TALES FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SCALE
One “Fat” Runner’s Quest Towards Self-Transcendence
As I walked across the lawn of my old high school on Memorial Day with my dad after the annual small-town parade, he reminisced about his old coach. “I remember once in seventh grade, Coach Baker put me in center field. I didn’t have a mitt and he just put me there. I spent all day chasing balls and finally caught one and threw it into him. He told me, ‘Good catch, Griffin.’ It’s moments like these that stick with you.” His old coach had just passed away after 80-something years of inspiring and guiding youth towards meeting their goals.
There is something enviable in people like Coach Baker and my dad. They are both life-long educators, who have, in my eyes made a commitment to investing in the future of tomorrow by empowering the children of today. When I think about my dad, I respect the endless hours he has put in not to walk away with a huge paycheck at the end of the day, but to walk away knowing that he has made a difference in another’s life. When I think about the thousands of children that my dad has seen as a teacher and principal, I think about the exponential factor of “giving back”. And despite what non-educators perceive our job to be, as a teacher myself, I can tell you that the true measure of a teacher is how he or she talks about the children that are impacted by day to day instruction.
Each year around this time, I give thanks that we have had the men and women of generations past and present willing to lay their lives on the line to protect the liberties and freedoms that we so often take for granted. There is something about individuals willing to make the ultimate sacrifice that consequently humbles even the most boastful runner. This year I had the pleasure of running the Lenox Memorial Day Marathon in Lenox, Massachusetts in conjunction with their drive to benefit the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund.
This had been a long year already for me with two indoor marathons, a 6-Hour, and 12-Hour ultra already behind me. Dubbed “my birthday marathon”, it would be the last race I would run as a 25-year-old. As I slipped on my Vibram FiveFingers and pinned on my bed, the butterflies started to hit. I am always nervous the first time on a course I have not run previously. I drove the last six or seven miles and I knew that it was going to be one hell of a run (The last 10k gains nearly 1000’ vertical feet).
In the last few years, I have gained some extra weight, and I am one of the bigger runners in most of the events that I participate in. At 6’2” and 230 lbs, I am twice the weight of many of the female competitors. Lining up in the back with some of the other Marathon Maniacs, I thought about the task ahead - traversing the next 26 miles and 385 yards. I thought about my game plan, the obstacles I might face, and my mantra for the day, Quentin Cassidy’s “Miles of Trials, Trials of Miles” from the John L. Parker, Jr. book Once A Runner. I have tried several mantras, but have found this one to work most effectively for me because it is short, sweet, and gets the job done.
I have always been self-conscious, but I think more so in the past couple years. I have a high-stress job, and I think I have as a result, indulged and imbibed and have gained more weight that I would have liked to. It is not uncommon for me to log a lot of miles running in the dark or on the treadmill in the spare bedroom. Sometimes I feel like it is my own, private air-conditioned sanctuary where I can decompress, reevaluate, and refine lessons for my students, away from the distractions and critical lens of the real world.
One of my wife’s family friends was in charge of singing the national anthem. I wasn’t really paying attention to the race directions and announcements. I watched as people peeled off just before the start to do their business in the woods. I chuckled as at the high point of the anthem, I heard the splashing of liquid on leaves, the the crunch of twigs underfoot as a burly serviceman tip-toed out of the woods, hand on his chest.
It was already in the mid-60s at the start. The smell of exhaust and BenGay hung in the air. I always relish the funny quips that mark the start of a long race. Many marathons and ultras I have done do an introductory loop through the starting area, as if to give any half-hearted souls the chance to bow out of the race. There is always the funny jokester who jests “Wow! That was quick! The finish line already!”. I can never tell if they are laughing at or with the poor soul.
As with any long race I participate in, there comes a time when it is “go time”. That last uncomfortable second when you watch overweight men adjust their jock straps, the devout Catholic make the cross, and the worrisome newcomers, attempt to keep their breakfast down.
As this was my ninth time at the distance, I was hardly a newcomer. If anything, I was a hardy veteran - Nowhere near my competitors’s however - some of these runners of insanity have logged anywhere from 100 to 200 marathons!
I chose to wear burgundy shorts and my purple Doo-dah shirt. I love the Doo-dah shirt’s motto “Keep on Truckin’”. It helped me at several low points during the race and I am sure that it helped other runners navigate the hills during the incredibly muggy conditions.
GENESIS
The race started and that’s when I had to pee.
