Marathon #15

Houston, TX

January 30th, 2011

  

The weather was stinky.  As we queued up at gun time it was already 65 degrees and 95% humidity.  With 10 minutes to gun, it began to drizzle.  The weather would portend something else that would also be quite stinky that day.

 

In spite of the weather, I earnestly believed I could run a sub 3:10 time.  I had an excellent training cycle with two solid 21 milers and a fast 17 miler just three weeks earlier.  My weight was good, and I had run a powerful 1:32 half-marathon in similar weather conditions just the previous month.  To my left stood a running mate, Pete, who was also going for a sub 3:10.  Pete and I have a friendly rivalry going; who can rack-up the most failed attempts to run a sub 3:10.  This would be my ninth attempt; Pete only has four or five.  To my right was the corporate sponsored 3:10 pace leader.

 

The gun fired and we were off.  The 3:10 leader went out quite slow and was 30 seconds behind pace at mile 1.  Pete, who had been diligently monitoring his GPS watch, noted the lag and he made a move.  About mile two Pete and I came back on pace.  Just then a petite female runner cut in front of Pete and he had to short-step to the side.  I had previously noted that she had been wandering off her line since the start.  Like many runners who shouldn't start in the front portion of the pack, she was either oblivious to running etiquette or she just didn't care.

 

            About 50 yards later she cut in front of Pete again.  But this time Pete laid a full body check into her that any NHL all-star would have been proud of.  He literally knocked her a foot-and-half over.  As we pulled away he began to explain his actions to me.  I cut him off and said, "You did the right thing; she deserved it."  At this point we were running due North with the wind at our backs.  Both Pete and I were sweating pretty good by mile 3. 

 

            At mile 5 we turned into the south wind and began to cool off a little bit.  I was actually feeling good and settled into a comfortable stride.  I could now hear the 3:10 pacer coming up behind me.  The 3:10 group caught me about mile 6 and pulled slightly in front; I wasn't disconcerted in the least and felt that I was well within striking range and running on rhythm.  Then about mile 8 all my systems began to shut down.

 

            It started with a tightness in my quads.  I was totally shocked.  I didn't think I was really pushing it all that hard and actually felt good overall.  By mile 10 my quads were starting to hurt and I was completely baffled.  Just 6 weeks earlier I ran a complete half marathon at a much faster pace and I had absolutely no leg fatigue at all.  A few minutes later my stomach began gurgling.  By mile 12 my stomach was bloated and pushing in a Southerly direction. 

 

At mile 14 I had to stop running.  I just couldn't contain my stomach contents any more.  Every couple minutes I would try to run again but within 50 yards I'd have to stop.  With quads burning and stomach problems, I decided to quit.  At mile 15 I saw a medical tent and I stepped off the course.  I asked the volunteer if they could give me a ride back to the finish.  When he informed me that I would have to wait until the race was over in four hours, I blurted out, "Well Crap!" which at that point I didn't mean figuratively.

 

I started to walk down the course.  I kept trying to run and with each stride I felt like I was about to lose it.  Runners were now passing me left and right and I began the walk of shame.  With our names printed in large font across our numbered bibs, spectators began shouting out, "Come on David! Don't give up!"  "Lets go David, hang in there."  "David you've made it half way, finish it out."

 

Finally at mile 17 I came upon some porta-potties.  I stepped in and locked the door.  Let's just say that it wasn't very pretty when I went in, and it looked worse when I came out.  In fact, I'm sad to say that the three minutes I spent inside that porta-pottie ended-up being the strongest run I would have all day.

 

When I got back on the road I was ready to go.  But just three minutes later my stomach was pushing downward again.  Two more miles I walked and slightly jogged.  At mile 19 I pulled off to the side of the course and made a second pit-stop.  That seemed to do the trick.  When I tried running again my stomach problems were abated.  A minute later I came across my long-time running buddy John, who was not racing but acting partly as a spectator and partly as a course section pacer for another runner.

 

"Are you O.K.?  I thought something happened to you." John said as he fell in stride next to me.  I explained my plumbing problems and then said, "I'm also completely dehydrated; I haven't had a sip since mile 14."  John offered me a Gatorade bottle he was carrying, but I had to decline as I just didn't think I could stomach it.  In fact, I ended up not drinking a sip the whole second half of the race.

 

            A few strides later John said he had to break off to find his other runner.  I reached out my hand to give him five, and then on a quick second thought I jerked it back and said, "You better not touch these hands, I was camped inside a porta-potty."  By mile 21 I began to get my legs back, though my quads were still hurting.  I settled into a 8:00-8:30/mile jog.  As I was now intermixed with 3:50-4:00 caliber marathoners, I began passing runners left and right.  I had to laugh as the crowd was now cheering, "Yeah! David you look great."  "Whoo Hoo! Go David Go!"

 

            I finished the last five miles at a respectable jog.  I crossed the finish in 3:47:34, placing 1,042 out of 6,897 finishers.

 

            After the race John called me to offer his condolences; he knew I trained hard to go sub 3:10.  However, similar to other bad runs I've had (no pun intended), I said thanks but I actually felt great about the race.  In its purest form, this kind of run represents what marathoning is all about.  True, fast times are nice.  But I was suffering pretty much the whole race.  I was ready to quit at mile 15.  At mile 16 I didn't think there was any way I would finish in under 4:30.  But in the end, I stayed with it and came back on track down the stretch and finished with an acceptable time. 

 

You gotta love this sport!