The morning was crisp and cool, with no wind. Perfect marathon conditions. If you're going to get a personal record, this is the weather to do it in, said the newscaster last night. I was prepared. I had divided up my energy gels, I had a supply of Advil in a little plastic bag. I ate a small breakfast of pudding (because it's proven to be gentle on my gut when doing long runs). I even showered before the race. Bring on the marathon.
On the drive to the Metrodome, Margaret and I talked race strategy. I wanted to go out strong, maybe at a 9 minute/mile pace. That would allow us to bank some time for later, or even get a 4 hour time. Not a good idea, said her husband Chad, a 47! time marathoner. You'll get too tired and won't have enough in the tank for the last half. It's a marathon, you know. Whatever, I replied. We'll go out as fast as we feel is comfortable and deal with the later miles, well, later.
The first few miles were awesome. It was cool, the crowds were wild and inspiring, and I felt great. We were going at about 9:30 minute miles, which Margaret thought was too fast. So I would stop for a potty break and she would go on ahead, and then I would sprint to catch up with her. That worked fine until about mile 11 or so. I could feel my legs getting tired. And my feet hurt. And my IT band was starting to act up. Our pace slowed a little, but I still tried to keep it under 10 minute miles.
I lost Margaret for good somewhere before mile 16, I think. There was a huge part of the run that was kind of a blur to me. You see, Chad was right. A marathon is a lot, I mean A LOT longer than a half marathon, or even the 18 miler (my longest run EVER) 3 weeks ago. I didn't hit a wall, but rather a 7 mile stretch of quicksand. My legs felt like lead and I just couldn't will them to move fast enough. Plus, miles 19-23 were all uphill. Some steep hills interspersed with long stretches of less-steep, but still formidable, inclines. At mile 19 I saw my family for the 3rd (I think) time and I switched out of my minimalist shoes, hoping to alleviate some of the foot pain. Lisa told me I was shaking.
At this point I started to walk through the water stops, trying to get some energy back into my legs. I ran into another friend, Alison, who was having troubles of her own; hers relating more to her GI tract. Actually, I noticed that the whole field of runners was starting to fall apart. People were starting to walk, stopping to stretch at the side of the road, and losing their running form. We didn't belong out here. We're not marathoners! We're more like weekend warriors, maybe getting in one long run a week, and that long run isn't nearly long enough. We're old, not built for running, crunched for time, and battling myriad running injuries.Or at least that's my story. But I suspect many fellow runners are in the same boat.
But we forge on.
The crowds were incredible; the only reason I was able to finish, actually. There was shouting, high-fives, offers of candy, music, dancing. It was a party! But one I wanted desperately to end. And my friend Phil was a trooper by spending the better part of his day tracking Margaret and me down so that he could offer words of encouragement at various parts of the run. I finally saw the light at mile 25. Almost there! And finally a downhill! I reached the top of John Ireland Boulevard by the St. Paul Cathedral and the crowds were crazy! Two of my friends had drove in from outer suburbia just to see me finish. I high-fived them, and then my family, and then gave a big whoop to the crowd as I sprinted downhill to the finish. My official time was 4:42:29, with an average pace of 10:47.
I got a medal and a finisher shirt. I can proudly say that I am one of less than 0.1% of the U.S population that has completed a marathon. Right after the race, I was prety adament about it being my first AND last marathon. But even though I did the best I could, I have a nagging feeling that I could have done better. So now, only a few short hours later, and with my knees on ice because I can hardly walk, I am dreaming of a better race in the future... maybe.
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