Between 2008 and 2010, I entered and participated in six racing events in the region. Half of those came in 2010, and one was the California International Marathon (CIM). This year, I competed in 13 races
and two non-entry community fun runs.
Before this year, I considered myself a casual runner at best. I ran perhaps 4 days a week--at most. In leading up to the CIM, Stephanie and I joined a training group operated by the Fleet Feet store on J Street in Sacramento. This "training" consisted of small, incremental workouts, weekly mileage goals, and friendly organization.
After a fairly successful marathon on what I now realize was insufficient mileage and intermittently adhered-to training, a coach (now friend and teammate) suggested I apply for the Fleet Feet Sacramento Racing team. Beyond the races, here are
some end-of-year reflections on how I've transitioned from "someone who
runs" into a runner.
Apparel - It seems so materialistic in nature, but I really can't say enough about how an upgrade in clothing and gear can make such a difference in comfort. I stopped buying inexpensive gear from big-box retailers, for one, and settled on Nike shorts and race-offered tech shirts (only the good ones though). I also invested in some sunglasses, gloves, arm and ear warmers, and a handful of pairs of quality socks (made by Balega and Nike). I still run in my synthetic Champion shorts for shorter distances, but anything longer than 8 miles or more intense than an interval run warrants the good stuff.
Amount - I often cite conversing after some of those initial practices with my Fleet Feet teammates in which I specified a clear opinion: If I found myself getting up before 6:00 a.m. or running 7 days a week, the joy would likely have been sucked from running. It's less than a year later, and I'm in my fourth month of pre-dawn running (sometimes, when things are hectic at work or the miles are needed, I'm up as early as 4:00 a.m.), and I just recently upped my running from 6 to the afore-dreaded 7 days. In those runs, I also never run fewer than four miles (for some weirdly compulsive reason, 6 has been the minimum as of late). Some call these facts hypocritical. I will gladly eat that crow.
Trinkets - I felt this category needed its own space outside the "apparel" section. Really, we're dealing with apples and oranges. The first items worth mentioning fall under the title of "safety gear." I now use a headlamp and a reflective bib or singlet. I still run with an iPod shuffle on distance runs, but it carries podcasts or a book on tape, and not loud, distracting, or pace-altering music. My most valuable trinket, though, is my Garmin Forerunner 605. This GPS watch is absolutely amazing. It measures my distance, my pace, my elevation changes, my interval workouts, and even feeds me when I need fuel. (OK, so I made that last part up, but it would if it could). I upload my workouts into an online database and view my runs using satellite technology. I cannot believe I ran, even as late as June 2011, relying solely on a stopwatch and the promise that I had a clue (I didn't, by the way). There has always been a bit of skepticism concerning the accuracy of these devices, but that's all fine and well and expected. I just can't argue with my results in using it as a runner, frankly. Beyond making things a bit more serious, the watch makes it a lot more fun.
Travel - Every time I went out of town this year, I packed running supplies. In many cases, I even scouted out running locations using Map My Run or word-of-mouth suggestions. On a trip to Idaho in June, I managed a tempo run on the world's oldest treadmill (seriously) and an 8-mile out and back on a gravel trail made from a converted railroad bed. Later in the summer on a trip to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Stephanie and I ran 8- and 10-mile loops through the harbor and into Maine. On a later stop in Manchester, we found a high school track and completed a speed workout, then tried our hand at trail running in Mt. Holyoke State Park in Vermont. Our big plans to travel and run came in October when we flew all the way to Washington D.C. solely to run in a marathon (well, to visit Sara and see the city as well). Over the Thanksgiving holiday we managed a 12-miler from St. Helena, and we have a long-run planned for our short trip to Half Moon Bay. This trend continues next year; in April, we take our habits to Eugene for our third marathon.
Competition - My running started taking off when I summoned the desire to run a half marathon just to say I'd done one. Running is certainly more goal-driven these days. I now engage in friendly competition with myself, others in my age group, my teammates, and members of the community. The dedication has pushed my brain into continual consideration of my PRs (personal records), and each race at a given distance presents a new challenge.
Community - It isn't all competition, though, and this last category is not something that, per se, makes me define myself as "runner" instead of "someone who runs." The final point here is really about what running has done for my family and me, and what our friendships with teammates has meant. I've definitely met some amazing athletes, and I've run and trained with some of the hardest working runners in the region. There is also a deep dedication to volunteerism, with all runners dedicated hours and days of their lives to supporting the team, the community, and the culture of running. It's here that I've connected with amazing, caring friends who, at the even the slightest hint of uncertainty, would race (seriously race) to my side. Success on the course isn't why the team is successful; it's the way people with common interests support one another and work toward something better.
As I exit the list, I realize that in writing this the reflection has transformed into an appreciation letter to my wife and teammates. But that's OK. It's not about me. And maybe that's another reason we're really all training for here?
