Oh, Brooklyn, I love you (aka the most memorable finish ever)

The Brooklyn Half was yesterday, and I ran it for the first time after years of volunteering/spectating. What a fun race! The two loops of Prospect Park were familiar territory, but very different when running with 10,000 (just a guess) other runners. I ran most of the race alone, and I almost gave into the adrenaline that comes from the surge of the crowd at the beginning. But I was able to stick to my race plan and do 1/1 the entire time. I took some comfort in the other interval watches I heard throughout the race. It sounds silly, but I pretended that those were my pace group members running alongside me. My phone rang at mile 6.5 (I didn't answer, as people don't usually call me at 8:15 on Saturday mornings), but when I got the message later, I realized that my pace group had been thinking of me the whole time. So sweet! Thanks, Galloway!

So I was plugging along, doing my 1/1 strategy, feeling good. When I left the park around mile 7 and came onto Ocean Parkway, I felt renewed energy. It was really cool to run down the middle of a highway. I watched the pedestrians and drivers of cars on side streets staring at us as the miles ticked by. Thank goodness for shade along the route. It was a fairly humid day, after a week straight of rain, and I was definitely feeling it. But still, I kept on. I felt that I was keeping a steady pace and would finish within the 3 hour course limit.

Finally, I reached the boardwalk in Coney Island for the last mile of the race. I was feeling so strong and so excited to be done. The cool air off the ocean felt awesome. Approaching the finish line, I heard the announcer call my name, and then my friend (who finished in an unbelievable 1:40) shouted at me from the left side of the finish line. I turned to wave to him...and the next thing I knew, I was facedown on the boardwalk, within a foot of the finish line. Splat! I heard a gasp from the people watching. I had no idea how I ended up on the ground, but I picked myself up and crossed the finish. A volunteer grabbed my elbow and walked me to the medical tent. Scraped knees, elbows, palms. I was a mess. More than anything, I was completely mortified and angry at myself for ending such a strong race in such a completely ridiculous way. It was definitely me at my most graceful. My friend came running over to the medical tent to see if I was ok, and immediately told me that he felt responsible for my fall. I told him that it was in no way his fault (and I believe that, too, so he'd better stop feeling guilty!) The medic finally came over with alcohol swabs and cleaned out my scraps, gave me bandages and sent me on my way. I'm sure the professional photographer got a great shot of me in mid-air. Of course he did.

The whole thing turned out to be rather anti-climactic, but I was pleased with my time: 2:43 (well within the 3 hour limit, and not bad for only doing one 10 miler two weeks prior). When I got home, my wounds really started to hurt, and my knees are a bit swollen, but I feel ok otherwise. A little sore, but nothing a couple of fantastic yoga classes didn't cure! Oh, and when I told my dear brother that the fall at the finish may be the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me, he said, "Not yet!" Leave it to him to put it in perspective.

Some "urgent care" after an unexpected finish.

Standing tall at the finish!