that my germaphobe OCD inner voice wouldn’t allow for me to eat something that had been handled by other runners, who like me had no access to soap and water.

I was concerned, I had packed my Camelbak based on what the event organizers had stated on the website would be available water stops. As the miles and time went by I started to become concerned that my small Larabar bite and my bag of Skittles wouldn’t sustain me. By mile 17 I began to ration out my Skittles, as my protein bar had been consumed at mile 8. I understand that it is the runner’s responsibility to provide their supplies, however when I read on the website the various items that would be made available I packed my food supplies accordingly.

Also, the lack of human presence began to unnerve me. I expected to be running with traffic; I did not expect the thoughtless and reckless manner in which drivers drove the back country roads. I found myself on numerous occasions hopping off onto the shoulder of the road to avoid being hit. The Amish children were a welcome sight. Many would look up from their chores and wave and those that were in the buggies would also smile. Contrary to public perception, the Amish are a warm and loving community and they demonstrated that at various points during day as they waved and smiled and wished runners good luck. However, other than the sporadic sighting of the Amish we were busily working on their farms, there were no other people.

I managed to run until mile 17 quite a feat considering the longest distance I had run since my 5 mile race in December, was four miles. From mile 17-20 I was alternating between running and walking while I would count in increments of 10. A miscalculation in my head would ultimately be my undoing during those last 7 miles. I somehow assumed the upcoming mile was mile 20, and accordingly calculated in my head the number of miles until the finish line. While I ran I calculated my approximate finish time and while realizing I would no longer break my own personal record, I would be pretty close. However, despite my optimistic figuring the small voice in my head began to taunt me with doubts.

The doubts got even larger when I realized that instead of approaching mile 20, I was instead approaching mile 19. For some reason that extra 1.2 mile that I hadn’t counted on seemed insurmountable. How I could I possible do 7.2 MORE miles, the thought of 6.2 miles was bad enough. That moment as I came up to the mile 19 marker I felt that I was at a crossroads with myself. Would I be able to go on? Would I be able to make it to the finish line? Would I ever be able to sing P!nk songs on key while running?   

I finally convinced myself that I couldn’t give up, my mileage until the finish line was in single digits. Not to mention the lack of spectators meant that I would have to sit on the side of the road and wait for at least 45 minutes for one of the Garden Spot “sag” wagons to come by. So, I decided I might as well keep going.

There was a lot of self talk during those last few miles.

“How after 20 miles could you possibly consider giving up?”

“You have done this before, it’s not like this marathon thing is anything new.”

“Buck up you Dweeb.”

“You’re wearing a Superman shirt, live up to!”

As I kept pushing forward, now this time walking as my Achilles was so painful that bending my foot was excruciating. I could tell that my feet were swollen in my shoes and my quads were on fire. But I kept going. It was during those last miles that the orange cones became my life saver. My focus moved from the number of miles to just get to the next cone. A tactic that helped propel me forward.

I refocused my mental energy from the pain in my feet and legs to the beauty around me. I started to really notice the farm country and the horse auctions. I would wave at each buggy as it passed. I began to focus on anything but the fact that I was completing a marathon. I tried to ignore the growling of my stomach and would sip water. I sang along to my iPod. I counted sheep (not to sleep but to stay focused) and chickens. I realized that as I focused less on the task at hand I began to move faster. Though I will admit that if I went any slower I would have been going in reverse. I began to run in increments of five, though I only did that a few times as I was fearful of the pain in my Achilles.

I was disappointed that what I had hoped would be a personal record finish was no longer a possibility-but now the focus was just finishing in one piece. I was discouraged that aid stations had been closed up or were out of food except for bananas that had been in the sun, going on six hours. But while I was disappointed about the lack of people and support, I reminded myself that I could do it and that finishing was my responsibility.

I finally saw the turn off to the finish line and texted Jesi that I was almost there. As I made it closer to the finish line I forced myself to run. For some reason I have always made it a point that I run across the finish line. No matter how exhausted or sore I am I will run across the finish line. Granted, my actual running and my perceived running are often quite different.

As I looked up I saw Jesi coming towards me as I slowly began to run, she stepped in stride with me. I remember saying haltingly “can’t stop.” She smiled and said she wasn’t about to make me. Off to the finish line we went with Jesi chatting along beside me.

The residents who were seated near the finish line started clapping as I stepped on the timing mat at 6:47:04.


I must admit that the medal was by far one of the simplest I have ever received, but the utter joy of the residents that were passing the medals out made up for the lack of size. The kind grandmotherly woman acted as if she was bestowing the Olympic gold medal on my neck. She lovingly placed the medal on my shoulders, asked if I needed anything, asked where I was from, asked me a myriad of other questions that I’m not sure I answered articulately and thanked me for participating in their marathon.

I was disappointed that the concession stand had closed up and that there was no post race food, as I had been dreaming of the homemade chicken pot pies and pretzels that had been mentioned as post race protein fuel. But disappointment was quickly replaced with exhaustion. I was able to hold off the feelings for the last hour while I walked the remaining 6 miles but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to get to the car and back to the house where we were staying. The thoughts of a warm shower and bare feet outweighed my desire for any food. Jesi kindly led me back to the car carrying my Camelbak while I walked wrapped in my aluminum foil space blanket contraption. As I shuffled I finally took a breath of relief that it was over and that I would soon be in comfortable clothes and not moving. Analysis and thoughts of the race would come later, after the turkey sandwich that my mom would make and a night’s sleep.