The final day of finals week stands at the ready, and in the days that lead to its glorious arrival, my typically quiet break and prep roar to life with conversation. Students trickle in, form a line, and mumble among their colleagues as they wait to discuss the direction of their final papers--due tomorrow, by the way. With their colleagues, and with me in conference, these students disclose their concerns and articulate the process of their drafting. It's a heartwarming time for me because it validates the process I hope they'll grasp before they leave my classroom in June.
I am not a masochist; I do not assign composition during exam week in order apply pressure to their already stressful lives. I do not assign writing so that they'll suffer this week and perhaps truly appreciate the fact that they're given a vacation. I do not assign writing because I believe in unifying their collective thinking on the issues that shape our world. I assign so that I can depart confidently with a stack of unique, slightly confident voices in my tote bag, for the winter affords time to read. Slowly.
**************************
I hear voices, one by one, as they move forward in line. "So here's my introduction, Mr. Petty." I don't really know if it's what you're looking for."
"Put the paper down," I say. "Tell me what the point of this essay is. Verbally. Please."
And then I wait for awhile. When the soft sounds start to fall forward, I sometimes make funny faces. Sometimes I close my eyes because, as they artfully stumble over canned thesis statements and familiar verbiage, I feel like I'm swallowing cubes of ice shaped like stop signs.
(Maybe a stop sign is the wrong figure, but I'm definitely ingesting an oddly shaped command.)
Despite my contortions and my countenance, I love the listening. I love hearing them come to terms with the purpose of their writing. I love listening to them realize they are not writing for me or to me, but instead as a means to prove something to someone somewhere.
When they realize this, their tractor beam eyes bore a hole through my frame and fixate on an attainable mirage. It's a plateau, a clover field of respite in the not-so-distant future.
They bounce off like elk in pursuit, but I'm sure this excitement subsides in time. Writing is, after all, a process. At some point, likely late at night, they'll bash their elk horns dramatically against the wall (or keyboard) in hopes of shaking the kernels of truth they found blossoming in our dialogue from their stems. Sometimes, amazingly, petals fall to floor where they're quickly collected and funneled onto the computer screen.
**************************
It's Thursday evening now, and tomorrow's submission deadline approaches (along with any round of exams). The long and winding road is not so long and winding anymore. At the last bell I spoke to only two students. There's a small queue forming in my digital inbox, but it's not the same.
I have high hopes for voices tomorrow. The kind coming from the essay of a developing writer, at least.
The blog below offers Stephanie and my separate observations of the our most recent accomplishment, finishing the 36th Annual Marine Corps Marathon.
Pre-race
S: I
stopped checking Weather.com on Saturday when it told me that it would
feel like mid-20s at the start. I decided I was better off
not knowing what awaited me. After a metro ride, a line for the world's shortest bus ride, and a security checkpoint, we ended up huddled under a tent in the Pentagon parking lot. I was wearing a headband over my ears, gloves, a tank
top, a throw-away t-shirt, arm warmers, running shorts, sweat pants,
a throw-away sweatshirt, and a fleece sweatshirt, and still muscles I did
not know I had were shaking in the cold. This didn’t give me a good
feeling about the pace my body would hold.
During the very mild winters
in Sacramento, I move at near crawling pace for the first two miles of
any run. My original goal for Marine Corps was to try to hold 8:45 per
mile pace (this translates to a finish time under 3:50) for as long as
possible with the real goal being to finish under 4 hours (9:10 pace).
My first marathon led me to believe that fading in the last 6 miles was
inevitable. I don’t run the kind of mileage that I should, and even
sub 4 hours would have been a 10 minute PR. My challenge to myself was
to stay tough and keep fighting as long as I could. All week I had been
making a mental list of things to focus on when the miles got hard: (1)
my grandfather, who is no longer with us but remains a source of
inspiration, (2) my grandmother who is probably the toughest person I
will ever meet, (3) my dad’s annoying “just one more” mantra, (4) Kyle
and how I would want him to keep working in the same situation, (5) how I
was able to sustain my pace during some tough training runs, and (6) my
friends and family back home.
K: My mind, dependent on a particular method, would have likely spent the hours before the race fretting over my less than methodical body. Luckily, I suppose, I had the freezing temperatures to preoccupy me. Beneath my Fleet Feet Racing tracksuit I wore my racing singlet, tube sock arm warmers, throw-away t-shirt, and a Marine Corps Marathon mock turtle neck. I also wore my neoprene gloves and a neon green throw-away beanie.
I could see stars, so I knew the sun would eventually show itself. But I wasn't certain how long it would take to warm me up. The most comfortable I felt outside all morning was bunched in the security checkpoint lines. This is ironic now, since later I would be running in a race boasting tens of thousands of entrants and wouldn't have any sort of proximity to a bunched group outside the starting line.
Once Stephanie and I checked our bags, I darted in and out of the throng toward what I assumed would be the starting line. I considered this a warm-up, and actually ended up running about three quarters of a mile. Once I reached my corral--right behind the start line and the elite corral, I had plenty of time to stretch, stride, and move about. I found Erin, a Fleet Feet employee, just as they collapsed the first two corrals and moved us in together toward the start line, where I was about two rows back. I ditched the t-shirt, and waited for Drew Carey to fire the start gun.
