Marathon #10-Phoenix

Phoenix Marathon
January 18th, 2009

Four days before the race, I emailed my running mate:

"Good Enough

The weather is not as good as advertised on the race website, 'average start temperature 40 degree.' But the 49 degree gun time forecast is good enough, if the wind is out of the north. My weight is five pounds heavier than I wanted, but still the same as my BQ weight this time last year. All in all, going for 3:10 again. Should be OK for first 20, after that, it's a crap shoot. I do feel confident that I will PR."


When, the race day forecast reached 77, I started to get a little antsy. "It's a dry heat," many would say. I agree, if you are standing in the shade. The day before the race, I walked out of the hotel at 10:30 and stood under the covered drive thru; it was cool and comfortable. I then stepped out to the street. Five minutes later I had a sunburn.

I decided on a race strategy different from my previous nine marathons, a positive split. The accepted optimal strategy is to hold back the first 20 miles, and then let loose the last 6. However, the forecast showed an 8 degree increase in actual temperature from 10:00-11:00. Adding in the high UV sun intensity, this meant the rise in apparent temperature would be about 15 degrees.

I thought it best to take advantage of the cool start by building a 1-2 minute buffer, and then slowing pace by 10-15 seconds a mile after 20. Given I had run a 1:33 half marathon, in bad weather conditions just a month earlier, I was confident I could easily pull away from the 3:10 pace group at the start.

My previous 3:18 personal best (PR) time, run in Houston exactly 12 months earlier, qualified me for a "Preferred Corral" seeding. This meant I was allowed to queue up directly behind the elite runners, mostly East African, only 10 feet from the start line. When I entered the preferred corral, immediately the Sesame Street jingle came to mind, "Of these things, which one doesn't belong?" I didn't see a single runner over 140 pounds. I voluntarily moved back one corral where the 3:10 pace leader was. Though I planned to run ahead of him, I didn't want to get pulled out too fast by being lined up next to the elites.

The gun fired and we were off. At mile one I was about 10 yards behind the 3:10 pace leader. There were about 35 other runners bunched in tight around him. At mile two the pace felt fast, almost too fast. I was sure the leader was running ahead of pace to free up some space. I didn't worry about it. However, as we hit mile three, a runner with a GPS watch called out to the pacer leader, "Good job Bill! You're right on pace." "Uh Oh!" I said to myself, "this is not good."

We were right on the 3:10 pace, but it felt fast. I became apprehensive. "I don't see me carrying this past 13-15 miles," I worried. At mile five I was running dead-even with the leader, though about 20 feet off his left shoulder. Just then, something unexpected occurred.

Two young runners out of Idaho came by. I think they were on the university team as they wore identical type uniforms. They were running about a full beat faster than the 3:10 pacer. Their stride just pull me with them. By mile 10, we were a full minute ahead of 3:10 pace. I actually felt comfortable and was running rhythmically.

Coming to the 12 mile water station, one of the youngsters had fallen back. The other was about to lose me. Not by pace, but by running straight through the water stops. Having emptied my handheld water bottle at mile 8, I needed to slow at the water stops to stay hydrated. Fortunately, one of the few women runners keeping stride with us stopped for water also. As we pulled away from the table, I told her, "Let's go, you're my rabbit." The young girl (20 something) replied with alacrity, "Yes Sir."

Our pace perfectly synced; rather than having fast leg turnover, she had long powerful strides. Even being eight inches shorter than I, our strides matched well. She was really moving; I could feel that we were at a faster pace than I had planned. But it felt so rhythmic and natural; I didn't want to break.

At mile 20, "Yeehaw," we were a full three minutes ahead of the 3:10 pace time! "Mile 23," I said to myself, "Try to hold to mile 23." My legs were feeling tight and starting to hurt. I knew I would have to break pace. But with the buffer, 3:10 was still in range.

At mile 21, my quads were really hurting. I wiped my hand across my arm; it looked like I just stuck it into a bucket full of sand. It was completely covered with salt. By mile 22 I had to break pace and my rabbit pulled away. At exactly the 23 mile mark, the 3:10 pace group passed me. I say "group", but of the 35 or so initial runners, only four remained: the pacer, two men and one woman.

I tried to stay within shooting range of the group, hoping for a burst at the end. But by mile 24 I was exactly one minute off the 3:10 pace. I was in lots of pain. I couldn't take full strides anymore. I shorten my steps by 25% and tried to increase my leg turn over. I lost another minute at both miles 25 and 26.

I crossed the finish line in a new PR of 3:13:20, placing 272 out of 6,408 finishers.

As my email stated four days earlier, I thought 3:10 was possible, but not probable. My disappointment is not in failing to reach 3:10, but in having come so close. Had I been able to hold pace just another mile and half, ten minutes, I probably would have run sub 3:10.

Well, I am closer than ever. I think I'll break the 3:10 mark in the next year.