The Inaugural Rock The Parkway was this past Saturday. Offering the three classic distances, 5k, 10k and Half Marathon, I opted for the Half. It's probably my favorite race distance, sitting as it does between the zoom ze bop bang of the 5 and 10ks and the long sappery of the longer distances. Jill meanwhile lined up for the 10k.
Despite it's virginal status and cold rainy conditions, 4,000 runners turned out to run one of the three distances. The course, while certainly considerably more challenging than the website pretends, isn't Hospital Hill or Psycho Wyco hard, and is a treat on the eyes, comprising tree-lined streets and some of the nicest residential areas of the city.
I think this race is an example of what an excellent marketing campaign and solid organization can achieve. To get this many runners in the first year requires some clever positioning, and from the very good website to the constant, interactive facebook updates and finally the execution of the event itself, the directors really got a lot right.
I arrived in plenty of time, leaving the warmth of the car a little while before Jill, whose race started 15 minutes later. A quick meander through the starting area, and I was able to find a spot right where I wanted, next to the 1:35 pace group leader, Tony. This was my goal going in, and I felt I had a decent shot at getting it, even though it would be quite a bit faster than my current PR. Training had been going well, and the trail work has really boosted my speed and core strength over the last few months.
The gun went off and within just a few seconds I was across the start line. The first couple of miles flew by. We were a little behind pace, which was intentional. The pacers were adopting a smart-technique where the first few miles are treated as a warmup, the next few are faster, and the last few are basically "hang in there".
I remember thinking during almost all of the first half that for a "gently rolling" course, much of the "rolling" seemed to be uphill with only a few scattered downhill moments. I felt Tony pick up the pace appreciably as we hit the 5-6 mile mark and indeed one quick stop at a water station and I had to work pretty hard to catch back up. I feared this might come back to bite me later.
Most of the route is on the famed Ward Parkway, but there's a middle loop through some residential sections near Loose Park and it's probably the best looking part of an already very scenic course. Jill and I had driven it the day before when it had been bathed in sunshine. The scenery wasn't quite as impressive through the gloom of the rain, but on the flip side, it was cool and not overly windy, so I wasn't complaining.
I think around 7.5 miles was when I started to feel it a bit, the seemingly constant, albeit fairly gentle, uphills starting to take their toll. Then I careened (almost out of control) down a quick steep downhill and realized I'd left my pace group behind. I figured I could slow down and wait for them, but kept going and whether I'd quickened or was just getting tired, I started to wonder if I was going to regret the move.
Fortunately, what goes up must come down, and the back side of the course as we re-entered Ward Parkway was almost all downhill with just a few little bumps along the way. It couldn't have come at a better time and I found myself working less hard to maintain my pace and my energy began to return.
At about 10 miles, I passed a very enthusiastic spectator with a flower power shirt and bright white pants for the second time who was yelling something about holding onto our "chi", bringing a brief, if somewhat confused, smile to my face. I started feeling tired again, and this time decided to take evasive measures by swallowing the energy gel I'd brought along before grabbing a cup of water at an aid station.
Half a mile later and the gel had kicked in and I was ready for my big finish. Very few people actually passed me after I left the pace group, but I caught up with a fair few, as well as some of the 10k and 5k runners still out on the course (they started later than the Half-ers).
Finally, using up the last of the gas in the tank, I crossed the finish line in 1:34:09. 7:11 pace, knocking 14 minutes of my previous race PR. Later, I found out I'd finished 86th out of 1,450. 16th in my age group. Getting faster anyway.
Jill was waiting for me at the end, having just finished her 10k, and we went to the post-race area which we breezed quickly through. Rattle and Hum were playing - and playing well - but the weather was just too cold and wet to stay long, so off we trotted.
It's weird to think this is only the third actual Half-Marathon race I've done. I think I've probably run the distance (or further) 20 or more times over the last year and a half, mostly in training obviously, but I've managed to lower my time each of the three times, so hopefully that trend can continue.
All in all, this was a great race. Very impressed, as mentioned, with the organization, giveaways (the tech shirts and medals were great, as well as the post-race refreshments and entertainment) and atmosphere. Next year's is already set; hopefully the rain will hold off next time, but other than that, couldn't really ask for too much more. I'll be back.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Run Toto Run
February 13 2010. The 6th Annual Run Toto Run, run, totoed, run again, and otherwise MCed by the Trail Nerds, and led by the intrepid duo of Ben and Sophia, who enjoyed their last day of non-engagement the same day. (Congratulations, felicitations and other iterations to you both).
