Marathon #22
Kingwood, TX
New Year's Day 2013
Of the 22 marathons I've run, I trained for this one the least. I have been overloaded with work the last six months.
Here's the irony: I purposely accepted an international position with the knowledge that the investors set a goal to sell the company in three years. My secret thought was—I might have time to run all I want after the sale. I should have thought harder and realized it would mean working 70-hour weeks until then!
Accordingly, my training has gone to crap. I've only averaged 25 miles a week the last three months, and I haven't run a race of any kind since March. During the winter season, I normally run 60-70 miles a week and at least a half-marathon race every month.
Yep, I queued in the start line very fat and very out of shape. It's unfortunate that I was so unprepared; the course is pancake flat and fast. I finished fourth overall last year at this event, and that was after making a wrong turn and running a quarter mile in the wrong direction.
The weather—well, it was interesting. It rained all the night before and drizzled most of the morning. The path was quite wet, and I knew there would be several puddles, which meant water-soaked shoes—never good.
The sky was still very overcast, and a weak cool front was blowing through. The gun time temperature was 57, but the wind was out of the north. I knew that it would get cooler as the race progressed, so overall, except for the wet course, the weather was accommodating.
A fast time was out of the question, but since my Boston Qualifying (BQ) time is now 3:25, I thought it was a possibility. Because I have been running for so many years and built such a strong foundation, I thought that maybe I could BQ in spite of practically no training.
When I mentioned the BQ attempt to John the night before, he laughed out loud. Then he offered an alternative strategy. "Look, you'll be lucky to do a 3:45 and even luckier not to injure yourself. So how about this: Crystal is having a party tonight. There will be lots of food, and lots and lots of drinks. Forget about the race and just enjoy New Year's Eve. Tomorrow you can wake up at noon and then just make up one of your stupid race reports telling everyone how great you ran. They'll be none the wiser."
I pressed my lips tightly together, looked down at my shoes, and exhaled with a long, low-pitched "Hmmmmmmmmm." I looked back at John, paused a couple seconds more, and finally said, "Nah, I'd better just run."
So the next morning I queued up for the 8:00 a.m. start with the plan to shoot for a BQ. The gun fired and we were off.
I went out at a relaxed stride and settled back in the pack. I must admit it bruised my ego. In my three previous small marathons, I finished fourth, seventh, and first. I was a bit accustomed to starting with the pack leaders and all the pretentiousness that comes with it. Now I was just some fat old guy shuffling along the course.
By mile one, I splashed through the first large puddle which was about two inches deep. By the turnaround point at mile three, I had run through two more puddles, which were also muddy. The course was out and back, which meant I would hit all three again; 6 puddles a lap X 4 laps = wet, cold shoes and lots of leg pain.
I finished the first 6.55-mile lap in 51:10, exactly on a 3:25 BQ pace. I felt fine aerobically and was breathing lightly, but I could already feel the extra 15 pounds of fat I was carrying. I pulled back 15 seconds a mile.
Halfway through the second lap, I began seriously entertaining the idea of just calling it quits at the half-marathon point. The race director actually said before the gun that if any marathoner stopped after the second lap, he would be automatically switched to the half-marathon event with the accompanying medal and time placing.
I finished the second lap posting a 1:45 half marathon. I decided to see if I could push through the third, which would then guarantee a marathon finish as I wouldn't dare quit on the final lap. My leg pain progressively intensified throughout the third lap. I steadily slowed a notch every couple of miles. I eventually finished the third, which put me just over 20 miles.
My legs were now in real pain and tight. When I walked through the water stops, I limped. I hoped to make it to mile 21 before walking, but when I reached the marker, I decided to push for another five minutes. Five minutes became ten, then 15; I ran a full 20 minutes past the mile 21 marker, which put me just over the 23 miles.
As much as I wanted to continue to the end, my legs were just too stiff. I pulled up and walked for exactly 45 seconds and then started running again to mile 24. The final two miles were pitiful. I would run a quarter mile, walk for one minute, and then run another quarter. Aerobically I felt great and wanted to sprint off in a long stride, but my legs were killing me from the mid-step of my foot all the way through my hips.
I limped across the finish in 3:46:10 , placing 31 out of 248 full-marathon finishers.
As I walked back to my car, I muttered out loud, "Note to self: Next time John offers running advice, drink up!"
