Runs With A Diaper: The California International Marathon

The Boston Athletic Association requires a time of 3 hours, 30 minutes for my gender and age group in order to qualify for the Boston Marathon. What they really mean is that you must finish within that minute; a time of 3:30:59 will work but 3:31:00 will not.

Race day was clear and crisp. I had shed my long warm up pants moments before the start and thrown them into what had been my goodie bag from the race expo and tossed the bag at the truck which would take them to the finish. I bobbed and weaved to a spot within striking distance of the 3:30 pace sign and nervously bent down and retied my shoes with double knots.

Randy stood nearby and we wished each other good luck one last time. Inside the mass of runners there was a palpable warmth. A degree or two warmer than the advertised 31F. We all took turns bouncing up and down, adjusting our running stuff and getting our watches set. There was a count down, the gun went off and a moment later we trotted toward the starting arch amidst cheers of anticipation.

Three days earlier I was admittedly under a lot of pressure and not handling it very well. That day, Thursday, I took the last of my three certification tests for work, the end of a nearly five month process. I had been studying for weeks for the last one and the pressure to pass it was heavy. I drove out to the testing center in east Vancouver and emerged two hours later drained but successful. I should have felt some relief but instead now had a new weight and no time to waste in dealing with it.

The old calf pull that had been bugging me since the 22 miler was still nagging at me. A three week old injury, there was no reason to think it would heal in the next three days. So much had been committed to this race, time from my family, plane tickets and Randy's support. And now I probably wasn't going to even run a competitive race. I couldn't wait for a miracle any longer, I had to make one. The plane was flying out of town in the next morning with me on it.

Randy was pleading for me to try acupuncture. I'm a skeptic on such alternative medicine type things but now I was literally in the last few minutes of being able to act and with a left leg that surely was not going to be able to run 5 miles, let alone 26, I got back to my office after the test and started making phone calls. It was nearly 4 o'clock in the afternoon.

Each time I explained the situation to the person on the other end of the phone there was pause of sufficient length to make me wonder if they were still there. The duration of time was no doubt a sequence in their mind that included the thoughts "dude, are you freaking kidding me? The day is over!" Next they had to muster the ability to dispense a professional and sarcasm-free "I'm sorry but we are full for today, but we do have an opening on Tuesday next week." Determined, I made one more call and it paid off. The guy was open until six and if I could get out to Newberg in the next hour he could see me.

All right, good, but what kind of acupuncturist has a wide open schedule like that? I walked into the little rented space in the old part of Newberg and saw what I expected. Last year when I had done this it was lovely modern building with that new ubiquitous paint combo of sage green and a shade of brown that peanut butter turns when it sits on a spoon in some water in the kitchen sink. This place had midnight blue walls with chiffon stripes. C'mon man! Last year I had "Amy" sticking needles in me, a pretty young woman in a room that was warm, well decorated and with a table top sculpture with water flowing down it, and soothing music. "Would I enjoy a pillow" Amy had asked " and warm towel before we got started?" Why yes I would. That sounds delightful. Stick needles in me Amy! Make it hurt! I don't care.

This room was bare save the table, a heat lamp and some gauze-like cloth thumb tacked to the ceiling. The guys name was "Kev" and he parted his red hair down the middle and had one of those little mud flaps under his lower lip. I laid face down and Kev started by rubbing some smelly crap into my lower legs. Okay maybe I have a little homo-phobe action going on but I just don't dig some guy rubbing my leg. He starts by putting a few needles in the back of my right arm. You see these meridians, quote unquote, cross from one side of the body to the other. "Sure they do." Then he does my right leg. Something about keeping the energy in balance. "Whatever." And finally he needles up the left calf muscle, turns on the heat lamp, aims it at the needles in my legs and leaves saying he'll be back in about 30 minutes. Fine.

After about 15 minutes the heat lamp is starting to feel damn warm and a short time after that it's getting plain uncomfortable. "Uh, yoo-hoo. Kev?" I thought about rapping on the wall but it's just out of reach. When I can take it no more and it feel as if blisters may be forming I go for my only option, scoot my legs away from the lamp as far as possible. I'm trying to remember the inverse square law from physics class many years ago. When I do move them it's obvious I have red hot needles in both legs. Kev comes in a short time later and doesn't ask about why I'm not in the same place as when he left. Soon I'm driving home after a long day but now with two sore legs. That night I notice that my calf muscle which is usually rock hard is loose like a bag of mush. Maybe Randy was right. Maybe it will work.

But now the race had started. I was running free in the sun and feeling great. Please let the voodoo work, please let the my good luck continue.