In actual fact, this was a course I was quite familiar with, having run it first at the Alternate Chili Run - also put on by the Nerds - and several times thereafter. What that meant was that I knew that I didn't know what to expect. Snow, ice, mud, yetis, and of course the ever present threat of spider monkeys.
In actual fact, this was a course I was quite familiar with, having run it first at the Alternate Chili Run - also put on by the Nerds - and several times thereafter. What that meant was that I knew that I didn't know what to expect. Snow, ice, mud, yetis, and of course the ever present threat of spider monkeys.
So... to start at the top..
Jill drove me in at about 7:30am straight past the already full parking lot and into a probably illegal parking space on the side of the road. We ambled down to where the party was already beginning. A little snow was on the ground in places, enough to where I decided I needed to screw... my shoes for extra traction. A station was set up where a couple of people were very helpfully screwing everything that was sent their way, so I joined the queue. I asked the guy who did them - my Swiss cheese brain has forgotten his name - if he was running. He said no, he was going to do some sweeping later, but the 100 miler he'd completed the week before had apparently led to some very mild fatigue. Imagine...
I'd signed up for the 20 miler, but the little devil on my right shoulder was telling me I should go for the 50k if I felt good after the first two 10 mile loops. I asked Sophia if this was doable and she said "Yeah, just make sure we know" so I pottered off to Jill and told her it might be a long day for both of us. She was a good sport about it considering my inevitable slowness and her fondness for not being cold.
Ben and Sophia loudspeakered a few instructions - basically saying if you get lost you're an idiot (they were right; the course was excellently marked) - and with no further ado, we were at the start line and the (metaphorical) gun went off..
Miles 0-3ish. Across a field, a few yards of pavement then up into the first section of the bridle path. The ground was pretty hard and a bit slick, so I was glad I had screwed right before the race (OK, that's enough -ed). Most of this is a gradual uphill, with a couple of steeper bumps and a few short downhills. The path's been torn up by horses in a few places, so footing's fun there. I came out a couple of times onto some grassy clearings, but otherwise was in the woods the whole time here. I actually find this quite a challenging segment, mainly I think because it's the first thing I do, and I'm not yet warmed up properly. Lots of traffic in the early going, both human and canine, a couple of pukers, and the occasional f-bomb. One guy told me he liked my shoes (he had the same ones). I ran across him a couple more times when we strangely found we had more gear choices in common every time.
Miles 3-4ish. First aid station, and, I think, the only one I skipped. I took a right here onto the Wyco Triangle section of single-track. This is one of my favorite parts of PsychoWyco. It's not overly challenging, the trail's pretty smooth, and although there are times when you're sure you're just running in circles, there's something kind of 'yeah, I'm still alive' about completing it. Someone told me that there are people that can do it in 7 minutes. There are also non-superbeings like me who are usually just pleased they didn't get too lost. I've been 'triangled' for 30+ minutes before. No such problems here. Those little pink flags were like runway lights.
Miles 4-5ish. After I popped back out onto the bridle trail (on the other side of the same aid station you saw on the way in), there's a flattish section leading up to a road crossing and back into the woods. I think this was the first time I saw the guy cheering us on who I swear had seven or eight clones scattered at various spots around the course. He (and his doppelgangers) were a welcome sight, and his enthusiasm was impressive. Down one hill, then up what was one of the steepest on the course, and definitely the most challenging part of the first half of the loop. The highly motivating signs "It's OK to puke" and "It never only gets worse" greeted me towards the summit, and I considered both at length. Afterwards, I was rewarded with a fairly steep downhill section of back and forth, then you take a left and a sharp right and all of a sudden you're in the middle of a giant field.
Miles 5-6ish. The field seems to take forever to cross, and is the most exposed part of the course, so is really the only time you really feel much wind. I'm always relieved to get past this and onto the brief uphill section of road, past an aid station - where I gratefully had my bottle filled with Succeed. Back into the woods for a couple of very steep downhills where signs warned us to "SLOW DOWN" which all of those in my pace range certainly took heed of after Ben had regaled us before we started with stories of the broken legs of those who'd gone too fast.