Mile
1
S: (8:40) My watched beeped well before the first mile marker, so the
first mile was definitely slower than this. In general, my watch
measured the course a little long, so take my mile times with a grain of
salt. Mile 1 has some uphill portions, but I was surprised by how
quickly I got up to pace. It was much less crowded than CIM, despite
the extra 13,000 runners.
K: (6:43) I had no idea where we were headed. I started to recognize elements of
Rosslyn, where our hotel
was located, and seeing elements from the previous days. I didn't really anticipate the first hill on the Lee Highway, which made the hard left pretty tough. The first runners already
darted off the street to use johns.
Mile
2
S: (9:37) I knew there was another hill coming but when I saw the size of it I
practically groaned. My plan had been to run with even effort and not
waste energy on the early hills. I’m a good hill runner, but I have a
tendency to charge up them to the detriment of the rest of my race.
Apparently, I jogged up this hill. I wasn’t happy when I saw how much
time I bled.
K: (6:45)Coming up toward the
two-mile marker, my cluster started passing a number of chair racers,
especially those cranking with their arms. There were some chain issues, some
weather issues, and some just showed fatigue. It was clearly going to be a
struggle for some of them all day.
Mile
3
S: (9:25) The uphill continued onto the third mile. I had already
conceded that I wasn’t going to hit 3:50, but I realized I needed to
step it up to break 4 hours. I had a pace band that had the paces for
each mile to break 4 hours, and I wasn’t on it. I was, however, warming
up. I started the race still wearing the headband ear warmer, gloves,
throw-away t-shirt, and arm warmers, but by the top of the hill, I had
ditched all of my extra layers and was down to my tank top and running
shorts. Somewhere around here I passed a guy wearing a full shark
costume.
K: (6:36)Before mile three we turned
at a CVS pharmacy, I remember. There was a woman running on my side whose son
cheered as he watched his mother competing for the first time. I recall
congratulating her before cutting the tangent and heading down hill on Lorcom
Ln. The sun was starting to assert itself a bit, and the creek and foliage
looked beautiful in the autumn dawn.
Mile
4
S: (8:14) This mile had a nice downhill which I love. I can really
let go and fly and it doesn’t bother my quads at all. How fast and easy
this mile was made me realize I was silly to go so easy up the hills
when I was going to rest soon on the downhills.
K: (6:16)The downhill helps explain
this split, but just before the four-mile marker we climbed a hill and crossed
an old bridge off the George Washington Memorial Pkwy. The line of runners was
noteworthy, but the spectators hadn’t made it out in full force yet. I say this
because the bridge was frozen, and no one really knew it until their strides
started sliding around. After the small bridge, we rejoined the main road and
crossed the Potomac into Georgetown.
Mile
5
S: (8:51) This mile went uphill a bit. I passed a man who was running
with a prosthetic leg and added that to my reasons not to complain. I
wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t think of anything good
enough. Throughout the race, there was a lot of passing and being
passed by wheelchairs, which was a big production. On the uphills, they
were stuck or cranking at a crawl. I felt bad for them. On the rest
of the course, people would yell for the runners to move to the left or
the right as the wheelchairs passed. It got confusing whether they were
saying to move to the left or the wheelchair was on the left. I took my first
gel here. I was trying to fuel better than in my first marathon by
fueling early and often. I took Gatorade at every water station before
the first gel and water at every aid station after that. I even drank
some water and ate some Jelly Belly sport beans at the start line.
K: (6:27)Leveled out on Canal Rd.
and passed a few groups. I ran with three or four in a pack, losing one to the
pit stop in the high grass on the side of the road. Saw my first non-marathon,
casual joggers along the river and thought their decision to run was a bad idea
(although I didn’t have the same feelings about my own). Pace was regulated,
and I was satisfied but a long way from relaxed
Mile
6
S: (8:34) This mile was a nice, slow descent. This was the part of the
course when I started thinking that I liked the course because it
seemed to have more downs than ups. I know that’s actually not true,
but once I was over the early hills, it felt easier. This was also one
of my favorite parts of the course because there is a stretch where you
can see the runners ahead of you coming down a steep hill on the right.
I looked forward to running down it. We saw the wheelchairs and then a
car with a clock on it and then the lead runners. It was exciting to
see how fast those guys were running and how good they looked doing it.
We all clapped as they passed even though we were running, too. I
moved over to the right shoulder in the hope that I could see Kyle if he
came down the hill. Alas, I only saw about the first 10 runners.
K: (6:33)Between 5-6 I caught my
first glimpse of chair racers coming down the hill. No lead pack, so I was
still making decent time, though I didn’t know how far away from that downhill I was at the
time.
Mile
7
S: (9:01) There is another set of hills going up mile 7. I had learned
my lesson and pushed up them slightly. I passed a guy running
completely barefoot. No Vibram FiveFingers – just barefoot. In light
of the icy bridge we had already passed, I didn’t think this was a good
idea.
