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Monique Maddy's ING New York City Marathon Journal
Monique
Maddy, 41, will be running the ING New York City Marathon on November
2 and attempting to attain the sub-2:48 U.S. Olympic Trials "B"
qualifying standard. Originally from Liberia, West Africa, Monique holds
a bachelor of science degree in international politics and economics from
Georgetown University, a master's degree in economics and development
studies from the Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International
Studies, and a master's degree in business administration from Harvard
Business School. She is an entrepreneur and in 1993 founded Adesemi Communications
International, which financed, built, and operated low-cost wireless telecommunications
services in developing and emerging market countries. She recently completed
her autobiography: "Learning to Love Africa: My Journey from Africa
to Harvard Business School and Back", to be released by Harper Collins
Publishers in February 2004, and is currently pursuing two new business
ventures. With a marathon personal best of 2:48:38, Monique's preparations
for the ING New York City Marathon include a training stint at the High
Altitude Training Center owned and operated by Lornah Kiplagat in Iten,
Kenya. In the first installment of her training journal, Monique outlines her unorthdox development as an "accidental" runner. Installment #2 will recount her discovery of the High Altitude Training Center, and in #3 she will chronicle her stay there. The fourth installment will cover her experience in New York on November 2 and a post-race analysis. Stay tuned for this fascinating and suspenseful story of an athlete's journey on a path of self-discovery. Entry #1, October 15, 2003 — From E-lite to Elite: Journal of an Accidental Runner I did not choose running. Running chose me. I ran my first race when I was six years old. I remember it well. It was a 100-yard dash. Even before I toed the starting line it was a foregone conclusion to participants and spectators alike that I would win the race. Why? Because I was the only African in my boarding school in Kent, England, and the British assumed that as an African I could not be beaten in the field of athletics, especially in running. It was a seemingly harmless myth that, in our little cocoon, I had the power and determination to single-handedly perpetuate. And I did, for as long as I could. My "awakening" came many years later, in 1980, when I joined the NCAA Division I Georgetown University track team. I was so convincingly trounced by talented and hardworking individuals of all races on more occasions than I care to recollect, that any residual feeling of superiority that may have lingered from my carefree and euphoric days in Kent evaporated. Fortunately, by then I was so addicted to running that it didn't matter anymore — running had assumed a central and irrevocable place in my life, and it was no longer a question of winning or losing. It was rather a question of survival. After Georgetown I stopped running competitively, but continued to run recreationally. Eventually I was doing so many miles per week that I managed to convince a friend of mine, Robert Keter, a Kenyan and former 800-meter track star, to enter and complete the 1999 Boston Marathon with me. We crossed the finish line in about 3:45, and Robert has yet to forgive me for earning him the dubious distinction of being the last Kenyan to finish the race that day, and perhaps the slowest Kenyan to finish the Boston Marathon ever. I ran Boston again in each of the subsequent years, with my finishing times falling to 3:17 (2000) and 3:04 (2001). My training was no different from year to year. I continued to do it all on the steadfast treadmill that I had purchased in 1994. It only goes as fast as six minutes per mile, and I rarely take it up to that level. When I do, I plant both hands firmly on the frame, for fear of being rocket-propelled straight through the concrete wall and onto the outside patio à la Donald Duck. The floor on which the treadmill rests is somewhat uneven, so the treadmill has a de facto incline of about 2% even when the corresponding control is set at 0%. This fortuitous defect constituted my hill work. On my fourth Boston attempt, in 2002, I finished the race in 2:48:38 and was invited by the Boston Athletic Association to participate in the 2003 marathon as an elite athlete. All of a sudden I was a member of a club to which I had not even applied, much less paid any dues. In the two days leading up to the race, the elite runners attended the various information briefings with their coaches, managers, and other seasoned members of their entourages. I felt more like a "hanger-on" or a groupie than an elite. My biggest concern was not so much my finishing time or place, as simply finding an ensemble that would make me look less weekend warrior, more a member of this new club to which I had been unexpectedly admitted. Fortunately I was able to get a nice little Fila number at the marathon expo, even though the pleasant vendor there didn't for a minute buy my "elite" status argument when I suggested that he give it to me for free. On the morning of the race, instead of being herded like cattle out to pasture as I had been in previous years, I was driven by a special bus, along with the other elite athletes, to Hopkinton, the starting point of the Boston Marathon. We were placed in a well-secured and very comfortable staging area, where coffee, bagels, juice, toilets, and other conveniences were close at hand, rather than at the end of long queues. I took my place amidst the likes of the defending champion, Margaret Okayo, and other top contenders, including Marla Runyan (the top U.S. entrant), Svetlana Zakharova (the eventual 2003 winner), and many other running legends. I felt infinitely out of my league. Despite the indisputable high of simply "being there," I finished Boston 2003 in a disappointing 3:06. Though I earned a trophy as the 10th-place finisher in the masters category, it was a wake-up call. The fairytale was over. The clock was about to strike midnight and it was time for Cinderella to leave the ball. Or so I thought. But I was wrong. Shortly after Boston I received an e-mail from David Monti, the elite athlete coordinator of the ING New York City Marathon. David invited me to participate on November 2, 2003 as part of the elite field, based on my 2:48 performance in Boston a year earlier. But there was more to it than that. Unlike Boston, the elite women in New York would have a separate start about half an hour before the rest of the 30,000-strong marathon field. For all intents and purposes, I would be running a separate race, consisting of a small pack of female runners whose marathon personal bests ranged from 2:19 to around 2:50. To me, David's proposition represented a tempting, though terrifying excursion into terra incognita. Worse yet, I risked finding myself in terra nulles if I didn't keep up pace with the group. Brazenly, I accepted his invitation. My acceptance notwithstanding, I still considered myself more an E-lite marathon runner, than a truly Elite one. One does not typically become a world class runner at age 40 by running on a treadmill and watching Katie Couric on the TV monitor, all in the safety and comfort of one's home. It was time for me to pay my dues.
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