Miles 6-7ish. It may not be, but this part always seems to me like the longest part of uninterrupted running in the woods without coming out at a field, road or parking lot of some kind. Lots of up, lots of down, a little flat, and a slightly muddier track that warned of things to come. I think this was the area I started to get passed by 10 milers that started 30 minutes after me - always an ego boost - including one very fast, (and very young) kid who made the hills that were burning my quads with every microstep seem like minor speed bumps - I later found out he came 2nd overall in the 10 mile race. Overachiever. Across another field, back into the woods, out by some boats, back in again, then one more aid station before the infamous "Three Hills" section.
Miles 7-10ish. Dominated by the aforementioned hills, the first of the three might be the worst because it's so dang long. Just as you think you're at the top, you turn a corner and it KEEPS GOING UP. I didn't even try to run this one, and all I could think was how in the frig was I going to do it again with 10 more miles on my legs. The second is a bit shorter, then the third is another real bugger, though at least you know it's the last main obstacle before the end. Finally, I heard noise that resembled the unmistakably lively chatter of finish line peoples and sure enough, I ran down one final hill and into the back of the parking lot where I'd started. A jovial guy took a picture as I crossed the finish line for which I managed to muster a smile - of all the pictures taken, it was the only one where I didn't look like I was about to keel over.
Round 1 complete. Jill snapped pictures and looked suitably concerned as I was somewhat disheveled already. My time was just over 2 hours; a PR for me, which probably meant I was going too fast.
Miles 10-13ish. Starting to feel a bit iffy. Jill was now meeting me whenever I emerged from the woods, with food and drink, and she told me after that this was the period she was most worried and that I looked "terrible". I was definitely starting to feel it. I took a salt tablet and ate some gummi bears at the aid station.
Miles 13-15ish. Definitely the worst part for me physically. The triangle was a bit muddier than the first time but mostly I just felt like I was about to pass out from exhaustion at this part. The idea of going 6 or 7 more miles didn't seem realistic. I slowed to a walk, even on the flat areas, and prepared myself for doom. To think, a couple of hours earlier, I'd been full of vinegar asking about "up-sizing" to the 50k. What a foolish child I can be. Also, somehow my stopwatch got stopped here, so it added to the feeling that I wasn't making any progress, time itself having apparently stood still.
Miles 15-17ish. Against all odds, I started to bounce back. The salt and food kicked in and all of a sudden I actually felt fairly comfortable again - oh, I still wasn't attempting to run up the hills, but I was pretty solid on the flats and downhills. Mud was really a factor by now, the product of melting snow and 500 runners tearing it up. Plp plp plp. Some were trying to run around the edges but I just charged through it for the most part. I still managed to fall flat on my face, side and butt four or five times, but at least it was a soft landing. I'd done this course in a foot of snow, and although I'll take the mud over the snow, it might be interesting to actually do this one day without either. Of course, then there'd be snakes and ticks, so, you know, every silver lining has its cloud.
Miles 17-20. The three hills were, if anything, not quite as painful as they were in the first loop (though it has to be said I took my sweet time with them), and were one of the few areas where the mud hadn't completely taken hold, so in some ways they were almost welcome. Plus I knew the end was in sight.
Finally, I saw the parking lot and, as if someone had injected me with an elixir of everlasting energy, I suddenly bounded out heroically and shot over the finish line in near average pace. A very brief thought of going for the 50k flashed through my head, then equally quickly went away. The second loop had taken me 2hrs 37 minutes, about 35 minutes slower than the first. The mud was getting worse, and I was spent. I'd put in my day's work. It was time to go home and caress my blisters.
At the end, Ben was there to greet me (see pic), and told me I looked a little pale and needed some food. I didn't reveal that I am the twelve time runner up at the whitest man alive contest behind only Conan O'Brien, but followed his advice anyway and had a bowl of hot soup and an awesome cookie.
I'm the pale one on the left
So, was it fun? Hell yes. I had mud up to my knees, I spent almost 5 hours running in the woods in February, and I got a medal with a dog on it. What more could you ask for?
A special thanks to...
All the Nerds at the aid stations. They were attentive and kept the bar well stocked. The variety of food was impressive (though I personally mainly stuck to gummi bears which I found to be like happy pills for me that day).
