“OORAH!” The cry of the Marines reverberated through the crowd and I scrubbed the dried sweat from my forehead while cradling my freshly earned marathon medal. Just minutes before I had stumbled across the finish line of The Marine Corps Marathon: the seventh installment of my journey to 50 marathons in 50 states (plus Washington DC). This race starts and ends in Northern Virginia, but it is a DC marathon through and through.

If there is any question in your mind as to whether this is a good race, or the right race, or a worthwhile race…the answer is a resounding YES. This race touched me in more ways than one: from the Blue Mile, to the adorable Marine slinging a medal over my neck and shaking my hand vigorously after the race, to the tour of the city I called home for nearly two years, this race is top notch. If I didn’t have so many races on my bucket list, I would have no qualms about running this one again and again.

Training

There was absolutely no question that the Marine Corps Marathon, lovingly abbreviated as MCM, would be my DC marathon; the question really was WHEN I could get myself to that starting line. For years I had struggled with chronic ailments, all concentrated on the left side of my lower body, and it changed who I was as a runner. Gone are the 40 to 50 mile weeks, the five consecutive days of runs, the bypassing of strength or yoga training. I entered the lottery on a whim (this race is well-established and VERY popular), and when I was selected to run, I decided I was just going to do it, no matter how conditioned I could get myself. I was 27 at the starting line of this race, and I felt every bit of it. My training, similar to that of the Twin Cities Marathon the year before, was lacking, my expectations were low, and I was excited to run another race without the self-inflicted pressure of needing to keep a certain pace. A sub-4-hour marathon? Who dat??

If I have learned anything from marathon running, it is that once you’ve done one or two, the next ones get a little bit easier every time in terms of your body’s pure stamina. The aforementioned Twin Cities Marathon I barely trained even one iota for, and I managed to make it over the finish line in (basically) one piece, and without crying at all! (a feat 16-year-old Robin would have thought impossible)

During my training for MCM, though my injuries had resolved themselves for the most part, I was mostly focused on getting a long run in each weekend, and decided to forego most weekday runs. I also focused heavily on cross-training, going to a cycling class once or twice a week for cardio, and a barre class once or twice a week for strength, flexibility, and alignment. I think that adding additional exercises to my running routine really helped my performance for this marathon, and for the other races I ran in the months afterwards.

I know stretching is boring, and cross-training not as satisfying as a good run, but BY GOD just do it. Your body will thank you later.

The Expo

Living in Baltimore, and having packet pickup on the Friday and Saturday before the race all the way down in Northern Virginia, I begrudgedly packed my work laptop into a rarely-utilized bag and drove down to Fairfax to spend a rare day in the office (so rare, in fact, that I wandered around awkwardly for 10 minutes just looking for a desk to sit at, since apparently my old desk had been given to a new hire). After work, I drove over to Gaylord National Resort & Convention Center at the National Harbor, a pretty swanky Marriott with gorgeous views of the harbor and thousands of participants swarming the building, feet strapped securely in supportive running shoes, eyes bright with anticipation. I parked in a nearby garage for $10, but they also offer shuttle service from the metro station.

Considering how ridiculously packed the field is (about 30,000 runners total: the largest marathon that doesn’t offer any prize money), the packet pickup process was a breeze. There was an endless aisle of booths partitioned by bib number ranges, and it took me no more than 3 minutes from the moment I entered the conference center to the moment a Marine had plopped my bib and pullover into my hand. Collecting my precious goods into the complimentary clear plastic bag, I ventured into the 100,000 square feet of vendors and booths, clutching my wallet in a reminder to myself to be smart.

In the end, I was wise enough to limit my purchases to a handful of trusty Gu packets, a 26.2 magnet for my car’s bumper, and some balm to protect my crotch from the dreaded runner’s chafe. Smiling at the military volunteers as I left, I was already incredibly excited to get to the starting line.

Race Day

Actually REACHING the starting line, however, would prove to be a challenge in and of itself. My mom, the reliable and supportive spectator that she is, woke up before the sun with me, and we climbed sleepily into her car and headed down to DC. Our plan was to park at the end of the green line in Maryland and take the Metro into Arlington, Virginia. After stopping on the side of the road to pee in the pitch black (my desperate attempts to properly hydrate backfiring as usual), we boarded the train and waited impatiently. The morning was a wet one; the rain had not stopped since we got onto the highway, and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. By the time we got off the Metro at Arlington National Cemetery, the skies had brightened with daylight, but the rain continued relentlessly.

It also turned out that the starting line was over a mile from the Metro station, and security was not letting spectators go much farther than the station exit. Hugging my mom goodbye, filled with pee once again, I trotted down the road until I came to a cluster of porta-potties. The lines were lengthy, but not emptying my throbbing bladder before the race was not an option. I waited in line, anxiously checking my watch every 30 seconds, getting damper and damper by the minute, and by the time I had finished, the race had already started. I could hear commotion in the distance, a shockingly FAR distance, and I readjusted my running belt, pulled up the hood of my raincoat, and booked it for about 10 more minutes towards the start.

I passed another group of porta-potties, completely deserted, and cursed the time lost at the first group. I probably would have known there would be more further up, HAD I KNOWN IN THE FIRST PLACE that the starting line was so goddamn far away. The race went off at 8am, but there were pre-race ceremonies honoring the Marines that I missed out on, and I was already frustrated with everything as I shuffled pathetically towards the start, trying to conserve as much energy as possible.

I have mixed feelings about missing the starts of races. On one hand, you miss out on that adrenaline-fueled anticipation, waiting for the gun to go off, a wave of cheering runners dragging you forward. On the other hand, starting behind the pack is a lot less pressure, you don’t waste energy weaving in and out of other runners…plus I am never on time to anything so I have come to embrace it.

