I start a marathon with two goals. The first is the public goal that I talk about with friends. “I think I can try to come in under 4 hours” I told most people before the Portland marathon. This had the extra benefit of actually being true. I would have considered anything over that nice round number a failure.
But I had been playing with the numbers for weeks. I had three 20-mile training runs and a couple of half-marathons during my training months. I would use this info to help me predict my finish time. My first half marathon was run on an miserably hot day but I was able to muster a 1h 43m race. As it happened this was exactly the same time I achieved at the Helvetia Half earlier in June --so I considered it to be a good number and indicator of what i could do. Later I ran the same 13.1 mile distance four minutes faster during the running leg of the Hula Man half-tri. I knew my half marathon pace.
If you plug those numbers into the most simple of marathon finish predictors, times of about 3h 40m pop up. Hmmmm I thought. Maybe I could do a 3:40 or 3:45. So my second, much more private goal was born. I’d decided that I would line up with the 3:40 pace balloon during the Portland Marathon and then try to hold it.
Marathon morning looked good. Rain had been predicted all week but it was dry and the rain wasn’t supposed to return until later in the day. A good omen maybe?
Randy decided to ride with me so he came over to the house early and by 5:30 am we were having oatmeal, yogurt and a banana for breakfast. I stayed low on the coffee intake to help diminish the over-active bladder syndrome I knew was lurking about a mile or so down the marathon course.
Lynda drove us downtown and dropped us off near the start line. We stretched a little, paced a lot and then made our way toward the start line. I was satisfied with going out with the 3:40 group but Randy wanted to start with the 3:30’s. “Okay with me" I told him. "I’ll just drop back when I need to”.
It wasn’t long and we were off with all the fanfare and festival of a major life event. What a feeling! Randy and the 3:30’s were off with great gusto. I never saw that pace group again. Randy had decided that he was going to do the Galloway thing and run at the 3:30 pace but then walk with some regularity along the early parts of the race. We leap-frogged this way for the first half of the race. I kept a pretty steady pace that I calculated to be about a 3:37 finish pace. I knew that meant the 3:40 balloon was a few minutes behind. Randy and I sometimes ran together for a short time but we never really made any attempt to stay together.
Everything was feeling good and I felt strong until I was mid-span on the St. Johns bridge. I started to feel a little tight and since the view was so awesome, I took the opportunity to stretch. I hoped that the tightness would go away. BUT, and it's a big but...Yep, you guessed it. It didn’t go away. it got much much worse.
I spent the last six miles of the race struggling through leg cramps. I’d run as far as I could until the cramps were so bad that my legs wouldn’t work, and then I’d pull off to the sideo of the road and stretch. What hurt more than the cramps was watching the 3:40 group run past me followed way too quickly by the 3:45 balloon. I tried to keep up, but my legs just wouldn’t work.
The bouts of being able to run would last about 20 minutes-- but they got shorter as time and miles passed. Toward the end I was only running a few blocks at a time. Mostly I was just PISSED that 4 months of training had been wiped by something so stupid. I was ready to kick butt, but the two lower appendages just weren’t allowing it to happen. Pissed! The 3:50 balloon blew right by me about a mile and half from the finish. I was beyond thinking that I could do anything about it.
Just as I was about to turn off of Front Avenue to run the last leg of the race I needed to pull off one last time. On this stretch were the throngs of cheering onlookers and family members. But I couldn’t run this last street all gimped up. I pulled myself onto the sidewalk just in time to avoid being run over by more able-bodied runners rounding the corner. I checked my watch to make sure I could still beat the four-hour mark. I thought that I could. But first I’d have to put a smile on my face, hop off the damned sidewalk and get pumping hard. Time to go.
This part of the race is a blur. I can remember seeing the fat lady singing on my left and I remember looking for the fam where I expected them to be but weren't. And then I remember pushing through the hurt and raising my arms as I crossed the beeping red mat.
3 hours 53 minutes 43 seconds
I heard Lynda call my name and was glad to see everyone so close by. She pointed that they would meet me in the reunion area.
I spent a little time in the finisher’s area just trying to soak it all up. But there is really no one there that feels like chatting so I meandered my way through the crowd cluthing a growing number of freebies as slolomed.
Randy finished a few minutes later, after dealing with his own wall. We talked the next day on the phone and shared our stories of the second half of the race. We ended the conversation, which had been filled whining about our pain and torture, by brainstorming ideas for our next marathon. Yeah. We are runners.
Oh, and I did beat my goal for the race. Ahem....my PUBLIC goal.
