Marathon #11
Last year I ran a very poorly executed race in Huntsville. With a first half/second half split of 1:26/1:52, I finished in 3:18, and missed BQ on a day when I could have readily qualified if I had run smarter. The good news was one of my oldest friends, Nate, did qualify. That left me lacking a Q-time to join him in Boston in 2015.
So I put a half-baked effort into UVM this June. But content to do only 85% of the necessary training, I ended up disappointed with a marathon PW (personal worst).
Which set the stage for Big Cottonwood. After UVM, I vowed I wouldn't let another race get away like that. I wasn't going to toe the line unprepared, and not give myself a legitimate shot at a decent time. I worked harder over the summer, and didn't sell the long runs short. I approached this race with a high level of confidence, still knowing that it's a marathon, and any number of things can happen to upset the best laid plans and preparations.
My A-goal was 3:10. My backup goal was 3:13. I couldn't be slower than that and be sure of gaining entry to Boston next year. I got one of Andy's 3:10 effort-adjusted pacebands and followed it religiously through the first 21 miles. It worked like a charm; I was actually 90 seconds under pace at mile 20. Me and JohnfromRoy had been running together for the entire race. Somewhere in mile 21, he remarked how heavy his legs felt. Suddenly, I noticed how heavy my legs felt. I looked up to see how far it was to the turn on Fort Union. It looked to be as far away as Mordor. The sun got hotter. My throat got dry. My mind went blank, and I started to feel dizzy. I angled to the side of the road, told him to finish strong, and started walking.
While John gapped me, I put the time to good use, and untangled my iPod. A sprinkler by the roadside cooled me off a bit. I made it to mile 22 and checked my accumulated time against the pace band. 1 minute over 3:10 pace. Could be worse. I turned on the music. It distracted my mind enough to resume, and keep running. My son showed up just before the turn with a Mtn Dew. I slowed for a few swallows. The sugar revived me a bit, but what really took over was the course. Ft Union offered up some steep downhill. Somehow, I was running, and running well. Garmin was showing 6:50-7:10 pace! That cheered me up, because I had given away all my cushion, plus a little more, on Wasatch.
At mile 24 I did some math, and knew I could finish under 3:13, as long as I kept running. Those final miles seemed so long. It's hard to explain after the fact, but my thinking and emotional state during those 15 minutes ranged far and wide. The thing that simmers to the top is a feeling of intense gratitude for life and capability; able to run, strive, and even suffer.
At the entry to the finish, I looked up from my reverie of pain, concentration, and music to see a familiar face. Shouting my name, encouraging me to finish strong, was Nate. He came up from Springville to make sure I took care of business.
Today at work, observing me limping around, one of my co-workers asked me "WHY?"
I don't have a 5 second response to that question.
5.5 years ago, I felt gloomy and dark. In March, I went for a 2 mile run. I loved the motion, the panting-scraping-sweating. In July I ran a sub 20 5k. On the 24th, I raced my sister at Desnews 10k. That fall, I ran a half. The next spring I ran my first marathon. Over that year, my brain began to change.
I often tell people, "Running is the most effective and least utilized anti-depressant."
For that reason alone, I will keep running. But beyond that, I run to affirm something ineffable. To occasionally scrape up against TRUTH, perhaps in the late miles of a marathon, on top of a mountain, or at the crest of a trail. To meditate while my body moves through space, to connect with a child on a bike, or in a stroller, or with a friend matching strides.
So Marathon #12 will be Boston 2015. At least I will run for a course PR. Maybe a PR. Or maybe Nate and I will run a 4:00 Boston, like we joked on Saturday. For now, I'll try to walk like a normal person.
| 