2009 Route 66 Marathon Race Report - Chapter 3: Out of the Darkness and Into the Light
The reality of the pace group was not quite so grim. They caught me between mile 22 and mile 23 - all four of them. Yep, by that time the 4:30 pace group, which had been around 25 runners when we caught them at mile 5, was down to the pacer and three guys. THREE GUYS! HA! Okay, I can hang with these chuckleheads. Sadly my cousin Jeff was not one of the three, but I was sure he was right behind us. I fell in about 15 feet behind the Man With The Balloons.
I had also forgotten that the pace group had a head start on me. (Long runs do weird things to my cognitive abilities.) I knew it wasn't the full five minutes it took us to get to the start line but I knew it had to be at least three, so as long as I held on I would be fine.
After the turn I had started walking through the water stops. At mile 23 I started walking for 100 yards or so past the water stops. It was starting to come apart again, but in spite of the walking breaks I was keeping the 4:30 guys in sight - not that this was particularly challenging, given the flat, straight road we were running on.
When I got to mile 25, I checked my watch and realized that all I needed to do was turn in a 14 minute mile and I was going to break 4:30. I allowed myself to be a little excited. So excited, in fact, that I decided to walk a bit. No reason to showboat, right? Sure, if I hurried I could maybe break 4:25 - but what was the rush? I couldn't see the finish line - perversely, after running 6 miles in a straight line, there was a sharp corner a few hundred yards from the finish - and I was having a hard time getting motivated to bring it in. The "4:30 Four" slowly pulled away as I walked, and I realized that my precious time, my 4:30, was going to slip through my fingers if I didn't get moving. I started to run one. last. time.
As I came onto the dogleg that led to the finishing straight I was picked up by the crowd. The swell of noise - even if most of it was just people chatting with each other while they watched for their friends - was a welcome change from the last six miles of what seemed like complete solitude. A man on the barriers yelled "it's just around the corner!" and for once - ONCE - it seemed like a genuine, hopeful, you-can-do-it, what-you-accomplish-we-all-celebrate message. (Long time readers will know how annoyed I get at spectators who yell "you're almost there" - look, I am wearing a room full of computers here - I know how far it is to the finish line - but this man? I do not remember his face but I will never forget the voice. Thank you, barrier man.)
The weariness fell from me. It was on. I kicked.
The course had a sharp left turn into the finishing straight, and as I came around the corner I caught the Man With The Balloons out of the corner of my eye, just in front of me. I zoomed (*) past him and over the last fifty yards.
Those of you who know me well know that I am not prone to emotional outbursts. You might not have recognized me at that moment, coming across the line, pumping my fists and bellowing like I had just set a world record.
Chip time, 4:27:09 (PR)
I was giddy. I remained giddy for the balance of the day. (A dent was put in my giddy when Jeff came in 13 minutes later. He was also shooting for 4:30.) Heck, I can still summon up the giddy pretty easily. Look, I'm never going to "win" a race - but neither will most marathoners. The real battle out on the road is not against the other runners but with yourself, and on that day I put myself into a position to find out what I was capable of. I like what I saw.
(*) sure felt like zooming to me
I had also forgotten that the pace group had a head start on me. (Long runs do weird things to my cognitive abilities.) I knew it wasn't the full five minutes it took us to get to the start line but I knew it had to be at least three, so as long as I held on I would be fine.
After the turn I had started walking through the water stops. At mile 23 I started walking for 100 yards or so past the water stops. It was starting to come apart again, but in spite of the walking breaks I was keeping the 4:30 guys in sight - not that this was particularly challenging, given the flat, straight road we were running on.
When I got to mile 25, I checked my watch and realized that all I needed to do was turn in a 14 minute mile and I was going to break 4:30. I allowed myself to be a little excited. So excited, in fact, that I decided to walk a bit. No reason to showboat, right? Sure, if I hurried I could maybe break 4:25 - but what was the rush? I couldn't see the finish line - perversely, after running 6 miles in a straight line, there was a sharp corner a few hundred yards from the finish - and I was having a hard time getting motivated to bring it in. The "4:30 Four" slowly pulled away as I walked, and I realized that my precious time, my 4:30, was going to slip through my fingers if I didn't get moving. I started to run one. last. time.
As I came onto the dogleg that led to the finishing straight I was picked up by the crowd. The swell of noise - even if most of it was just people chatting with each other while they watched for their friends - was a welcome change from the last six miles of what seemed like complete solitude. A man on the barriers yelled "it's just around the corner!" and for once - ONCE - it seemed like a genuine, hopeful, you-can-do-it, what-you-accomplish-we-all-celebrate message. (Long time readers will know how annoyed I get at spectators who yell "you're almost there" - look, I am wearing a room full of computers here - I know how far it is to the finish line - but this man? I do not remember his face but I will never forget the voice. Thank you, barrier man.)
The weariness fell from me. It was on. I kicked.
The course had a sharp left turn into the finishing straight, and as I came around the corner I caught the Man With The Balloons out of the corner of my eye, just in front of me. I zoomed (*) past him and over the last fifty yards.
Those of you who know me well know that I am not prone to emotional outbursts. You might not have recognized me at that moment, coming across the line, pumping my fists and bellowing like I had just set a world record.
Chip time, 4:27:09 (PR)
I was giddy. I remained giddy for the balance of the day. (A dent was put in my giddy when Jeff came in 13 minutes later. He was also shooting for 4:30.) Heck, I can still summon up the giddy pretty easily. Look, I'm never going to "win" a race - but neither will most marathoners. The real battle out on the road is not against the other runners but with yourself, and on that day I put myself into a position to find out what I was capable of. I like what I saw.
(*) sure felt like zooming to me
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