The rest of the race is mostly a remembrance of the level of pain (or discomfort) I was experiencing, or the friends I saw along the route.
Miles 13.1-15
As I make the turn onto Bull Creek, I realize I'm not going to remember much from this race. I'm so focused on my effort level, what's going on with my body, and getting through each mile that I'm not taking in much of what's going on around me. That makes some sense because this is my town. I have biked and run these roads so much over years of training that it's familiar. But especially after the halfway point, a lot of the race is just as much a blur today as it was when I ran it. Things I do recall:
The musicians I thought would be an annoyance were absolutely wonderful. I got an energy boost and remembered to smile every time I saw them. Favorite group: the kids choir (Palm School, maybe?)
The aid station volunteers were also wonderful. Some of them had quite the knack for finding and reading names from race bibs and addressing runners (including me!) by name as they handed out water. By the time I got to Bull Creek, I was no longer with Devon and Christina, so that bit of personalized attention was very welcome.
There was one unfortunate volunteer at the aid station along Bull Creek who cheerfully told runners "it's all downhill from here!" I am sure she meant it to be encouraging, but I knew all too well there were hills waiting for me in mile 25 and plenty of false flats before that. I realize I'm overly sensitive to comments like this after all the time spent on the AT hearing people say "you're almost there" when I'm a whole state (or two) away from the end, or "it's all downhill from here" when, quite obviously, it's not. So as I passed, perhaps with a little more bite than necessary, I yelled back "Stop saying that!"
At this point, I'm working a little harder than "comfortably" hard, though "comfortably" in this sense has no relation to sitting on the sofa watching a movie. Then I remember that Amber, who I trained with for my first Half-Iron tri, lives along the course and throws a marathon-watching party in her front yard every year. It's epic - they practically drag their living room onto the front lawn. And there they are - Bad Amber, Amanda, and Mandy, standing in the street cheering us on (probably Shelley, too, but I didn't see her). They recognized me as I ran past and I got another surge of energy that lasted about 200 yards. I'm pretty sure I took in another gel during these miles, but, you know, it's a blur.
Miles 16-20
Making the turn onto White Rock, the only thing on my mind is the long false flat of Great Northern that's coming up. I'm totally zoned out when my buddy Noel from work yells my name from the sidelines and starts running with me. She lets me know the four hour pace group is a little ahead of me (I file that tidbit away with no comment - their race is not my race), asks me how I'm doing, tells me not to waste energy responding, then proceeds to ask lots of questions. I end up chatting more than I intended, which takes an energy toll. But I'm glad for the brief bit of company. I recover from the conversation by the time I hit Great Northern. I'm hoping to see Devon & Christina's crew along here, and sure enough, they spot me as I approach Greenlawn. Again, nice to see support along the route. I had only planned one gel during this section of the race, but take two (good thing I brought that extra) about three miles apart. I think both were caffeinated, so that's three caffeinated gels for the day. I'm still working hard, the quads are tightening up a bit more, but aren't yet painful, and around mile 17 realize that I'm no longer having any discomfort from the hot spots or my foot. I hit mile 20 a little slower than goal pace, but a lot can happen in 6.2 miles.
Miles 21-26.2
I take my last gel between miles 20-21. Five more miles seems like a loooooong way from here. I start gradually picking up my pace around mile 21. From here on it's a total guessing game. I'm trying to hit my splits on my watch but keep missing the roadside mile markers, so I really have no idea what my pace is. That probably worked in my favor to motivate me to work harder. Between 21-22 I wonder if I've had too much caffeine because I feel a little nauseous, but that works itself out within a mile. Alisha & Scott are at North Loop and Lamar with their pups, and a sign for me! Yay. And I see Vishal from training group! More yay! I chose to walk through each aid station to make sure I was adequately hydrating, but in those last 5 miles, it got harder and harder to start running again. By the time I hit mile 23, the legs are really tight. The best I can do is focus on quick, light feet. The less time my feet are on the ground, the less pain in my quads. Other than the quad pain, everything else feels ok, but I'm ready to be done. I am passing lots of people, but it happens in super slow motion. I feel like I'm either zoned out or that I have pinpoint focus on the work at hand (and it is definitely work), I can't tell which, probably doesn't matter.
