*the following is based on combined stories from several coaches on what it feels like to coach a marathon event for Team In Training
So I’m all decked out in a crazy purple wig, big purple sunglasses, and green “Coach” shirt. I have my pockets full of gels, salt, baby wipes, Vaseline and Bandaids. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve also slipped a couple of ibuprofen in there too. Not that I would ever dare give that to a TNT participant! They’re for me. For when I enter the “Bite Me Zone” at around mile 22 and every participant I try to help goes a little bit crazy on me. Some will cuss. Others will cry. A couple might threaten to kill me.
In addition to the overstuffed pockets, I’m also carrying cow bells and whistles and pom poms. And my mobile phone. I have some leftover garbage bags from the start line and a sweatshirt a participant handed me at mile 3 when she warmed up and just didn’t feel like tying it around her waist and figured I could take care of it for her. I’m standing at mile marker 5 but I’ve already logged 15 miles.
The plan was for me to coach in Zone One and then move over to Zone Four. At our coach meeting yesterday I was assigned these zones. We decided that zone one would be miles one through five. My coaching partner and I would run and cheer and help out any of our purple cancer heroes. Not that too many need help in those first few miles, but the main job for us is to pace and sweep. I’ll touch on that in a moment, but first I have to mention the coach I’m paired up with.
She’s got an even bigger purple wig on than I do. She’s wearing a purple tutu and about 500 purple beads. She’s even got purple makeup on, including long purple eyelashes. All 10 of her cowbells are tied together to make as much noise as possible. And she carries this tiny bullhorn. She’s tiny too so I’m not sure how she runs with all this on, but I’ve watched in awe as she runs with the 7 minute milers and then cuts back to walk along with the 14 minute milers. Her energy level is greater than that of my 4-year-old daughter at home.
We cover zone one with passion. We don’t just help out runners wearing TNT singlets. We jump in there to assist anyone who looks like they need some encouragement. I’ve screamed “Go Team” 103 times so far today.
Finally, the last TNT participant struggles toward us at mile 5. If she doesn’t pick up the pace, she’s going to be swept. My partner (I’m just going to start referring to her as Perky Peggy) and I surround her. I ask if she needs a gel. “No,” she says, “I really need to go to the porta potty so I think I’ll stop.” I explain in my kindest voice that if she stops, she’ll get swept and say “why don’t you try to get to the next aid station and go there.” Perky Peggy reaches over and grabs her hand and tells her that she’s an amazing hero and she can do this. We get her past the sweeper and she’s safe.
Now Perky Peggy and I have to get all the way to zone four. That’s miles 12-14 on the marathon course. We will no longer see any of the half marathoners because their turn toward the finish happened a couple of miles back. So, we’re with the full marathoners now. By this point, most of the purple singlets need our help in some way. One guy is pretty upset because his gels fell out of his pocket at the last aid station and he had planned on taking one again now. I pull out my assortment of gels and say, “with or without caffeine?” This makes him smile. He takes a caffeinated one.
An honored teammate from another chapter comes running by. He’s a 20-year-old Hodgkin lymphoma survivor running his first marathon. He’s tired. I run alongside him for a few minutes while he tells me his goal is to finish in under four. I tell him if he can beat cancer, he can do anything. “Go Team” I say as he runs ahead. By now, I have said this 212 times.
Perky Peggy is running with a young lady who is limping. She’s got IT band issues and she’s crying. Then I see one of my guys! He’s looking strong and I’m pumped. I run with him for a couple of minutes as he tells me he’s on pace for a new PR. I don’t want him to lose concentration so I tell him to keep up the great work and I’ll see him later.
We’re out in zone four for what seems like an eternity. By now, the cold winds of the morning are gone and the sun is beaming. I dig through my pockets and discover I have some sunscreen and Chapstick at the bottom. I’d forgotten about those! And by now, our slower participants are coming through. The walkers are pretty tired and sunburned. I gladly help them apply sunscreen.
One of my favorite participants comes through (just have to say that they’re all my favorites, but this one is special). She’s a 68-year-old sweetheart whose grandson is a leukemia survivor. She proudly wears his name on her back: “Running for Jordan”. I am thrilled to see her and know that she’s made it this far in the marathon and that she’s a good distance ahead of the sweeper.
Now we’re five hours into the race and it’s time for Perky Peggy and me to head to the toughest part of the marathon course- miles 22-26. All the other TNT coaches from other parts of the country are here now. We are on a mission: get every single TNT runner and walker to the finish line before time runs out.
Some of us affectionately refer to this area as the “Bite Me Zone” or the BMZ. In the BMZ you hear it all. You see it all. At mile one it was shocking to see people pull over and pee on the side of the road. Now, no one is peeing because if they stop, they might not start again. So, they are all slowly and painfully making their way to the victorious end.
Here, we say or do whatever we can to keep them moving. I notice that some want me to talk to them. They don’t care what I say as long as I entertain them with my talking to distract them. Others want me to be quiet. My talking is “annoying” right now. But they don’t want to be alone, so I just go along quietly til they are ready to finish on their own. Everyone is different and my job as the TNT coach is to assess their needs and meet them the best I can.
I do all of this with great energy and enthusiasm. At least that’s the way it appears. The truth is, I’m pretty worn out now myself. I’ve been running and walking anywhere from 6 minute miles to 16 minute miles all day long! My IT band hurts. The bottoms of my feet are covered in blisters. I have logged 23 miles so far today. I’m sunburned and losing my voice because by now I have screamed “Go Team” 507 times today. But by golly, no one on this course is going to have a clue that I’m this exhausted. They won’t know that all my fellow TNT coaches hurt as badly as the participants, maybe worse. We will ignore our pain and forget ourselves in these last miles because none of this is about us. It’s about these heroes who have chosen to conquer this great challenge.
Finally, our last TNT participant is coming through. She’s not from my chapter. But I hear her name is Janet. All 18 of us coaches will surround Janet and run her into the finish line. I find out that she’s a 27-year-old leukemia survivor. She finished treatments only one year ago and this marathon is her way of celebrating her anniversary. So, I can’t help myself. A couple of big tears fall down my cheek.
As Janet runs with a wall of TNT coaches surrounding her, the crowd at the finish line gets louder. There’s cheering. There are cow bells. There’s music and noise and it almost feels like we’re at a rock concert and Janet is the rock star. Her mom and dad see her and they’re screaming. Her brother holds a poster that says “Janet is my HERO”. We cross the finish line and she’s handed a medal. Now she’s crying. I’m crying. The other coaches are crying. We are a crying mess!
I limp over to the TNT tent to see if there are any snacks left. I grab a Coke and some chips. I sit and pull off my shoes. My feet are bleeding. My legs are on fire. My whole body aches. Yet somehow I feel better than I’ve ever felt in my life. I feel more thrilled than the day I ran my very first marathon. Somehow, this experience coaching others and seeing them achieve something so great is more beautiful than just about anything else I’ve ever known.
Later in the night, after I’ve showered and napped, I get dressed to go out and celebrate with the participants from my local chapter. I look at myself in the mirror and feel satisfied. I can barely talk now (I screamed “Go Team” 1,000 times today). Before I leave, I smile at the man in the mirror and say, “congrats Coach, good job and Go Team” (that’s 1,001 times now).