The mud
Ben and Sophia for putting on a first class event and for the really impressive amount of stuff you got for your money (long-sleeved tech shirt, mug, medal, soup, cookies - the list goes on)
The guy who screwed my shoes. Good luck on your next hundred miler.
Jill for being there at every corner on the second loop when she probably would rather have been at Banana Republic or David's Bridal. That's my girl.
Anyway, that's it for now. This post ended up being almost as long as my race. But slightly cleaner. See you at the next one!
The Winter
What a winter. Gary Lezak said it's been 27 days since the last day of 45 degrees or above here in the metropole. I've never known anything like it in the 15 years I've been in this hallowed land. We've also had 28 or so inches of snow through the season, including one that kept us inside on Christmas Day. Average is 12 inches, and it's only just now mid-February!
Hasn't stopped me running though. In fact, I've used the runs as my way of showing the proverbial middle finger to the elements. I remember the 15 mile run I did in 7 degree weather when my chin was so numb you could have stuck a needle in it and I wouldn't have known. I remember the 7 mile run I did in -2 degree weather (I wore a scarf that time at least) - and I remember slogging through 10 miles of snow in yaktrax, with their signature crunch the only noise - even drivers stayed home that day.
But most of all I remember the trail runs. After the marathon in November, I was looking for a fresh challenge. Trail running became it. I figured one of the best ways to prevent stress fractures was to mix up the surfaces on which I ran, and head to softer ground. Sure, you can run on the little grassy areas you see on some streets, but that's not really "roughing it" - plus you get weird looks.
Then I found the Trail Nerds. These nutty folks, led by "Bad" Ben Holmes, run in the snow, rain, ice, 100 degree heat and the pitch black through rough single-track, mountain bike and bridle trails throughout KC. I was intrigued, and joined them for a 10 mile trek at Wyandotte County Park up north, which was the running equivalent of being dunked in an ice bath. It was a shock to the system, and possibly one of the hardest runs I can remember in my life. I was immediately hooked, and not long after, signed up for a 20 mile run over the same trails in February - a run I just completed (more info to follow).
So I've mixed my runs. Short, faster runs during the week on the roads, long hard slogs up and down hilly trails at the weekend. I've run through a foot of snow when even deer are giving me weird looks (not that much fun), and I've ended up lost, flat on my face or with a shoe full of icy water more times than I can count. When running alone, it's one of the most isolating experiences I can think of, but it's also one of the most intensely focusing, and, ultimately most rewarding.
So, with that, I have decided to start this ole blog back up - as before, it's really just for me to keep track and keep motivated. I'll post race reports, maybe the occasional interesting (to me at least) vignette and that, as they say, will be that. We will start with the race I just completed last weekend, the Trail Nerds signature event, and 6th Annual RUN TOTO RUN.
Hasn't stopped me running though. In fact, I've used the runs as my way of showing the proverbial middle finger to the elements. I remember the 15 mile run I did in 7 degree weather when my chin was so numb you could have stuck a needle in it and I wouldn't have known. I remember the 7 mile run I did in -2 degree weather (I wore a scarf that time at least) - and I remember slogging through 10 miles of snow in yaktrax, with their signature crunch the only noise - even drivers stayed home that day.
But most of all I remember the trail runs. After the marathon in November, I was looking for a fresh challenge. Trail running became it. I figured one of the best ways to prevent stress fractures was to mix up the surfaces on which I ran, and head to softer ground. Sure, you can run on the little grassy areas you see on some streets, but that's not really "roughing it" - plus you get weird looks.
Then I found the Trail Nerds. These nutty folks, led by "Bad" Ben Holmes, run in the snow, rain, ice, 100 degree heat and the pitch black through rough single-track, mountain bike and bridle trails throughout KC. I was intrigued, and joined them for a 10 mile trek at Wyandotte County Park up north, which was the running equivalent of being dunked in an ice bath. It was a shock to the system, and possibly one of the hardest runs I can remember in my life. I was immediately hooked, and not long after, signed up for a 20 mile run over the same trails in February - a run I just completed (more info to follow).
So I've mixed my runs. Short, faster runs during the week on the roads, long hard slogs up and down hilly trails at the weekend. I've run through a foot of snow when even deer are giving me weird looks (not that much fun), and I've ended up lost, flat on my face or with a shoe full of icy water more times than I can count. When running alone, it's one of the most isolating experiences I can think of, but it's also one of the most intensely focusing, and, ultimately most rewarding.