My race plan couldn't have been simpler. Stay within a short distance of the 3:30 pace leader for as long as possible. He knew the course, he knew when to speed up and when to conserve. All I had to do was concentrate on me. The crowd was chatty at first, almost gleeful. For all of us at this pace group, today was the pay off for months of hard work. This was finally it, a chance to take all the training, miles and final taper out for a spin to see what it could do. You don't line up here, with this group, unless you have devoted much of your recent life to the moment. Now it was happening and for a short time, because we all knew what was coming soon, the mood was light and friendly. The pace felt comfortable and at least for now very achievable. My calf was holding in there.

The plan lasted for less than two miles. Randy, true to his aggressive early race nature, kept creeping closer and closer to the pace guy until we were lock step right with him. It was so early and there was NO WAY I was going faster than my planned 8 minute miles. I was committed to the strategy but Randy kept pulling away until I could no longer see his green fluorescent hat bobbing atop his tall slender frame. I settled back into place about fifty feet behind the pace leader and kept an occasional look out for Randy, but we would never run together again on this day.

This is the part of the race when I start to notice some of the runners around and just ahead of me. It's the back of their shirts that catches my notice the most. People run marathons for many reasons but those that have simple messages such as "For Ryan", usually with handwritten letters across their back, make me wonder about their story. A story that has taken them to this improbable place but one that I will never know beyond their simple gesture.

While running I overheard some of the others talking about the mile markers. Those of us with GPS watches had noticed something in these early miles-the course markers were a little longer than those shown by all of our watches. At first the difference was slight but by the end of the race it was up to .13 miles .... or a entire half lap on a track. When I got warm enough I pulled off my middle layer, a long sleeve cotton race shirt from years ago, and tossed it near a water station.

Just past mile 6 I heard Lynda shout out my name I turned my head quickly to the right in time to see her, Matthew and Brandon all smiles. They were not sure what to expect of me even this soon into the race. Actually to be honest they expected to see me at this point later, limping along, favoring my left leg. It was a relief to them to see my smile and ease of running and it was good to see their smiles too. As they left my view I heard Lynda yell at me "GO GLENN!!" as loud as she could and that really gave me a lift.

Twenty minutes later the course turned to the south in a wide commercial area of strip malls parking lots. A strong cold headwind greeted us and although the grade was level or even a slight down hill in some spots, the wind used up some early energy for those of us needing to stay the pace. I moved more into the center of the lane to use the crowd as a wind break and tucked my chin into my chest. The road would turn west again after awhile, I just had to ride this out. The worst part of this wind was a woman just ahead of me who was always hocking one up, turning her head and hurling it to her port side. I moved a foot to the right and hoped she wouldn't switch one up on me.

There was another woman who ran between me and the pace guy for the entire race and she drove me nuts. Not because of anything she did but because she reminded me from the back (that's the only view you really have of anyone when you're running a race!) of someone I knew back in Sherwood whose first name is Julie but I can never remember her last name. Every time I looked up and saw her it forced me to agonize over this memory lapse. It really bugged the heck out of me and I never did figure it out during the race although it did came to me later.

The halfway point was a true measuring point. I told myself all I had to do was run back to the start and I asked myself if I could do it. My first instinct was to answer yes, but then the logic and experience and truth came pouring back in to me....the first 20 miles set you up for the last 6 and that was still 7 miles away! Feeling good here didn't mean a thing. I should be feeling good here! The real race was still ahead. But so far no real aches or pains. Thank you for that baby Jesus! Thank you John Ellis!

Some place around this part of the race the family saw me again but I was on the other side of the road and did not see them. They did take a few pictures of me and I have to say that I didn't look to good at that point. I felt okay but my smile was gone and white salt was already caked on my cheeks. I did see them about mile 16 and managed to get to the side of the road in time to slap hands as I went by. I shouted "see you at mile 20" and merged back into the pack.

At mile 20, my uncle for whom I was named, saw me run past but again I did not see him. It meant so much to me to be running in the town where I was raised as a kid and much of my extended family still calls home. Thanks for coming out Uncle Glenn!! But I did not see Lynda here at mile 20 as we had planned and that posed the greatest threat to the success of the race plan yet.

I had a hydration and fueling plan. I had trained on 50/50 Gatorade and cube Shot Blocks and was carrying enough of the later to last the race. I was eating one about every 15 to 20 minutes. But my hydration bottle was not going to last me past this point. Ultima was offered on the course and it has always given me heartburn so I brought my own drink. I had carefully rationed my bottle, a quarter of it gone at mile 5, half at mile 10....but now it was bone dry. I had a gut feeling that they had got caught in traffic and missed me and by mile 21 I knew I was right.

