In racing, things seldom go completely to plan. Sometimes the plans change early, sometimes later, but almost always the plan changes at some point. The longer the race, the closer the probability nears "1".
Scott, Chris, and I were to meet up at the corrals at 7:45, near the 3:30 pacers. Sounds like a clean plan, doesn't it? Well... not so much. Thousands of people in a tight area, the entrance gates were way behind the 3:30 pacers, we didn't say which side of the corrals we'd use, my usual parking space was not open... yeah, things went haywire right from the start.
I got to the corrals late because of parking, and it was too close to start time to wait too much before entering the corral. I went in, looked around furtively, but it was no use. I was behind the 3:50 pacer, and there was absolutely no way to fight through the mob to get to 3:30. I decided to Rand it - I was going to run until I caught the pace group. I would do my best to watch for Chris and Scott as I moved through the group - a daunting task - and hope that it worked out.
The odds were long from the start. In a big city race, there is simply too much road/too many people to see as you work your way through. It was going to take a miracle to find them.
My legs felt very good. Moving in and around the crowd wasn't difficult at all despite being way below the original race pace (8:00-8:20). Mentally I cautioned myself about blowing up. Simultaneously I chided myself for missing the meeting, so it was a risk I was going to take.
The first couple of pace groups were easily caught. Of course after that it took longer and longer to reach the next group. At first they were only separated by seconds, but soon it was minutes. I finally caught the 3:30 group at around 7 miles - yeah, it took that long. I was 3:25 behind the start clock after all, and I wasn't trying to gobble it all up at once.
Now for you girls that might be reading, the lesson is about to begin.
There comes a point in every race where you have to decide why you're there. I might not have come to the event today to race it, but everything had changed. There was absolutely no way to find Scott or Chris now amongst nearly 6,000 runners - that would be finding a needle in a haystack of needles. My choice was now to jog or to try to make a race of it. There wasn't any time to dwell on it, it had to be one way or another.
I chose to fight on. Something good could still come out of the day if I pressed on. I left the 3:30 group and set the next group as my goal. I lied to myself - said if I could get to them I would settle for that time. Pretty soon I could see the sign bouncing up and down ahead. Without much effort I caught them. Slow down or move on? I still felt good, might as well go to the next group.
This took a bit longer. The groups were getting faster, and the gaps greater. I was also beginning to feel the front of my quads. Of course the pace was a full minute faster than the plan, so this was only logical, but it was nonetheless cause for concern. The end can come swiftly in a marathon if you disrespect what it can do to you. I wasn't even halfway through yet, and already feeling muscle fatigue. Only a fool ignores that.
They were too slow, and I felt I could catch the next group. This is the point where the race became work. I got onto the 3:15 group right after the mile 14 marker, and by then I could really feel the effort coming on. Of course forgetting to take Advil this morning didn't help, as my hip flexors were beginning to flair up. I ran with this group for about a mile, mainly because I needed the mental rest, and they were going right about where I felt I could hold. I maneuvered myself near the pacer and we started talking a bit. In passing I mentioned forgetting my Advil and my flexor, and he offered me one. Perfect! He handed me the sign (that's right, I was the pacer for a while!) and dug one out. That in hand, I returned the sign, and we were back on it.
I really did plan to stay with the group the rest of the way. However, my racing spirit kicked in again. They were 50 seconds behind the clock, meaning if I stayed with them I would come in at 3:12:25. That's roughly halfway between 3:10 and 3:15, and the thought of breaking 3:10 grew very tempting. Could I press on? Would it be wise?
The point was moot. At around 18 miles I was pulling away. Whether or not it was because I got faster or they got slower doesn't matter, it was done. The pacer's chatter got dimmer and dimmer, and after a point there was no way I was going to slow down or back up to let them back on. Up ahead there were a few runners that were just barely hanging onto a slight lead over me. I upped the pace to catch up.
Bill's Running Axiom #37: if you catch a runner, it's because they slowed down.
No matter how tempting, if you are still racing, you can never stay with someone you caught. When I did catch these runners, I said, "Good job!" and moved on. Catching them had distracted me from the growing pain in my quads, so their purpose had been served.
It was now around 22 miles. My rough math had me around 31 minutes out. It was closing in on the home stretch, though things were starting to get tough. "Just finish this mile strong and you can rest" I kept telling myself. And when that mile would end, I would say it again. Mile by mile, it went that way.
There had been a runner who passed me at 19 miles. I now caught him. Odd thing to say in a way... in a race this big (and at my age) you would think I would get passed a bunch. Other than the start, this was the only person I remember passing me all day. But I digress.