K: (6:43) Doubled back and headed up
toward the reservoir in Georgetown. A pretty sizeable hill. Passed more chair
racers and ran directly into the sun, partly blinded. Topped out and fetched my
first fuel, which I’d trapped in my watch, since I knew I’d have water again at
7.
Mile
8
S: (8:44) I was a bit disappointed when we hit the downhill. It was
so steep no one around me was running at the right pace. As a result, I
had to slow down and dodge people, and didn’t get to take advantage of
the steep descent. Instead, it was like hitting the breaks. Yuck.
K: (6:20) The pace here speaks for
itself. I was coming downhill through the suburbs. The cheering picked up here in Georgetown. I passed a team surrounding a blind runner. Very amicable,
very supportive guys all around. Lots of chatter about who was stationed where.
Mile 9
S: (8:34) I took my second gel and enjoyed running through the crowds in Georgetown.
K: (6:17) I
didn’t really slow off the
downhill when leveling off into the central district through Georgetown. The
town was a blast. The streets were caked with people and signs and noise.
Turned right toward the Potomac and caught another downhill with a sweet view.
Beautiful spot, until we were suddenly socked in under a raised freeway.
Miles
10 - 13
S: (8:57) Sara told me she would be waiting before the 10 mile
marker. As we approached, the street was lined on both sides with
people and her puffy white jacket wasn’t as unique as we thought it
would be. I worried I would miss her, but ended up finding her and
Andrew easily. I was happy to see friendly faces.
(8:35) When I saw this split I told myself I was crazy and to
remember that I had 15 miles left. Perhaps my body didn’t understand
what it was in for? In retrospect, I think this was when I found my
grove.
(8:39) There were a few times when there was a break in the crowd
and I felt how cold the wind was. It occurred to me that Kyle might be
having a different experience out in front. The brutal cold was
apparently the perfect temperature for me. It was keeping me from being
hot. Only afterwards did I realize how much running in a crowd had
saved me from the wind.
(8:40) The gel I took here came straight from the gel station. It
was awesome. Marines were lined up holding boxes and shouting flavors.
In general, they ran the aid stations with the expected military
precession, but the gel station was particularly impressive. I didn’t
hear the guy who yelled “raspberry” in time to get over and that is my
favorite flavor. I hate chocolate and mocha so I gave those marines the
cold shoulder. I was happy with vanilla.
K:
(6:23, 6:32, 6:30, 6:36)
This blurs together in my mind. It was a pretty straight
shot down an island in the Potomac. Pace didn’t waver much after Georgetown. We
ran through park settings, some of which were clogged with people, and others
that were desolate and empty. According to my map, I missed the view of the
Lincoln Memorial here. My first conversation of the race was over one band’s
stellar rendition of STP’s “Vaseline.” I crossed the mat at 13.1 at 1:25,
nearly better than the PR I tried so hard to beat for the first 6 months of the
year. I finally ditched my tube sock arm warmers here, though I probably could
have gone longer.
Mile
14 - 16
S:
(8:54, 8:36, 8:50): Somewhere around here I
stopped checking my pace band at every mile. It was also now loud
enough that I couldn’t always hear my watch beep. I was minutes ahead
of my goal and my splits had been good, so I just went with the flow. I
also decided that because I was feeling so good, Kyle was surely
feeling good, too. I was sure he would smash his old time and I looked
forward to conferring with him after his race.
K: (6:28) I planned to fuel again at
14, but I needed water to wash down the gel. This might have been another
mistake, since there wasn’t any aid station on the horizon. I had the Gu open
in my hand, but continued to hold off. I wasn’t desperate, but I wanted to
follow a regimen, at least.
(6:35)I realized I’d made a
judgment error, so I started taking little plugs from the Gu and doing my best
to digest them without water. I caught a quick sight of the new MLK Memorial
here, which was enormous.
(6:34) I finally got my water at
mile 16, and charged through the rest of the Gu. There was a little turn around
here, and spectators bounced back and forth across the median in order to get
two viewings of the runners. Given the gaps in the faster pack, I actually had
to dodge a few fans. After the water station, I lost sight of the person in
front of me and had to ask a Marine if the route turned.
Mile
17
S: (8:39) At CIM last year, this is where the wheels came off. I
wanted to get as far past this point feeling OK as possible, and I was
pleased to still feel good. I took another gel.
K: (6:24)
Just past 17, you go
through something called the MCM Gauntlet, but I don’t recall of what it
consisted. Maybe it was just a bunch of Marines? On the map, this section of
the course is so phallic it’s not even funny. Seriously. Maybe that’s where it
got its name? Anyway, I hit another water station, and tried to add crushed
electrolyte tabs I’d packed in my Spi belt to a cup of water. The cup spilled,
and the tab wouldn’t dissolve, so I had a sip and then a bite of the tab. The
taste was bitter, and the plan was ill conceived.