We ran off under the start banner together (half marathoners and full marathoners alike), each setting off on this epic quest we’d undertaken - First timers. Veterans. The unsure. The unfit. We were all together for that moment. 5k and 10k runners and spectators cheered us forward like we were the opening invasion on D-Day, when in reality by the mid-afternoon, we would more closely resemble the brigades from Pickett’s Charge, limping in.
I tried to find my footing, setting the metronome-like tap-tap-tap as the soles of my Vibrams slapped the pavement (bad form, I know!). After only a couple minutes, when I was sure my bladder was about to explode, I saw that all the Marathon Maniacs were magnetized to a short little personable figure emerging from the side of the road with a camera ... Dave Mari. Dave goes by many names - the “X - Factor”, the most personable maniac in the world, and more often, simply Dave. I don’t think I made any of the photos, but I laughed when Dave exclaimed, “Oh my God I’m out of shape! Time for a walk break!”. We had covered exactly .3 miles.
One of the things that I like about the Memorial Day Marathon course is that it is set in the heart of the Berkshires - Tanglewood. The first six miles are downhill. The downer? Those last six miles are uphill.
QUICK-TIME MARCH
Running races with multiple distances together is always tricky. I learned this the hard way the first time (May of 2007). I was still young to the longer distances then and went out far too fast at the KeyBank Vermont City Marathon. There was a multi-person relay going on at the same time, and I quickly found that everyone I was pacing off of started to peel away.
After seeing the hasty exit of Dave, I tried to find a place to pee. That has to be one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world - having a full bladder sloshing around as you put 60 tons of pressure on your joints with each mile.
Finally I was afforded some reprieve after about a mile. By this time, the line of runners plodding down the road had started to thin out. I was looking anxiously around for a place to peel off, finally finding a nice path through the woods. It was so cool in the shade - Why couldn’t the race go running through here? Oh wait, that’s right. It’s because it was where I had to pee!
The goal was to go out hard for the first couple hours, and take it easy in the sweltering afternoon sun. I started clicking off miles really nicely. Around mile 6, the half marathoners started to peel away. It had been a lot of downhills, and minus the pee mile, every mile through mile 10 had been under 10-minute pace.
As we sped towards Great Barrington and Interlaken, I came into stride with an Asian guy carrying a bottle of ice on his back. What a great idea! I followed him for awhile, and then we ran the next 2-3 miles side by side. At the 10 mile aid station I stopped for a refill of my Nathan Quickdraw and he took off, gaining a quick 20 meters on me.
About this time I caught a trio of women running together as well as a pair of guys. But this was about the end of my fast portion of the marathon. My plan had been for 3 hours, but with the heat, I opted to change plans to 2 hours. I walked and sucked down a salt capsule.
Mile 11 was relatively flat and crossed a bridge. I started walking at Mile 12 in the shade and decided that to regain my composure I needed to drink a bottle, walk a good 5-6 minutes, and keep it slow and easy.
Miles 13 through about 15 were “Dead Runner’s Land”. I really struggled and thought about would this be my first DNF? How would I get Emm to find me out here in the middle of nowhere? What would other runners think.
1...2...5...7 runners passed me. Then we came to the graveyard. “Keep on truckin!” someone read aloud as they passed. Indeed. Keep on truckin’. Can’t give up now! Come on, Quentin Cassidy. Miles of Trials, the Trial of Miles. Get it done!
I started following a lady with a water bottle on her waist and a trio of three men (looked to be in my age division) who had had a rough time. Later I would find out one of them was injured with a hamstring pull, but they had decided to finish it together. They were the only other three people in my age group as well, so I lucked out there. I passed them on the hill leading to the Mile 18 aid station. I made it my mission to stay ahead of them.
After the second steepest hill on the course at Mile 18, the course made its way towards Stockbridge where the biggest hills on the course were looming. Miles 22 and 26 I had already nicknamed the Widowmakers as I looked at the elevation chart prior to the race. I had caught a group of about five runners and we made our way through Mile 21 together. I lost them on the hill. They were faster walkers than I and my feet had started to hurt. With all the sweating and the fact I don’t wear socks compounding the issues, I ended up with 4 blisters on the arches of my feet.
By this time the heat was starting to take its toll. I couldn’t find Gatorade or real food at any of the aid stations. Only water or ice. I was lucky I had brought four salt tablets with me. I continued to take a salt tablet every 45 minutes. My feet literally felt like cement bricks - cement bricks of pain.