I caught him, or more accurately, he started to collapse. He seemed a nice enough sort, and since I hadn't helped Scott I suppose I was feeling a bit guilty. "C'mon, we can bring this on in!" I said to him. He declined, saying something about his hamstring. The wind was blowing viciously in our faces at that moment, so I offered to draft for him, which he did accept. After a bit he came alongside again, and we talked over the next few miles. It was a nice distraction, and I was thankful I'd helped him.
At 25 miles, he started to really push again. I was doing just fine at my pace, and I'd already run the numbers - I had sub-3:10 in the bag so long as I did nothing stupid. I could not afford to go sub-7 again judging by the way my quads felt. Better to heel-toe the rest of the way.
Finally the last straightaway, and a few blocks until the final turn. I was good. There was no way I was going to miss my new goal. Then life came full circle.
Half a block from the final turn I look to my right - and see Chris Galloway! He was on the course cheering on runners, just as his father Tim had done one year earlier. This time I yelled, "Chris Galloway!" He looked just as surprised to see me as did Tim last year.
So the finish came, a near perfect 5-minute drop from last year's time. Mandy Bartley found me right away and told me Chris and Scott had missed their hookup too. She also mentioned he was on for a 3:43 finish - a fine first marathon. I told her I would grab some stuff and head out to watch him finish.
I stood out there for around 15 minutes before he came, Chris right alongside. I was violently shivering by then, and my legs were incredibly sore. As a result I could not race alongside them to the finish, and by the time I hobbled to the area they were long gone. I'd had enough cold by then, so I headed back to the car and went home.
So the day ranks first as a failure: my primary goal of helping Scott run his first marathon was utterly kaput out of the gate.
On the other hand, in the category of "Making lemonade out of lemons" it was a overwhelming success. I still cannot believe I ran 3:14:29 last year, let alone 3:09:27 this year. I have no idea where todays run came from, I just know it happened. The weather was perfect for me and I managed both my physical needs (in the form of water or Gatorade at every stop and gels every 5 miles) and mental game. I probably should have blown up running like that, given nothing I'd done during this cycle prepared me for that qualitative level. I suppose it serves as a lesson on what motivation does for an athlete, and what can happen if you aren't afraid to lay it on the line once in a while.
Scott, Chris, and I were to meet up at the corrals at 7:45, near the 3:30 pacers. Sounds like a clean plan, doesn't it? Well... not so much. Thousands of people in a tight area, the entrance gates were way behind the 3:30 pacers, we didn't say which side of the corrals we'd use, my usual parking space was not open... yeah, things went haywire right from the start.
I got to the corrals late because of parking, and it was too close to start time to wait too much before entering the corral. I went in, looked around furtively, but it was no use. I was behind the 3:50 pacer, and there was absolutely no way to fight through the mob to get to 3:30. I decided to Rand it - I was going to run until I caught the pace group. I would do my best to watch for Chris and Scott as I moved through the group - a daunting task - and hope that it worked out.
The odds were long from the start. In a big city race, there is simply too much road/too many people to see as you work your way through. It was going to take a miracle to find them.
My legs felt very good. Moving in and around the crowd wasn't difficult at all despite being way below the original race pace (8:00-8:20). Mentally I cautioned myself about blowing up. Simultaneously I chided myself for missing the meeting, so it was a risk I was going to take.
The first couple of pace groups were easily caught. Of course after that it took longer and longer to reach the next group. At first they were only separated by seconds, but soon it was minutes. I finally caught the 3:30 group at around 7 miles - yeah, it took that long. I was 3:25 behind the start clock after all, and I wasn't trying to gobble it all up at once.
Now for you girls that might be reading, the lesson is about to begin.
There comes a point in every race where you have to decide why you're there. I might not have come to the event today to race it, but everything had changed. There was absolutely no way to find Scott or Chris now amongst nearly 6,000 runners - that would be finding a needle in a haystack of needles. My choice was now to jog or to try to make a race of it. There wasn't any time to dwell on it, it had to be one way or another.
I chose to fight on. Something good could still come out of the day if I pressed on. I left the 3:30 group and set the next group as my goal. I lied to myself - said if I could get to them I would settle for that time. Pretty soon I could see the sign bouncing up and down ahead. Without much effort I caught them. Slow down or move on? I still felt good, might as well go to the next group.