Mile
18
S: (8:42) The mall was chaotic in a good way. I think this was about
where I saw Sara and Andrew again. There was so much going on that I’m
not even sure exactly where I was at that point. It was a blur of
bands, people on both sides of the street screaming, and landmarks. Not
to mention the surreal feeling of realizing I was deep into the race
and still feeling good. Once I found them, even though she said she
might try to see me again, I stopped looking for them because it was so
crowded and scanning the crowd was taking a lot of effort.
K: (6:26) I still felt good at this
point, and was optimistic about finally cutting the remaining miles to single
digits. I emerged from a tree-lined street and caught a beautiful view of the Capitol
Building, front and center, just as my watch hit 2 hours.
Mile
19
S: (8:31) I grabbed some sport beans from that station, and we did a
circle in front of the Capitol. One odd thing about me is that despite
how many years I have been running, I’ve never chaffed. Ever. Before
long runs, I put body glide in certain spots just because it seems like
the thing to do. At this point in the marathon, I realized the streak
was broken. Underneath my arms stung a bit. I was chaffing for the
first time ever. It didn’t hurt badly, so it was easy to ignore. I
blame the cold, but overall that it was funny to realize, “oh, so this
is what chaffing is.”
K: (6:30)Just before 19, I had
chance to rectify the electrolyte debacle with the Jelly Belly fuel station. I
struggled to open the package with gloves, without gloves and cold hands, and
in my teeth. It was so frustrating I even laughed aloud, prompting the guy next
to me to look over.
Mile 20
S: (8:43) There’s a bridge around the 20mile
marker that I barely registered at the time. Batala Washington, Inc.,
an all-women percussion group was playing before the bridge, and I loved them. I’m a big
fan of any sort of drum line. (Earlier, I also enjoyed the ‘90s alt
rock covers that Kyle had.) It made this stretch of the race a lot of
fun and any incline on the bridge unnoticeable.
K: (6:42)Hit another water station
and opted for Gatorade because of the concern over electrolytes. I finally tore
into the beans—though I lost three—and once I got them in my mouth realized
they were pretty well frozen, which made for a tough chew. A hard left just
past the Smithsonian, and we were heading toward the water again.
Mile
21
S: (8:31) When I passed the 20
mile marker, I remembered that one of Kyle’s teammates said to go all
out from here on in. I didn’t know how to translate that into the right
level of effort, particularly because I still thought I might start to
fade soon. Nonetheless, I did start picking it up. It occurred to me that Kyle was finished. I had my final
gel and the shark came back on me. I was impressed, but then I realized
that you must be a strong runner to think you can run a marathon in a
shark costume. This part of the course was a little strange because you
are running on a freeway, which has some hills to it. There were
people stopping on the median to stretch their calves. It pains me to
see this happen to people. I can’t imagine having to restart with so
much distance to go. I almost broke my streak of not seeing anyone
throw-up, but luckily looked away in time. My legs were definitely
feeling the effects of having run for so long, but it was surreal how
well I felt and how I was now dodging the slowing runners around me. I
was pretty certain I would break 4 hours at this point, and I was really
happy about it.
K: (6:42)I finally ditched the free
CIM beanie here, but mostly because I wanted some pictures in the last stretch
without a neon orb on my head. A man on a bike, who I’m told was a one time
Fleet Feet racer, caught me just after mile 20 and said, “Make Chad (my coach)
proud.” The map calls this Beat the Bridge, but the only challenge seems to be
the desolation. It’s a long bridge, yes, and it’s on a freeway, but there’s
nothing out there to beat except your brain. I opened another Gu just
across the bridge, still operating under the 7-14-21 plan despite the fact that
I just had my last packet at 16. Again, I made an error, and didn’t see water
until 22. Again, I took small nips from the packet in hopes that I could do
some damage control in the process.
Mile
22
S: (8:45) In general, I would say that the aid stations were really
good for such a crowded race. I had to change my pace a bit and dart in
to get a drink, but it wasn’t bad. The exception was the water station
before mile 22. It was located on the outside of a turn and I went to
the inside before seeing it. I had to make an abrupt change of
direction to get water and slowed down a lot in the process. It was a
lot of chaos for that point in the race.
K: (6:42)
Crystal City is perhaps the
bane of my MCM experience. It was the kind of stretch that’s packed on purely
for mileage. It’s urban, it’s odd, and it’s unfriendly. Runners pass you on the
right, and you keep waiting and waiting to make the loop and join them. Once
you see the spot, you can’t believe your eyes. It was about the size of a hotel
valet loop, and it was surfaced in brick.
Mile
23
S: (8:32) I had the sport beans I had been saving. A few beans flew
out of the package as I opened it, and I realized jelly beans are a
silly thing to eat while moving. I wasn’t a fan of the
Crystal City out and back, but was thankful there was at least some
crowd noise.
K: (6:42)
Despite hating this
stretch, I maintaed steady 6:42s here, which might look like some sort of
regulating. Unfortunately, it’s really just the precursor to the breakdown. I
passed Erin on her way out, and she complimented my race. I thanked her, but
thought she’d probably catch me. I made a few turns and felt serious fatigue.