So, with that, I have decided to start this ole blog back up - as before, it's really just for me to keep track and keep motivated. I'll post race reports, maybe the occasional interesting (to me at least) vignette and that, as they say, will be that. We will start with the race I just completed last weekend, the Trail Nerds signature event, and 6th Annual RUN TOTO RUN.
One year (and a bit) on
OK, so I think it's time I started this back up again.
It was 3 months before I stopped limping after the Arizona marathon, and almost 6 before I could run again. Initially diagnosed a muscle tear, it was actually a stress fracture - apparently quite a bad one given how long it took to recover. Still, once I got back into it, I soon got back into rhythm, and was even able to finish a marathon (this time both legs intact) before the end of the year. Below are the events I competed in.
September 19, 2009 - 4 Mile KC Zoo Run "For The Chimps". 32:24. 8:06 pace.
Took 2 minutes off last year's time. I was pleased with the run; was really the first time I'd tried to push the pace since "coming back"
October 17, 2009 - Kansas City Half Marathon - 1:49:21. 8:21 pace.
Really attractive course. Early traffic slowed me somewhat, but was able to complete the last 10 miles in 8:02 pace for a PR race time at that distance.
November 22, 2009 - Gobbler Grind Marathon - 4:06:36. 9:25 pace.
So, finally, the do-over. Felt very comfortable for about 19 miles, then bonked hard at a vicious little hill around mile 20. After that, it was a walk-run into the finish. I probably was a shade undertrained or I think I could have cracked 4 hours. Obviously pleased I didn't have to make a beeline for an ER this time though.
That brings us, more or less, to 2010, and on to the next challenge...
It was 3 months before I stopped limping after the Arizona marathon, and almost 6 before I could run again. Initially diagnosed a muscle tear, it was actually a stress fracture - apparently quite a bad one given how long it took to recover. Still, once I got back into it, I soon got back into rhythm, and was even able to finish a marathon (this time both legs intact) before the end of the year. Below are the events I competed in.
September 19, 2009 - 4 Mile KC Zoo Run "For The Chimps". 32:24. 8:06 pace.
Took 2 minutes off last year's time. I was pleased with the run; was really the first time I'd tried to push the pace since "coming back"
October 17, 2009 - Kansas City Half Marathon - 1:49:21. 8:21 pace.
Really attractive course. Early traffic slowed me somewhat, but was able to complete the last 10 miles in 8:02 pace for a PR race time at that distance.
November 22, 2009 - Gobbler Grind Marathon - 4:06:36. 9:25 pace.
So, finally, the do-over. Felt very comfortable for about 19 miles, then bonked hard at a vicious little hill around mile 20. After that, it was a walk-run into the finish. I probably was a shade undertrained or I think I could have cracked 4 hours. Obviously pleased I didn't have to make a beeline for an ER this time though.
That brings us, more or less, to 2010, and on to the next challenge...
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Future
It's now Thursday January 22, 4 days since marathongate. I am still on crutches, still able to put very little weight on my right leg, but there are some signs of improvement and I'm confident that a few weeks of rest should set me straight.
Jill has already decided to do the Olathe Half-Marathon, in Olathe, KS, a neighboring town to Overland Park at the end of March, along with several friends. She's been universally congratulated at work ever since the race, and has become a pied piper of sorts, inspiring those around her to attempt what she has already accomplished. Her long-term goal is a full marathon of her own, though she thinks next year might be more realistic than later this, where Chicago had been eyed as a potential destination.
I of course will not now be able to do the same race, but will, I think, enjoy being on the other side of the wall cheering her and her pals on. Obviously I'd prefer to be competing, but as I enjoy the whole atmosphere of a race, I'll take that as the next best thing.
As for me running again, assuming I can once more take to the streets in 6-8 weeks, my first race will be the 4-mile trolley run in late April, here in Kansas City. It's the largest 4 mile event in the country, with over 15,000 competitors expected to line up. Jill did the run last year, and I met her at the end, and for me, this was perhaps the biggest reason I finally completed my first marathon a few days ago. It was the first time I'd been at a race that large and the atmosphere, the faces on the finishers, the joy on Jill's face as she crossed the line, even the free food at the end, made for an atmosphere that I found intoxicating, and led me down the path I've been following ever since.
