Racing through Syracuse with 2,000 runners
Training at Green Lakes for Mountain Goat run.
My arms pumped. My legs churned. My eyes fixed on the clock over the finish line. It was the last city block of a ten mile up and down journey through the streets of Syracuse. The race announcer reeled off names of finishers. Supporters shouted words of encouragement helping runners find that final push. Fading a couple blocks behind me a singular voice yelled, "Go Matt, go!"
The clock ticked toward one hour and twenty minutes. I had less than sixty seconds to spare to achieve my goal of less than 80 minutes. I knew I had enough energy left to beat the clock - I just hoped that sensation of the finish line slipping further away wasn't reality. Too much work had gone into preparing for this race to come up short now. It had been a run filled with challenges, but also filled with memorable, exhilarating moments.
The first great moment was the sound of the starting horn followed by the beep of my stop watch. More than 2,000 runners herded across the starting line. The Mountain Goat Run 2009 had begun. A half mile into the race I had jockeyed for the right spot to establish my pace. I finally found it as we turned on to West Onondaga when I pulled alongside the crowd in the other half of the closed road that no one else was utilizing. I had a sense of freedom... the run was underway.
Laboring up the one mile climb to the reservoir off Stolp Avenue a familiar voice came up behind me. It was Post-Standard award winning columnist Sean Kirst. He grumbled something about how it stinks that we keep getting older. Between heavy breaths I agreed. Once I conquered that hill the beauty of the Strathmore neighborhood provided the next thrill. That mile and half visit through that neighborhood has the greatest public support. Families are everywhere. Holding signs. Handing out popsicles. Sharing water.
That's where my parents take their annual position. It's just a block or two away from my aunt and uncle's house. As I crested one hill I spotted them roadside. I started waving to get their attention. Mom started poking Dad to make sure he saw me to get a picture or two. They yelled. I waved and got a couple of high fives from the little tykes. There was more running to do.
There was the wide reaching view of the Carrier Dome and downtown from the little round top at Onondaga Park. There were the kids manning water stops yelling,"Power Aid in front, Water next. Power Aid in front, Water next." I sipped the Power Aid and tossed the water over my head. Staying cool and hydrated kept me relatively fresh.
Now past five miles - approaching the mile long ascent which includes Colvin Street a runner nearby said something like, "Here it comes," I responded, "Yes, but we're going to enjoy it, right?" I was staying confident that I was ready to handle the long climb. As I neared the top of Colvin some runners had stopped to walk. I kept pushing on at my steady pace. I was thrilled to see the dome of Manley Fieldhouse once on top. The Syracuse Orange pep band played. I also caught up to Sean Kirst. I asked how he was doing. He said not bad. We talked about pacing. He complimented mine as I moved marginally ahead.
Approaching the eight mile mark we made the turn into Thornden Park for the last climb of the run. It's the shortest, but it feels the steepest. Volunteers had taken the time to write with chalk on the road beneath us. They wrote phrases of encouragement. They singled out individuals to motivate them to reach the top. One guy clanged a cow bell mid hill making it his personal challenge to escort everyone to the crest. As I approached the final few feet of incline I looked down and saw, "Go Matt Mulcahy!" I smiled. My eyes even welled up. What a welcome surprise at such a moment of relief. The heaviest lifting was over. Two miles to go. Half of it downhill.
I felt good bounding down University Hill through the Syracuse campus. I needed to make up some time to dip back below my targeted 8:00 per mile mark. Then the final mile flattens out. I balanced pushing faster with being able to finish. I kept my pace, working to keep anyone from passing at that point.
I passed Columbus Circle past the Cathedral. Nearing South Salina Street I heard that familiar voice cheering on the runners. It was an experienced cheerleader who happened to be my wife, Jamie. She had already cheered on 500 runners when she caught my eye. She clapped and yelled, "Go, Matt, Go! You can do it." I rounded the turn on to Salina in front of the marquis of the Landmark Theatre. Her voice echoed through the canyon of buildings.
That's where the clock came into view. Time would not slow down for me, so I had to speed up. Anything over 1:20:00 would not do. Those arms pumped, those legs churned. This time it was my name coming from the announcer I crossed the finish line. I made it. I pumped my fist and gave myself a big ,"Yes!" Some friends had already crossed. They congratulated me. I congratulated them as several others came through the chute. We all made it. We did it. And I even got the gold medal - certainly not for finishing first, but for breaking my goal of 80 minutes.
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