When I hit mile 25, I am delighted to see that I am two minutes faster than goal pace. Which means I have 10 minutes to run the last 1.2 miles. At least that's how the math worked out in my head. I realize I've got my sub-four in the bag and the thought occurs to me that I could take it easy for the last 1.2. I quickly throw that option out the proverbial window. In all my years of running, I rarely put it all on the line, rarely raced, and am finally learning what it feels like to "leave it all on the course" so that is exactly what I will do until I cross the finish line. This last 1.2 is not easy, those San Jac hills are looming, so I keep something in reserve for them as I run through the t.u. campus. When I hit San Jacinto, I get a little unexpected motivation. Off to my right, two young women are cheering on a girlfriend of theirs, but I find them overly loud and annoying so I run faster to get out of earshot. Before I know it, I'm up & over San Jacinto and heading downhill to Congress. I wait to make the turn onto Congress to open up, but as soon as I do, my legs almost buckle, so I dial it down a notch, then keep pushing across the finish. First marathon done. 3:58:45. Tough, but worth it.
Post Race Thanks
The cheering sections - Devon's family, Christina's family, Noel, Alisha & Scott, Vishal, the volunteers, Bad Amber & Company - thanks for the motivation and encouragement!
Robin - my post-race domestique. That was an unexpected surprise. Thanks for schlepping my stuff, putting up with my rambling, and keeping me company.
Devon's Dad - my loaner dad for the day, who brought fresh garlands from Hawaii for Devon, Christina, and me. Incredibly sweet!
Emily, Nicole & Robin - for joining me for the impromptu celebratory steak dinner
Amy - for the coaching and for helping me create a realistic race plan
Me - for doing the work to train for and execute said plan
My body - for holding together for 26.2
I'm probably forgetting something or someone, but this report is as overdue as the marathon was, so I'm calling it done.
What's next?
I've already signed up for another marathon in the fall. For now, I'm spending the spring trail running - just ran my first 30K race today - and will return to triathlons (and marathon training) this summer.
Or, It's About Time!
(I finally run a marathon and finally post the race report - ok, part of it)
First, the week leading up to the race was the most intense pre-event week I've ever experienced. I don't recall being as wound up the week prior to my first Half-Ironman triathlon, which was my biggest event prior to the marathon. The last weekend before the race, I hardly slept Friday and Saturday nights, and I was on a low level adrenaline high most of the week. I repeatedly caught myself tensed up in anxiety mode and would take a few moments to calm myself down and relax. There were elements of fear (what if I reinjure my foot? how bad will the predicted heat be? is my time goal achievable?), but mostly it was nervous anticipation, or anxiety on the edge of the unknown, as I've learned to call it. It was fun to feel that "up" for a week, but I worried that I was wearing myself out before the race even began. Other than general pre-race anxiety, these were the most significant sources of worry leading up to the race:
- Hot spots and blisters that appeared a week and a half before the race. Same shoes and same socks I'd been wearing all through training, so why now?. To circumvent a full-tilt freak out, I emailed my coach, who talked me down and helped me with a plan to deal with them. I soaked my foot in concentrated epsom salts a couple of times and taped my toes for the remaining training runs. By race day the blisters were mostly gone and any possible problems (from those particular spots) were held in check by taping.
- First potential loss of a toenail. Really? I hike 2178 miles and run over 575 in training with toenails intact (a feat in and of itself), and a week prior to the marathon one nail begins to separate itself from my toe? Not the best timing. Looking on the bright side, I reason that losing a toenail makes it official that I'm really a runner, as if that wasn't already obvious. Another quick email to the coach for advice (did I mention my coach is patient?), and I trimmed the remaining nail as close as possible. After which I realized the exposed quick was not at all tender. I assumed I'd lose the rest of the nail during the race and was able to let it go and forget about it.
- Saturday evening, from 4-9pm, the night before the race, when I should be well hydrated and fortified, the salad I had for lunch came back to bite me on the butt. The most delicate way to put it: I did not stray far from the bathroom that night. I grew increasingly concerned that all my efforts to hydrate throughout the week were being foiled. Assessing the situation, I kept up my efforts to hydrate by drinking lots of Nuun and water and decided that if I was still having problems race morning, an Immodium was in order. Amy will no doubt be surprised that I didn't send her a panicky email about this, too. Fortunately, everything worked itself out by race morning, though I did have an Immodium tucked in my pocket during the race for insurance. I probably will never again dine out the day before a race.