I've told those that are interested that I will one day run another marathon, though I suspect it will be an occasional event, a once a year or once every couple of years type thing, just to prove I can, and to keep it as the special distance. I'm not looking to dilute these ultimate experiences by doing too many, nor am I looking to render myself lame by the age of 45. The marathon is both terrific and terrible, and I'm committed to treating it with the necessary reverence.
I do however think that running races is something I will continue to keep in my life for the foreseeable future. I'm officially addicted. Whether it be a 5k, 4-mile, 10k, Half-Marathon or something more exotically measured, you'll see me regularly lining up and exorcising demons with hundreds, if not thousands of others. At 35, I've rediscovered something beautiful.
That, and the t-shirts are useful souvenirs.
Jill has already decided to do the Olathe Half-Marathon, in Olathe, KS, a neighboring town to Overland Park at the end of March, along with several friends. She's been universally congratulated at work ever since the race, and has become a pied piper of sorts, inspiring those around her to attempt what she has already accomplished. Her long-term goal is a full marathon of her own, though she thinks next year might be more realistic than later this, where Chicago had been eyed as a potential destination.
I of course will not now be able to do the same race, but will, I think, enjoy being on the other side of the wall cheering her and her pals on. Obviously I'd prefer to be competing, but as I enjoy the whole atmosphere of a race, I'll take that as the next best thing.
As for me running again, assuming I can once more take to the streets in 6-8 weeks, my first race will be the 4-mile trolley run in late April, here in Kansas City. It's the largest 4 mile event in the country, with over 15,000 competitors expected to line up. Jill did the run last year, and I met her at the end, and for me, this was perhaps the biggest reason I finally completed my first marathon a few days ago. It was the first time I'd been at a race that large and the atmosphere, the faces on the finishers, the joy on Jill's face as she crossed the line, even the free food at the end, made for an atmosphere that I found intoxicating, and led me down the path I've been following ever since.
I've told those that are interested that I will one day run another marathon, though I suspect it will be an occasional event, a once a year or once every couple of years type thing, just to prove I can, and to keep it as the special distance. I'm not looking to dilute these ultimate experiences by doing too many, nor am I looking to render myself lame by the age of 45. The marathon is both terrific and terrible, and I'm committed to treating it with the necessary reverence.
I do however think that running races is something I will continue to keep in my life for the foreseeable future. I'm officially addicted. Whether it be a 5k, 4-mile, 10k, Half-Marathon or something more exotically measured, you'll see me regularly lining up and exorcising demons with hundreds, if not thousands of others. At 35, I've rediscovered something beautiful.
That, and the t-shirts are useful souvenirs.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Aftermath
Jill was waiting for me at the finish, a very welcome sight, but her face told of her own sufferings. She finished her Half in 3 hours and change, and was rather disappointed with how it had gone. Personally, I don't think she had anything to be sad about. She got her medal too, and did something that she'd never done before. I wished she were happier, but as the day went on, I think she did start to realize the achievement more and feel better about it.
Also, she was in much better shape than me. I somehow made it back to the car and drove back to the hotel, but after a few hours of leg stiffening, I simply couldn't put any weight on the right leg at all. Fearing I would have a very hard time making it through three airports and two flights the next day I finally decided I had to seek help. An urgent care facility was open close by, so we went and spent two and a half very long hours in a soulless facility filled with coughing children and bored orderlies. The doctor, who it must be said didn't exactly do a thorough examination, determined it was "probably a torn muscle", said he saw it in marathoners all the time, and sent me on my way with a prescription for hardcore ibuprofen and a pair of crutches.
The crutches certainly helped keep weight off the leg, so they were a relief, and finally, at around 11pm, we got back to the hotel room and went to bed, knowing we'd have to be up, for the second night in a row, by 5am the next morning.
Here's a tip for you. If you want to get through an airport quickly, go on crutches. Fake it if you have to, but seriously, take note. I had been dreading the trip, but it was just about the smoothest travel experience I'd had. Assistants were only too willing to provide wheelchairs, which, in addition to getting through the airport quickly, also get through such nightmares as security lines in double quick time. No-one cares when a person in a wheelchair jumps the queue. On top of that, the check-in woman upgraded our tickets to give us free TV on the flights, and even changed our seats on the first flight to the first row, making it easier to disembark. It was awesome.