One or two passed me here, albeit slowly, and I complemented them as best I
could. I was offered Dunkin’ Donut samples by a very pushy volunteer just
before the 24-mile marker, and turned her down. In retrospect, I wonder if it
would have helped?
Mile
24 - 25
S: (8:49, 8:29) It started to dawn on me here that I was
approaching 3:50 pace. I didn’t think I could break it, but it was
going to be close. It was strange to reconsider something I had given
up on at mile 2. Another weird aspect of running on freeways towards
the end was running down a very twisty offramp.
K: (6:54)
Two Gatorade cups here at
this aid station. I remember reaching for anything that I thought might sustain
me for two more miles. I kept thinking it would only take 14 minutes if I could
keep it under 7s.
(7:22)
I passed the Pentagon and
cursed a bit, wondering how a location I had to take a train to could be so
close to the finish line, the station from which I took the train in the first
place. I caught some more Gatorade at an aid station near the start line, now
strewn in shed clothing. I kept checking my pace as I felt myself slowing, and
noted that I was close, really, really, really close. I recall imaging that I
looked like a slow motion recording—either that or someone dragging around a
wagon full of lead.
Mile
26
S: (8:14) I ignored the last water station because I figured it
wouldn’t make any difference and it was better to get the faster time.
Since my watch was off from the course, I couldn’t calculate exactly
how fast I needed to run the last mile in order to break 3:50 or if it
was even possible. My gut told me it just barely wasn’t possible. I
also didn’t know how to race the last mile. MCM ends on an uphill I had
never seen. It would be dangerous to redline before that and then have
to charge up the hill. I was also really happy about what my time was
going to be regardless. I never thought I could come so close to 3:50.
I knew the wheels weren’t going to fall off and I would run in strong.
During this mile, I also realized I had not thought of any of the
things I intended to think of when it went bad, because it never went
bad. I was so happy. I was also dodging even more runners and it was
getting harder to dodge some of them because our speeds were so
different. It was a good thing I was not going all out.
K: (8:09) My watched logged the 26th
mile before the map shows it—which is at a distinct left turn—and given the
severity of my fatigue, I was pissed. Much of what I recall is a haze. I watched my shadow, now and what I assume is crawling speed, as I inched through an area that looked like bizarro-wasteland version of the start line. I was only passed by one or two folks, since at this point most that weren't breaking down nabbed me back near the Pentagon and the Key Bridge.
Mile 26.2
S: (8:22 pace) As the 26th
mile approached, I kept looking for the hill because I knew it would
signal the end. It was strange how not seeing it made me frustrated.
When I finally saw it, I was taken aback by how long and steep it was.
I had been feeling good, but as soon as I started charging up the hill,
I felt instantly much worse. I still finished strong in 3:50:13. I
was so happy with how good I felt, but I realized that my slow first
miles and lack of aggression at the end cost me a sub 3:50 finish. As
often is the case, I was faster than I gave myself credit for.
K: (8:06 pace)Two men were walking (though they both
started back up), and once I made the turn toward the final hill (yes!) and the
Iwo Jima Marine Corps Memorial, I was at a crawl. My watch was over 26.2, my
legs were done, and I slowed to a wobbly walk to climb the hill. It was one of
those Disney movie moments where the crowd feels pity and starts to will you
on, so I started running, only to slow and stop again. Near the top, I picked
it up, and crossed to a somewhat lackluster closing. There seemed to be some
setup still going on, and I don’t eve recall my name being said. I stopped my
watch, and realized how really ugly the end had become. I was on pace for another
8:10 mile. It also indicates that the MCM course ran long, a fact that was
confirmed by at least three other watches in our group and a number of
suspicious runners at the finis.
Post-Race
S: The finish was well-organized. You had to walk a bit, but I think it
prevented me from getting too sore later. I also liked that they handed
you all the food and drink you could want instead of you wandering
around into different lines. I’m not good at thinking and finding lines
after a marathon. CIM made me overwhelmed. It was a long walk back to
Kyle and I started to get anxious wondering how he did. I was so
excited when I saw him and his teammate Brian sitting on a curb by the
UPS trucks. I was so sure he had broken 3 hours and really happy for
him when I heard he had. I chomped on my post-race food as we waited
for Sara and Andrew to show-up and then Dan shortly after. I was so
proud of Dan for finishing his first marathon. Particularly after I saw
his bloody shoe.
It
was so nice to feel good after a marathon. Before I ran my first
marathon, I had always thought that longer distances (and ultimately the
marathon) were my strength, but the way I felt after CIM erased that
belief. Marine Corps made me think of myself as a marathoner again.
All in all, I thought this was a great race. I loved the crowds and
the course would definitely run Marine Corps sometime in the future.