Between trips to the bathroom, I forced myself to eat a reasonable dinner, set out all my clothes and gear for race morning, set three different alarms to wake me up, set a timer to remind me to take gels during the race, and reviewed my race plan. Best decision I made: to add an extra (insurance) gel to my nutrition plan. Race morning, my stomach seemed OK, I was able to eat my usual breakfast of oats, almond butter, and banana, and continued to hydrate with water and Nuun. As I left the house, Gracie looked awfully disappointed that I was clearly leaving for a run without her. Sorry pup, but running a marathon is not in your best interest.
Pre-Race
Christina, Kevin, and Matt met me at Rogue and we all drove to within blocks of Congress Ave. (curb service doesn't get any better), where Christina & I got out and started to make our way to gear check and then the porta potties. Kevin & Matt joined us and we met up with Devon and her entourage at the Rogue tent and headed to the start at 6:30. Despite the warm (for a marathon) temps, which were in the low 60s, I was chilly and kept my 2 extra shirts on until about 5 minutes before the start. Pre-race photos, nervous banter, National Anthem, first gel, a bit of water, the starting gun, aaaand we're off, sort of.Start-Mile 5
Once the race started, we stood there for a couple minutes, then started to walk slowly toward the start line. Lots of people. I'm not a fan of big crowds, but that's what you get with a marathon, in most cases. It took just under 8 minutes to get to the starting line. We started to jog a bit probably 50 yards before the start. Those first two miles were spent trying, for the most part unsuccessfully, to find running space and rhythm. I wondered how much harder those San Jacinto hills would feel when I saw them again in the last mile. I was really glad to have a small water bottle that allowed me to skip the crowded water stops in the first five miles. I missed the first mile marker, so waited for mile 2 to clock my first split, which was 5 seconds faster than goal pace total for the first two miles. Missing the mile markers and not knowing my mile splits would become a theme. Still warming up and looking for my rhythm as we made the turn onto Congress. The long climb going south on Congress is too early in the race to be terribly hard, but I was definitely working and wondering about the shorter, steeper hills to come. Took my first gel as scheduled. Amusing sight - a guy in a red shirt with a picture of a Heinz ketchup bottle on his back, running with a woman in a yellow shirt with a picture of a Heinz mustard bottle on her back. The Heinz's. <dork>I asked them where the relish and hot dog were.</dork> I'll admit it, I was a little giddy to be racing my first marathon.Miles 6-10
These miles felt the easiest of the whole race; most of my work was concentrated on holding something back. I'd read enough horror stories of people blowing up in the last 6 miles because they'd gone out too fast or pushed the pace in the early miles because it felt good. Fear of "the wall" and an exponentially tougher last 10K held me back, along with my coach's "start easy, finish strong" mantra. These miles also went the fastest, in terms of mental time, not clock time. But they were not without their issues. As I rounded Ben White onto South First, the ball of my right foot felt like one big hotspot. I was completely flummoxed. Why was I getting a giant hotspot where I'd never had one before? This did not bode well for the rest of the race, and there was a lot of it left. I tried some minor adjustments to my foot strike, but nothing seemed to resolve it, so I resigned myself to keep working and address it if it got worse. Took my second gel as planned, and had a few swigs of Christina's coconut water, which her support crew had on hand when we hit Cesar Chavez. Immediately after taking it I worried I'd made a mistake, since I'd never trained with it. As we made the approach to Winstead, the 4 hour pace group passed us, going at what seemed like a pretty good clip. I felt a little concerned, but also knew they were going faster than my goal pace, so I let them go and continued to run my race plan.
Miles 11-13.1
Ah, the turn onto Enfield where the marathoners split off from the half-marathoners, the course, to my relief, became less crowded with runners, and the hills started to get serious. I was working pretty hard to stay on pace, and had taken my first caffeinated gel earlier than planned. I was hoping for a little boost for the hills. As it was, I maintained pace through the hills, but that was the extent of the boost. When I hit the halfway point, I was a full minute slower than goal pace, but I didn't know that because I only knew my goal splits for five mile increments. I was glad to crest the last big hill (for awhile) at the 35th street overpass. Structurally, I had no foot pain, the hotspot was no worse, but, my quads were beginning to feel a little tight. The real work was supposed to start at mile 20, but it felt like it had already started.
to be continued...
Note: It has taken far longer than I planned to write this. The day after the race, I received some heartbreaking news that took priority. While I dealt with that, the race report was on hold. Thanks for your patience.