So I made it home, damaged but alive. I fulfilled my dream, though not quite in the way I'd hoped, and yes, I think in time I would like to try again, good health permitting. I won't run another one unless I feel 100% at the start line though. It's now Wednesday, three days later, and I can still put almost no weight on the leg. In fact, if it doesn't improve in the next couple of days, I will seek a second opinion on the extent and cause of the injury.
That doesn't mean I regret pushing through and finishing. As I've mentioned before, I might do more marathons, but I'll never do another first marathon, and it has been my experience that mental scars are more difficult to recover from than physical ones. If I'd dropped out, I'd be forever regretful. The way things did go, while I have allowed myself to occasionally second guess some of the decisions I made during training, I'm satisfied that I did everything I possibly could have done on the day of the race and pushed myself beyond the limits of which I felt capable.
I think with the passage of time, and after my leg heals, I will grow to cherish this experience every bit as much as if it had gone perfectly and I'd registered a sub-4 hour time. I've proved I can do it the hard way. I've proved that I have the character to complete a bad marathon as well as a good one. I've proved that it means more to me to hurt myself succeeding than protect myself failing. I believe it has been a life changing event.
I will probably post another one or two entries with some final thoughts, then likely will wrap this blog up. Writing this, like running, has been a very personal experience that I expect few, if anyone else, will have been interested in, but on the off chance someone did stumble across this at some point, I'd be curious to know what you thought and if you'd shared any similar experiences in your own life. If not, well, as with the running itself, it's something I think I'll enjoy looking back over and remembering what turned out to be a very cathartic time of my life.
Also, she was in much better shape than me. I somehow made it back to the car and drove back to the hotel, but after a few hours of leg stiffening, I simply couldn't put any weight on the right leg at all. Fearing I would have a very hard time making it through three airports and two flights the next day I finally decided I had to seek help. An urgent care facility was open close by, so we went and spent two and a half very long hours in a soulless facility filled with coughing children and bored orderlies. The doctor, who it must be said didn't exactly do a thorough examination, determined it was "probably a torn muscle", said he saw it in marathoners all the time, and sent me on my way with a prescription for hardcore ibuprofen and a pair of crutches.
The crutches certainly helped keep weight off the leg, so they were a relief, and finally, at around 11pm, we got back to the hotel room and went to bed, knowing we'd have to be up, for the second night in a row, by 5am the next morning.
Here's a tip for you. If you want to get through an airport quickly, go on crutches. Fake it if you have to, but seriously, take note. I had been dreading the trip, but it was just about the smoothest travel experience I'd had. Assistants were only too willing to provide wheelchairs, which, in addition to getting through the airport quickly, also get through such nightmares as security lines in double quick time. No-one cares when a person in a wheelchair jumps the queue. On top of that, the check-in woman upgraded our tickets to give us free TV on the flights, and even changed our seats on the first flight to the first row, making it easier to disembark. It was awesome.
So I made it home, damaged but alive. I fulfilled my dream, though not quite in the way I'd hoped, and yes, I think in time I would like to try again, good health permitting. I won't run another one unless I feel 100% at the start line though. It's now Wednesday, three days later, and I can still put almost no weight on the leg. In fact, if it doesn't improve in the next couple of days, I will seek a second opinion on the extent and cause of the injury.
That doesn't mean I regret pushing through and finishing. As I've mentioned before, I might do more marathons, but I'll never do another first marathon, and it has been my experience that mental scars are more difficult to recover from than physical ones. If I'd dropped out, I'd be forever regretful. The way things did go, while I have allowed myself to occasionally second guess some of the decisions I made during training, I'm satisfied that I did everything I possibly could have done on the day of the race and pushed myself beyond the limits of which I felt capable.
I think with the passage of time, and after my leg heals, I will grow to cherish this experience every bit as much as if it had gone perfectly and I'd registered a sub-4 hour time. I've proved I can do it the hard way. I've proved that I have the character to complete a bad marathon as well as a good one. I've proved that it means more to me to hurt myself succeeding than protect myself failing. I believe it has been a life changing event.
I will probably post another one or two entries with some final thoughts, then likely will wrap this blog up. Writing this, like running, has been a very personal experience that I expect few, if anyone else, will have been interested in, but on the off chance someone did stumble across this at some point, I'd be curious to know what you thought and if you'd shared any similar experiences in your own life. If not, well, as with the running itself, it's something I think I'll enjoy looking back over and remembering what turned out to be a very cathartic time of my life.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Marathon - Part 2
A lot of thoughts were going through my mind at this point. In no particular order, here were some...