K: I don't recall how I knew where to go, but after the finisher photo and a meandering pathway through stacked boxes and Gatorade sports bottles, I trekked nearly
½ mile down toward Rosslyn. I remember being extremely happy to be wrapped in my finisher foil. It cut the wind and, when hit by the sun, immediately warmed me. I found my assigned UPS truck at the bottom of a long, sloping hill, and tried to get into something warmer. My hands felt like blocks, and when I opted to kick my shoes off, I struggled to do so without allowing my calves to seize. It was a battle. I fought my compression socks for nearly 20 minutes, and count finally getting them on as the second major accomplishment of the morning. I found a street corner in the sun, transferred the wrap to my legs, and starting sifting through social media updates to see how far out Stephanie, Brian, and Dan were. We had planned to meet in the link-up corrals, but it wasn't necessary given the surprising ease with which I found them all coming down the street.
Other than the fact that the finish provided plenty of time to brood over the final miles, I was damn happy with the result. The sub-three time had, at one stage in the training, seemed like a pipe dream. I consider my myself lucky to have done so well for 24 miles, no matter what 25 and 26 and .2-ish ended up looking like.
For more, check out Sara's video coverage of the event:
We're busy cooking up a marathon blog over here, but it takes some time to simmer and set up. When time permits, Dr. Z and I will distill miles and the memories from our epic trip to D.C.
Until then, however, I have some thoughts I'd like to share about marathons and traveling and running that wouldn't otherwise make it onto the A-list spousal recall blog. So for now, enjoy the B-list blog.
Body: Travel does interesting things to people. I'd like to say that each and every trip on an airplane is a learning a experience, but all I really understand is that I have no idea how my body operates when it gets confused about where it's at.
I had decided that running a marathon, for me at least, required a kind of normalcy that I feared traveling might disrupt. If things didn't happen exactly how I believed they should have in the days leading up the race--if something was off even in the slightest sense--I feared my performance would degrade as well. Marine Corps stood as the marathon to test this theory, and to test the notion of destination marathoning in the future.
The bad news: my body did not cooperate. Airplanes and airports and snacking and restaurant food defeated me again. All the wife's tales, homeopathic remedies, and coffee in the world didn't save me from the circumstances. The good news? None of it mattered. Despite giving my mind something supercilious to fret over, my system did not negatively impact my physical performance in the race.
Breakfast: It's been a tradition since our training for CIM in 2010 to have a serving of oatmeal as our pre-race meal. We've rotated additives from time to time, trying preserves, raspberries, dried cranberries, and lately, walnuts. It's an easy meal that doesn't fill us up, yet manages to last well into the final stretches of the race.
In order to continue that tradition in D.C, I had to divvy up servings of oats and walnuts into small plastic bags. Without flatware, I dropped our ingredients into hotel glasses. Without a stove top or microwave to heat the water, I placed the glasses under the drip system of the hotel coffeemaker. Voilà! Hot water, and the tradition lives on.
Bands: I recall them playing during CIM, and there certainly are some popular half marathons in the city of Sacramento that station musicians and pep bands at various miles along the course. The Marine Corps Marathon offered this as well, but it's worth noting that the regional flavor offered a far more diverse brand of entertainment.
Good old Sacramento loves its classic rock, so the bands on the course love to play versions of popular songs from the genre. I've heard more covers of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' "Running Down a Dream" than I care to count (once played by different bands at different places in the same race). But in D.C., given that so many of the tenants are 20- and 30-somethings, the tunes reflected another time and place altogether. There was the band covering "Vaseline" by the Stone Temple Pilots--covering it so well that I originally thought it was being played from the album itself; there was the all-girl group thumping some mean original songs out by the golf course near mile 14; and there was the banjo-heavy folk group on the edge of the mall. The music was collectively distinct, unique, and refreshing.
Another contrast worth mentioning is the difference in music played by the various marching bands who work along the course. East Coast high school bands are obviously part of a different musical rotation than band directors opt for out West. Yet these songs and styles weren't as distinct as the various college and university bands who proliferated the course. Under the direction of younger (and dare I say hipper?) band leaders, the music they offered didn't solely disrupt the monotony of running a marathon, it actually entertained.
Bystanders: In addition to the Marines who dedicated their mornings to chauffeuring and organizing, to handing out water, Gatorade, and fuel, the supportive fans made the race a memorable experience. Many held signs and posters, and some of these were quite creative. Some of the standouts:
"Stop reading this sign and keep running."
"You are the 1%, because 99% of us would never do it."
"Toenails are sooo last season."
"Worst Parade Ever."
Buddies:It was great to have Stephanie, Dan, and Sara involved in the experience.
Sara and her boyfriend Andrew hopped the metro through the District in order to catch our crossings and document the experience. She put together a great video of the run using a flip camera.
I was fortunate to also share the racing experience with three teammates from the Fleet Feet Sacramento racing team. Lisa, whose husband ran the Marine Corps Historic Half Marathon, ran the full. My buddy Brian, in town for a conference the previous week, also participated. Here we are warming up after the race:
In addition to diligently following Sara around town, Andrew, who works for a congressman, gave Stephanie and me a private tour of the Capitol. Here are a few shots from before and during the tour to close out the B-list.