I switched to the back up plan-use water on the course. I have to admit, I suck at drinking out of a little paper cup while running 7.5 MPH-- but at the next watering table I moved over to give it a try.

WHOA! Big wake up call. As I slowed just a bit to take the cup a huge jolt grabbed my right hamstring. Cramps right on the verge of taking me down hard! Oh yeah, wake up G. I'm at mile 21. It's the second race. I need to focus and keep this pace at all costs. If I slow down, even a little bit, it's all over. Please legs don't get any worse! There was still so much farther to go! I was really starting to doubt myself a bit. But just then I heard my name called out from behind again.

It was Randy. He was pulled over to the sidewalk and trying to rip the top off a goo. "I'll see you at the end" he yelled. "You just need to run 5 more - like we do at home all the time. This is YOUR day!!"

I can't begin to tell you how much I needed my old running buddy right then and with the perfect words. It was only only 5 more miles. This was something I could do. It was happening. This was my day. It just seemed to all suddenly make sense and became so clear. If I could keep this going for another 40 minutes I was going to make it.

But you know the day had not started off on the best foot. Everything was laid out the night before and we had a good breakfast of banana, yogurt and frozen breakfast sandwiches that Lynda had taken to the front desk at 4:30 am to microwave for us. We had decided to go the "sausage McMuffin" route when it had worked so well during our 22 miler up at Forest Park weeks before. Protein and salt.

But when we got to the shuttle bus pick up point at 5 o'clock there was only one school bus for over 100 runners. Not good. We waited in the hotel lobby for another bus but there was a lot of confusion and rumors as organizers talked to each other on two way radios, but no one was sure what was going on. Eventually Randy and I squeezed onto the only bus but had to stand in the aisle. Having flash backs to junior high bus riding days is no way to start marathon day. Neither is standing on a moving school bus. About half way to Folsom I asked the guy sitting next to me if he could please make a little room and he moved over about 4 inches and I got half a cheek on the dark green seat. It was better than nothing.

The H street bridge at mile 22 reminded me of running at home and the crossing of the bridge meant the end was getting near. Getting to the top of it's rise was the last real pitch left in the course and it felt good to come down the other side knowing that we were flat the rest of the way.

It was here that I started to pay more attention to the pace leader. Or I should say to the fact that he was far less obvious now and so I spent more time looking for him. At the start of the race his orange 3:30 sign was almost always up and all I had to do to see where I was, was look up. There he was. Towards the middle of the race his sign was usually down but I could just look out ahead and within a few minutes he would raise it. "Okay, there he is. I'm still good." It was reassuring to see him even though we were from the very beginning consistently behind our ideal pace as called out by volunteers at each mile marker. I heard from them that we were behind by a few seconds and so must he must have also heard. He didn't seem worried so I wasn't either. "What's a few seconds with all these miles ahead of us?" I mused. The man is a genius with a major in marathon pacing and a minor in energy conservation. Stay the course, a thousand points of light!

But now his pace sign never went up, and in order to keep tabs on him I needed to close the ranks and get closer. Soon the orange pace sign was being held in his armpit and the pace dude wasn't looking so hot. I looked down at my watch to see how we were doing. Hmmmm, we're still a little slow. I thought to myself, "f__ the pace dude, if he doesn't snap of it soon, I'm outta here."

All the time now I kept getting these little twinges shooting through my legs. They felt like mini shots of electricity or like a rubber band spinning in one of those wind up balsa wood airplanes. I knew it meant my legs were on the verge. Please just a little bit more! I can't be this close and lose it all now! Keep running. Don't slow down. Luckily this is the part of the marathon that comes just in time; more people and encouragement. Thank you cheering spectators and people with big stereos! I told myself "just keep doing what you're doing and everything will be alright. Less than 2 miles now! It's right there, just keep it up."

We came into downtown and I ran past the hospital where I was born and Sutter's Fort where I had field trips as a kid. The crowd got louder now and more of them. Less than a mile. Another check of my watch. Nope, we're not going to make it. The pace group is not going to come in under 3:30! I had hung with them for too long already. I took off with whatever was left in the tank-which wasn't much. Later at home my Garmin would tell me that my last half mile was run at a 7:25 mile. Thanks again John Ellis!!

I could see the Capitol building a block away on my left as we went passed it, we made a left hand turn, ran another block and then yet another left and into the chute - now running right at the Capitol. I looked down at my watch one last time, gulped and legged it out for the finish giving up on the idea of an arms up in victory photo op. I crossed the mat, caught a glimpse of the family out of my right eye and hit the stop button on my watch...

My time in the California International Marathon: 3 hours 30 minutes and 03 seconds. I qualified for Boston.