I couldn’t let myself or anyone else down. “Keep on Truckin’”. Eye on the prize. Onwards and upwards. You name it, it ran through my mind.
The nice thing with aid stations every two miles, was that I could break down the race into manageable parts. Despite drinking a bottle between every station, I had yet to have the urge to pee since the first mile. I was worried that I was dehydrated. At Mile 24 I spotted two port-a-johns near Makheenac. After filling my bottle and glancing scared over my shoulder, I saw the Three Musketeers including ‘Hobbly’ as well as a limping girl still coming down the hill. I went to the port-a-john ....
And nearly fell in! Both of the portable bathrooms were on a reverse slope on the side of the road so that if I leaned too much on the wall I felt like it might tip over! I backed halfway out, balancing on the balls of my feet, my arches gripped around the edge of the floor. Leaning at an absurdly weird angle, much like the opening scene from “40 Year Old Virgin” with Steve Carrell, I tried to go. Flourescent Yellow. Not good. Dehydration.
With two and chump change miles to go, there’s not much you can do. I just had my last salt capsule and downed the bottle. Luckily about .3 miles down the road, a red SUV with NY license plates passed and asked I needed anything. I said that I could go for ice. The passenger gladly obliged, wishing me luck. I could taste the icy cool refreshment of the finish line. No, wait. That was just ice.
HOMECOMING - END OF AN ODYSSEY
The last two miles were not my best. But, hey, you can’t always predict how an odyssey will end. Sometimes things go really smoothly. Other times, it’s like life not just gives you lemons, but gives you paper cuts first and then squeezes the juice from said lemons into them.
It was all about maintaining the fast walk towards the finish. I passed the last race photographer and aid station as I made it up the road on the back side of Tanglewood. After turning right, I found that grey shirt, whom I had been following for about the last three miles, had started to jog. I decided I would jog too, and as the last 26+ was flat, it was bearable. The course map lists the course as 26.36. My watch recorded 26.45. Either way it is slightly longer than the normal marathon course. In truth, does it matter? Not really. But boy did it feel like it mattered a whole hell of a lot at the time!
After I crossed the finish line, I got a hug from Emmy who made it there in time, enjoyed a complimentary beer from a local brewery, and then toured the Naumkeag flower gardens with her.
The rest of my Memorial Day weekend consisted of celebrating my birthday with family and friends. I got a pair of LonePeaks and Lemings (which I am wearing as I type this).
As I write my report a couple days out from the finish of the race, I am pondering the question “did this marathon lead to any transcendence or at least make headway towards it?”. In all honestly, no. It was just a bloody hot, suffering, miserable day out there. But I learned that I have a mental toughness to persevere. Life is full of obstacles and opportunities, and I am fortunate enough to see the opportunities that are made available by the obstacles we face. As my quest to learn something deep and transforming about myself continues, I realized something - fat guys run too. You don’t have to be a 130 lb, 5 foot Kenyan to run marathons. Runners come in all shapes and sizes. Life is what you make of it.
Like my dad and his childhood coach, it is the little things in life that matter. You need to enjoy what you’re doing to make it memorable and sustainable. I enjoy running. I love it. And I want to share these experiences with others. I want to find a way to turn my passion into a cause that directly benefits the lives of others. I feel fortunate to have enviable role models in my life. My family is supportive of my endeavors, which is half the battle. They understand I am not trying to change the world, but merely trying to experience it, one footstrike at a time.
As the miles of trials continue on, one thing is for certain. I am ready to tackle them in all their brutally uncut and raw forms. We runners are a hardy breed.
MILE SPLITS
Mile 1: 9:32
Mile 2: 10:08
Mile 3: 9:26
Mile 4: 9:38
Mile 5: 9:54
Mile 6: 9:47
Mile 7: 9:34
Mile 8: 9:42
Mile 9: 9:26
Mile 10: 9:27
Mile 11: 10:06
Mile 12: 12:45
Mile 13: 13:30
Mile 14: 13:58
Mile 15: 12:05
Mile 16: 13:09
Mile 17: 13:15
Mile 18: 12:49
Mile 19: 14:22
Mile 20: 14:41
Mile 21: 14:28
Mile 22: 18:09
Mile 23: 15:26
Mile 24: 14:08
Mile 25: 15:59
Mile 26: 17:16
.45: 6:30
Total Time: 5:28:09 Total Distance: 26.45 miles Pace: 12:30
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