It was likely the phrase uttered by most of the people in
the Washington. It was a subject on everyone’s mind, and it hung like the cloud
of its subject as we navigated the people and puddles to pick up our race
packets at the marathon expo.
“God, I hope it’s not like this tomorrow.”
I’m referring to the weather on Saturday, of course. I do
concede that the phrase was altered in various ways by the time the race rolled
around—the most common of which was probably, “It’s a good thing they don’t run
these things on Saturdays.” All the preoccupation with the weather was
warranted, though, because Saturday stands as a wet, cold reminder of winter on
the East Coast.
With my treadmill television stuck at the Weather Channel
Saturday morning, I observed how the news coverage made a point to push the
snow flurries out of the district. It was almost like they willed it so, to be
honest. The line on their forecast screens did not maintain the arbitrary boundary
I’m used to, but instead followed the geography of the city limits.
The weather cooperated with this for plan for some time.
Waiting under an umbrella outside the Armory, I spoke with Lisa, a teammate
from Fleet Feet Racing who regularly runs Marine Corps (MCM). She told of snow
outside the city, cars being towed, and a certain degree of wonder at the whole
mess Mother Nature seemed to be making. We did our best to stay dry, and were
thankful to have the expo, even though it was largely pointless from a runner’s
standpoint, since it shielded us from the rain.
We also took refuge in a terrific restaurant and bookstore
called Busboys and Poets, a tribute to Langston Hughes and his time spent as,
yes, a busboy in a D.C. hotel.
By the time we’d hoofed it to Sara’s apartment, the
meaningless lines from the weather report had blown away. From the lobby of her
building, we watched as the rain turned to sleet, then ultimately snow. It
didn’t stick to the ground, but instead flurried and faded as it saw fit. It
continued for most of the afternoon, and when we glanced out the windows from
our fourth safe haven, the Portrait Gallery, we were treated to the sight of
falling snow.
The winter storm sputtered to a close as we walked to dinner
at a fantastic spot called Founding Fathers. We weren’t much paying attention
to the weather, however, due to an overwhelming desire to eat everything on the
menu. As far as pre-race dinners go, Founding Fathers is second to none. (It’s
noteworthy to mention that the waitress did not completely botch the final
payment, either.) By the time we exiting the restaurant, the stars were out and
the wind had lost some of its consistency.
At one point I may have even said, “I can run in this.” It
was a phrase I certainly felt happy to utter.
And by "down," I most certainly mean temperature. Here's a short rundown of the events thus far.
We landed in Dulles around 3:15 EST to clouds and mid-50s temps and a sputtering, blustery wind.
After a lengthy taxi ride into Arlington and a quick hotel check-in area festooned by Sauconys and Asics and swag bags, we took the metro to find Sara and Dan, who had secured reservations at a swank spot called 1905.
We enjoyed socializing over a mostly decent meal (a fatty brisket special, an organic beef burger made with mushrooms, medium-rare [?] duck, and an order of folded spanakopita), but felt quite let down when our server's actions revealed that she didn't know how to logically divide a check between three parties. (We asked for the tab to be paid with some cash, then split the rest between two cards. On the first try, we received receipts for two cards that had been charged to split the entire bill, thus leaving the waitress with a cash tip at something like 55-60%. Once we prompted the host to correct this, we received two receipts split at an even amount, but much higher than the leftover price should have been. It appears as though she split the cash, then the check, and did so in a way that still left herself with a 25% cash gratuity.) Or maybe she knew too well? Time to write "cash" on the credit card receipts and go.
We emerged from the restaurant around 8:30 EST and found a chilly evening, light rain, and a game 7 underway. (Sidebar: I honestly don't know how folks on the east coast watch evening sports. I tried to watch the final innings before going to sleep, and had to turn the TV off in the 8th because it was almost 11 PM.)
Halloween started early here. The metro stations and trains offered an odd mix of commuters, tourists, kids, and characters. A man previewing one element of his costume, a replica jacket inspired by MJ's "Bad," garnered the most attention. The ride home nearly morphed into a on-train dance off, but a jeering adolescent's pride got the best of her.
It's morning here now, the Cards have won the World Series, and I've finished my last training jog before the marathon. It saddened me a bit that I had to resort to using a basement treadmill to run 4 easy miles. While I have the right clothing for a street run in D.C., and I would have preferred to acclimate myself to the temperature, Stephanie wisely pointed out the fact that one does not want wet shoes before a 26.2-mile run. Running with a television in your face is also, apparently, educational. I now know what a Nor'easter is.
Today we'll take the metro to the Armory building and quickly wander the Marine Corps Marathon Expo. We'll pick up our bibs, our swag, and maybe some used gloves for Stephanie to wear and then ditch along the course. Then we'll meet up with Dan and Sara for some quality friend time, then put the finishing touches on an epic week of carb loading at a place called Founding Farmers.
I'll work on a quick update later that provides bib numbers, links for spectators, and instructions on how to maintain pre-race rituals when you're living out of a suitcase.