This took a bit longer. The groups were getting faster, and the gaps greater. I was also beginning to feel the front of my quads. Of course the pace was a full minute faster than the plan, so this was only logical, but it was nonetheless cause for concern. The end can come swiftly in a marathon if you disrespect what it can do to you. I wasn't even halfway through yet, and already feeling muscle fatigue. Only a fool ignores that.
They were too slow, and I felt I could catch the next group. This is the point where the race became work. I got onto the 3:15 group right after the mile 14 marker, and by then I could really feel the effort coming on. Of course forgetting to take Advil this morning didn't help, as my hip flexors were beginning to flair up. I ran with this group for about a mile, mainly because I needed the mental rest, and they were going right about where I felt I could hold. I maneuvered myself near the pacer and we started talking a bit. In passing I mentioned forgetting my Advil and my flexor, and he offered me one. Perfect! He handed me the sign (that's right, I was the pacer for a while!) and dug one out. That in hand, I returned the sign, and we were back on it.
I really did plan to stay with the group the rest of the way. However, my racing spirit kicked in again. They were 50 seconds behind the clock, meaning if I stayed with them I would come in at 3:12:25. That's roughly halfway between 3:10 and 3:15, and the thought of breaking 3:10 grew very tempting. Could I press on? Would it be wise?
The point was moot. At around 18 miles I was pulling away. Whether or not it was because I got faster or they got slower doesn't matter, it was done. The pacer's chatter got dimmer and dimmer, and after a point there was no way I was going to slow down or back up to let them back on. Up ahead there were a few runners that were just barely hanging onto a slight lead over me. I upped the pace to catch up.
Bill's Running Axiom #37: if you catch a runner, it's because they slowed down.
No matter how tempting, if you are still racing, you can never stay with someone you caught. When I did catch these runners, I said, "Good job!" and moved on. Catching them had distracted me from the growing pain in my quads, so their purpose had been served.
It was now around 22 miles. My rough math had me around 31 minutes out. It was closing in on the home stretch, though things were starting to get tough. "Just finish this mile strong and you can rest" I kept telling myself. And when that mile would end, I would say it again. Mile by mile, it went that way.
There had been a runner who passed me at 19 miles. I now caught him. Odd thing to say in a way... in a race this big (and at my age) you would think I would get passed a bunch. Other than the start, this was the only person I remember passing me all day. But I digress.
I caught him, or more accurately, he started to collapse. He seemed a nice enough sort, and since I hadn't helped Scott I suppose I was feeling a bit guilty. "C'mon, we can bring this on in!" I said to him. He declined, saying something about his hamstring. The wind was blowing viciously in our faces at that moment, so I offered to draft for him, which he did accept. After a bit he came alongside again, and we talked over the next few miles. It was a nice distraction, and I was thankful I'd helped him.
At 25 miles, he started to really push again. I was doing just fine at my pace, and I'd already run the numbers - I had sub-3:10 in the bag so long as I did nothing stupid. I could not afford to go sub-7 again judging by the way my quads felt. Better to heel-toe the rest of the way.
Finally the last straightaway, and a few blocks until the final turn. I was good. There was no way I was going to miss my new goal. Then life came full circle.
Half a block from the final turn I look to my right - and see Chris Galloway! He was on the course cheering on runners, just as his father Tim had done one year earlier. This time I yelled, "Chris Galloway!" He looked just as surprised to see me as did Tim last year.
So the finish came, a near perfect 5-minute drop from last year's time. Mandy Bartley found me right away and told me Chris and Scott had missed their hookup too. She also mentioned he was on for a 3:43 finish - a fine first marathon. I told her I would grab some stuff and head out to watch him finish.
I stood out there for around 15 minutes before he came, Chris right alongside. I was violently shivering by then, and my legs were incredibly sore. As a result I could not race alongside them to the finish, and by the time I hobbled to the area they were long gone. I'd had enough cold by then, so I headed back to the car and went home.
So the day ranks first as a failure: my primary goal of helping Scott run his first marathon was utterly kaput out of the gate.
On the other hand, in the category of "Making lemonade out of lemons" it was a overwhelming success. I still cannot believe I ran 3:14:29 last year, let alone 3:09:27 this year. I have no idea where todays run came from, I just know it happened. The weather was perfect for me and I managed both my physical needs (in the form of water or Gatorade at every stop and gels every 5 miles) and mental game. I probably should have blown up running like that, given nothing I'd done during this cycle prepared me for that qualitative level. I suppose it serves as a lesson on what motivation does for an athlete, and what can happen if you aren't afraid to lay it on the line once in a while.
Awesome, nice finish.
ReplyDeleteThanks!
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