50F up into the high 70s at times, when the sun came out. Partly cloudy skies with a couple of drops of rain in the first few miles. The short version... In spite of a few setbacks, I had a wonderful morning at the Winthrop Marathon. I got another 4:21 - that's 3 of them in the past 12 months if you are counting. I truly thought I'd be a bit faster today, but the early downhill, with the first 4 miles on dirt, no actually it was sand, really chewed me up I guess. This is a stunning course in terms of scenery. If you like big crowds and you don't like pine forests and babbling brooks, this would not be the marathon for you. An excellent choice for introverts and naturalists. If I didn't have such a thing for coastal scenery, I'd scoot Big Sur into the number 2 spot for this marathon. I loved it. Long version... We took the buses up at 6:30 and I got to sit next to Pirate Man, who seems to be at all my races, especially the marathons. I really enjoyed talking to him - he is an 80 y.o. running machine who races constantly. (Recently did the Pikes Peak "double.") I call him Pirate Man because of his skull-n-crossbones head scarf thing, which he always seems to wear. This is a tiny race, probably about 200 runners (though I am sure that will grow when word gets out to the introvert naturalists). We arrived at the start with only 30 minutes to spare (though the race started 10 minutes late). Most of the women got in line for the 3 POPs and most of the men headed for the woods. Incidentally, I loved my new trick of sacrificing some old knee socks to their Higher Purpose in Life: cut off the toes and wear them on the arms until the day warms up. Ditch them at an aid station. :) I was among those in the first bus, and the first dozen or so in line for the POP. Next to the POPs was parked a van, and next to that was a campfire blazing, a tent, and a beach umbrella. Some poor old (ie my age) hippy had set up camp next to what he thought was a very lucky find (the POPs), and came out of his little tent half naked to find 200 runners swarming out of three school buses. "What the h-- is going on?" We cordially invited him to run the marathon, but he declined. The start area was situated in the midst of a part of forest that recently burned. Several young firefighters were killed in that fire and there is a memorial up there to them. The "forest" right there is charred snags. The start line was, literally, a line scratched across the road with a stick. It was great - funny, but also appropriate. Keep that entry fee low! Who needs chip mats between friends. It took me all of about 2 seconds to get to the start after all. Those first four miles are where I believe I made my only race mistake. I wish I had hung back a bit. The road was made of what looked like white sand, with gravel here and there. Every 14 inches or so a little ridge crossed the road; it looked like the pattern you get when snow melts and freezes repeatedly, which is probably why it was ridged. The road was very windy and I was trying to cut the tangents while navigating through these constant ridges - very difficult. I might have done better through the hills at the end if I'd saved my legs in this first part, but I didn't want to hold back too much on the downhill either. Live and learn. At around mile 4 we crossed a little bridge onto blessed asphalt. The story of the next 14 miles goes like this: forests, more forests, views and more views of the "wild Chewuch River" (which the course follows), and smokin fast downhills followed by many more uphills than I though possible along a river. Every uphill gave me that feeling you get after eating too much of something too rich. "Why oh why did I indulge!?" I did drive 21 miles of the course on Friday, so there really is no excuse other than my own optimism: "This hill isn't so bad! And look at all the downhill!" Speaking of eating, just for the record, I got three bugs directly in my mouth, and one actually down my throat. Eastern Washington is mostly dry, mostly hot, and mostly populated by bugs. We have also seen an abundance of mule deer, which are everywhere, and a grouse. The only non-bug wildlife on the marathon course, however, was a dead squirrel on the road and a blue jay. Those pesky front runners probably scared the rest away before I got there. At around mile 11 I realized my feet were making that awful floppy sound you get if you drag them. I had just finished telling Mr. Sno how bad that is, how much energy it wastes. So I stopped spacing out over the lovely forests and paid attention -- it was not my feet swishing the ground -- it was my shoes! Both soles were coming off at the heel. This pair is practically new! Arg! I remembered that the race website promised duct tape among the aid station amenities (I now regret that I laughed at that). So I scared the two older ladies at the next aid station by running at them with the following battle cry: "I need the duct tape! Quick!" It was still in the package and we all fell on it like wolves trying to tear it open and find the start. Little good it did, since by mile 19 both the rubber and and duct tape were making that horrid swishing sound on the ground. Just before mile 20, the course pretty much leaves the forests and the real hills begin. The terrain turns to farm and ranch land, with more open spaces and what seemed like an impossible amount of up hill. When I get home I will post the one picture I took on the course, where I had been climbing for what seemed like most of a mile, crested the hill, and saw -- another uphill. 
I need to just say right here that my quads have never hurt as bad in a marathon as they did around mile 23. By 24, I would have drunk whiskey straight from the bottle if someone had handed me some. And I hate whiskey. But even in these last, painful miles, the scenery was so lovely. My legs were thrashed, but my energy level was good. Other than the Legs O' Torture, my only complaint is that it got so blasted hot every time the sun came out, which was quite a lot at that point. No puking though! A bit nauseous from time to time, but always saved by a passing cloud. With just a little under a mile to go we entered the town of Winthrop. (It is a charming Western themed town, as you can see on the marathon website.) Rounding the final corner into town, Snoflake and Mr. Sno were there with cameras and they ran parallel to me for a block. I am so lucky to have so much support from those two. The medal was adorable, a western style badge shape. 
Ponderings... I am not sure what my future marathons will bring. I know I will always hope to get a faster time, a new PR (3 years is really a long dry spell), or a BQ. But I am starting to wonder if it should be just a hope and a motivation for certain training runs, but not a race day goal. Once upon a time I ran marathons only for fun. I had a lot of fun today too, but more so after I realized I wasn't on course for a BQ and I relaxed a bit. There came a point when I thought, "I can suffer on a nightmare level and maybe - only maybe - take some minutes off my time, or I can do my best but also relax enough to enjoy this beautiful place that I've come so far to see and experience." Maybe I am not a BQ runner because that's what I tend to choose, and people who get a BQ choose the suffering. And maybe BQ runners are simply faster athletes because of their everyday choices - or their background & genetics, over which of course I have no control. I have no regrets about my choices (except maybe those first 4 miles), so what does that say about me? I don't know the answer here, I just think these are questions worth asking. I'm leaving my BQ goal on my blog for now, and maybe for all the time I blog here. ...I know someone very close to me, in her 50s, who has climbed a corporate ladder to get to a certain position at her company, has suffered greatly and given up years of happiness, not to mention aspects of her health, and now she "has arrived." Guess what? She is miserable. The goal did not make her happy, as she thought it would. And look at all the happiness she gave up along the way to get the goal. That will not be my story. I will try not to be sad over what seems like my unendingly mediocre athleticism, though sadness is always there on the edge of my thoughts. But there is no point for me in running marathons if I cannot choose to savor each one and whoop it up at the finish, even if I keep racking up 4:21s. And I got an awesome shirt. Thanks for listening. :) The view from where I stayed... 
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