St. George Marathon - Well what an up and down down race wise and emotionally for me. I really had a good feeling about things going into this. Even being sick this week, I just had this gut feeling that the race was going to rip. Workouts had been solid all summer; I was coming off crazy mileage in the spring; had enough time to turn that into great speed; the taper was awesome; had a huge personal motivation that I was using to drive me for the past couple months, and I was evening feeling quite a bit better waking up this morning. But I guess it just wasn't meant to be. The race went like this: Started off very well. 5:30 for the first mile. Had a great pack including JeffMc and Seth; the weather was great and I no signs of anything bad. Moving toward the end of mile 2, Seth took off after Ian (I figured it was only a matter of time), but Jeff and I were talking and just planning on working together throughout and making the best of it all. For the next 5 miles things were great. I really had not one bad thing going on through 7. My legs felt so good. My breathing was great. And mentally I felt strong. Then going up Veyo, just like that, it was all gone. My legs turned to bricks. Everything was gone. It seemed that everything that could hurt on my legs was; my hips, quads, calves, even a plantar like pain in my right foot. I tried to keep it cool and tell myself that the group had only gained about 15 meters on me up the hill and I would work on them through Dammeron. I tried a surge on top, but nothing. Tried again, again nothing. I gave it one more shot at about mile 10, and I knew that it was over. From there I just backed it way off. I thought, "What good does a brutal 2:35 or so experience get me? Nothing." So I basically just jogged it as I waited for James to catch up. If nothing else good was going to come of this, I was going to be able to help my brother get his goals. Before too long, about around the 1/2, people started coming by me - Greg, Sasha, Walter, many others - and it was kind of fun to give them some yells of encouragement. Really my mind was fine through here. It was, what it was! Saw some people through the crowds that understood when it's not your day it's not and they gave shout outs of encouragement. Coming up on 19, I really backed off and stopped at my ward's aide station there and chatted and waited for James. Before too long I saw him cresting the Winchester Hill, so I started up again and got him up to me. He said he was struggling, but he actually looked decent. But as we started the drop, I could tell his legs were hammered as he couldn't use the hill at all. It was a lot of fun working with him, encouraging him, even giving a little yell here-and-there to keep him going. And he totally responded as we pushed through those last few brutal miles when you are just so dead, to be at 2:47. I was really proud of him and glad that I could help a little. It was fun seeing a lot of other people do really well and hit some awesome goals, too.
At the same time, I am kind of having a hard time with it as well. You put so much time and effort into this. So much time and effort. The beastly early mornings. Pushing yourself so hard. Hours and hours; years and years. And for some reason it just doesn't work. I know that being sick had something to do with it, but... I think another reason I am kind of struggling with it is, that I am done. Marathons and I have a love-hate relationship. I love them; they hate me! I love running more than any other thing beside my family and my religion. Even the pain and torture are part of the pull. I love to race; always have. The rush, the speed, the feeling of just going all out and just driving the body to extremes that so few know just apeals to me in every way. But I decided that this is it - at least for competitive marathoning. I can't do it anymore. It has been too much on me. But I walk away with my head held high. I gave it my best shot... no one can ever say I didn't put my every ounce into it. I really am kind of sad about it (and I know that some will think, "Yeah, right? You'll be back."), but I've always wanted to be done with no regrets - and me... I have absolutely NO REGRETS. Every time I tried, I tried as hard as I could. And I tried every time.
So here I go moving on to the next challenge. Of course, there is no way I could leave running. The draw of the open road, whether it be paved, dirt, or trail, is much to much to my liking, so I just leave to move to the next... Watch out Ultra-world. Here I come! by the way (Ohana racers 189.35)
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