It had been about an hour and a half since I’d left my mom by the station, and my water bottle with her. I was parched, and in the first half mile I spotted an unopened plastic water bottle ditched by the side of the road, which I promptly tore open and chugged to completion. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say. Somehow, I always end up needing to pee like a racehorse before a race, while simultaneously feeling so dehydrated that my whole body was 5 seconds away from shriveling into a massive raisin. After the water, therefore, I was finally able to settle into a comfortable tempo. At this point, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, the air was pleasantly cool, and I was ready to get the thing over with.

The course moves along the Arlington National Cemetery, then turns west down Lee Highway (the same road on which my office resides), and doubles back through the foliage-skirted street towards the capital city. A bit past mile 4, we were crossing over the Potomac River into Georgetown. I was feeling great.

From Georgetown, we ran up through Rock Creek Park in an out-and-back loop of about 3 miles. Though not particularly hilly, this is where the race started posing a challenge. The drizzle had shifted to a punishing downpour, and participants were running through puddles that were ankle-deep. I spent this entire stretch so focused on the impossible amount of rain and on pinching my eyes nearly closed to prevent my contacts from getting flooded out into the gutter that it actually went fast, despite how miserable it was. Around mile 10, the rain had not yet slowed, and we had started south towards the Lincoln Memorial. I saw my mom, huddled against the rain under her umbrella and nestled in a massive cheering crowd, and yelled, “I’m still feeling good!” And I was. Every inch of my body, from my hair to my soggy feet, was drenched, but I was almost halfway there, and despite the weather, the enthusiasm of the spectators was something to behold.

Continuing past the Tidal Basin, we reached East Potomac Park, a narrow strip of land between the Lower Potomac River and the Washington Channel, and home to the Blue Mile. Between miles 12 and 13 of the race, the course is lined with photos of fallen Marines, commemorating their service and their sacrifice. As someone who knows very little about the military (and who wishes that it wasn’t the seemingly only option for some less fortunate 18-year-olds who want an affordable education), this mile was extremely moving. I spent the entire mile taking in each and every face: white, black, male, female, 19 years old, 45 years old. All of them lost in endless war, all of them leaving behind devastated family, all far too young. It is a beautifully tragic tradition, and I am glad to have honored them in some small way.

We reached the point of East Potomac Park and circled back northward, running around the other side of the Tidal Basin and hitting the Mall around mile 15. This part is cool as shit, and is probably a lot of peoples’ favorite part. You see the Lincoln Memorial and Reflecting Pool, the National Museum of African American History and Culture, the National Museum of American History, the National Museum of Natural History (my personal favorite Smithsonian), the National Gallery of Art and its sculpture garden, and then all the way back around.

By the time I had reached the Mall, the sky had opened up, the air had warmed, and the sun shined down. At first I was gleeful, and then I was boiling hot, and had to run through giant puddles just to stay cool. The weather pattern of this race was WILD, and definitely the craziest weather of any marathon I’ve ever run, but it actually made the experience more fun.

I was also starting to panic, because I knew that around mile 21 was the dreaded BRIDGE, the infamous half mile stretch across the Potomac that everyone will warn you about. It is windy up there, there are zero spectators, and you’re at that point in the race where you just want to say “fuck it” and curl up into a sweaty, sniffling ball. After all the build up, though, I powered through, and even thought that it was a little overhyped. Beat the Bridge, check. Only 5 miles to go.

Those last 5 miles were absolutely brutal for me. After the grandeur of the Mall, those 5 miles of running around downtown Arlington feels anticlimactic, and I was feeling like I could barely keep moving forward. My hands and arms started tingling, and then went almost completely numb, every last drop of blood in my body churning around in my pathetically weak legs. The last 5 miles of a marathon are always hard, but this one was particularly hard.

Once we ran around the Capitol Building (which ended up being a great photo op, but every time the camera turns on me I freak out and pretend I don’t see it. I will forever be too awkward to be one of those runners who flashes a thumbs up and a huge grin, even though I would LOVE a picture like that from a race), we headed back over the bridge. At this point, we were around mile 20, and I was starting to drag ass a little. This was the farthest I’d run in over a year, and I was feeling it.

Finally, FINALLY, we were running back along the road by Arlington National Cemetery, not a spectator in sight, my lungs about to burst from my chest and my legs about to crumple beneath me. I felt every tiny degree of hill. The last quarter mile or so is up a VERY steep hill that leads to the finish line at the Iwo Jima Memorial. Oh my absolute LORD…that was tough. I don’t even know how I got up that hill. It was sheer force of will alone. My face was probably twisted in intense, hideous pain, and I am ever so grateful nobody thought to photograph it.

The crowd at the finish line was massive and loud, with tons of Marines there to bestow your medal upon you and offer you a sincere and hearty congratulations. Despite that cursed hill, and despite still being completely wet and swampy, it was one of my favorite finishes ever.

I ended up crossing the line in 4:21:47, a good 30 minutes off my best time, but another 30 minutes better than my worst. Overall, I was in awe of the experience, and the fact that I had finished, and felt free from the need to harp on a not-so-great time. Given the conditions, and the fact that I started about 20 minutes late, I was elated. And ready for a massive breakfast at the nearest IHOP.

I loved this race so much. There is a reason the Marine Corps Marathon is called “The People’s Marathon” and “the best marathon for beginners.” The course is manageable, the crowd support unparalleled, and the chance to honor the US Marines a powerful experience. This is a bucket list race if I’ve ever run one, worth the slightly hefty entry price, and I would recommend it to everyone (just prepare for a LONG warm-up).

Marine Corps Marathon

Arlington, VA, USA

42 kilometers (26.2 miles)

Late October, 8:00 am

$180