1. What would my friends and family think?
2. What about all the people who'd donated money for charity?
3. If I did somehow make it to the finish, would I be dead last?
4. Finish or not, how would I make it home, through two flights and three airports the next day?
5. What would I do if the left leg went out too?
The last question was a big one. Up until now, leftie was doing almost all the hard work, but there's only so much I could ask of it. Would it hold out?
I hauled myself up and kept going, resolving that I would not stop again for any reason. I knew I might not be able to start again if I did.
The next few miles ticked by slowly, but the ice bags and tylenol did help somewhat. It also illicited some sympathetic words of encouragement from onlookers. I ate my GU, went through the Scottsdale Art District I'd ambled so comfortably through only one day earlier - I was a little sad that I hadn't got to enjoy this part running. I'd been looking forward to that section ever since I'd done the drive through. Limping painfully through it wasn't how I envisioned it back then.
At mile 20, I started picturing myself back in Overland Park doing one of the routes I'd been running for the past few months. I always ran loops of 10k or less, so I knew exactly how far I had to go, and though I hadn't done it walking, I was at least vaguely aware of the fact that I'd never gone further at one time, walk or run, in my life than I had completed then.
The sun became a factor over the next few miles. I was by this stage at peace with the fact I was going to finish in a much slower time than hoped for. I started picturing myself as a heroic warrior with some serious injury, perhaps a gunshot wound, heroically making his way back to base camp to present news of the war to the General lest the battle would be lost. As my skin turned red and my eyes squinted, I walked down a wide open highway in an increasingly sparse crowd of runners and spectators.
At mile 24, I could feel the leg start to deteriorate more, but knew that with only 2 miles to go, it would basically take something like it falling off altogether for me to stop. Nevertheless, it slowed me down even more, and I started wondering what exactly I had done so wrong to deserve this.
At mile 25, another runner came up on my shoulder and said something - I don't even know what, but it was enough for me to strike up a conversation. He too was carrying an injury - a bad ankle - and seemed to come at the perfect time for me, being quite willing to keep me company the whole way in. We passed the last water station and grabbed a drink, and all at once, we saw the last turn into the Sun Devil stadium parking lot ahead. We turned, then turned again, and there it was... the oasis in the desert - the arch representing the culmination of 4+ months of hard slog in the cold, the heat, the rain and the snow.
Determined that my finish line picture would be of me running, I tried to break back into a run for the last few steps, but instead managed only a strange skipping motion, my right leg now able to take almost no weight at all.
My finish time, 5:46:07, was slower than I would have considered possible, yet I was far from last, with runners, walkers, joggers, and crawlers still coming in. I said goodbye to my new friend and headed straight into the medical tent for more ice, my biggest regret later that I hadn't secured his email address.
I had done it. Everything that I'd feared came to pass, and yet, somehow, I'd fought through it and finished my marathon.
1. What would my friends and family think?
2. What about all the people who'd donated money for charity?
3. If I did somehow make it to the finish, would I be dead last?
4. Finish or not, how would I make it home, through two flights and three airports the next day?
5. What would I do if the left leg went out too?
The last question was a big one. Up until now, leftie was doing almost all the hard work, but there's only so much I could ask of it. Would it hold out?
I hauled myself up and kept going, resolving that I would not stop again for any reason. I knew I might not be able to start again if I did.
The next few miles ticked by slowly, but the ice bags and tylenol did help somewhat. It also illicited some sympathetic words of encouragement from onlookers. I ate my GU, went through the Scottsdale Art District I'd ambled so comfortably through only one day earlier - I was a little sad that I hadn't got to enjoy this part running. I'd been looking forward to that section ever since I'd done the drive through. Limping painfully through it wasn't how I envisioned it back then.
At mile 20, I started picturing myself back in Overland Park doing one of the routes I'd been running for the past few months. I always ran loops of 10k or less, so I knew exactly how far I had to go, and though I hadn't done it walking, I was at least vaguely aware of the fact that I'd never gone further at one time, walk or run, in my life than I had completed then.
The sun became a factor over the next few miles. I was by this stage at peace with the fact I was going to finish in a much slower time than hoped for. I started picturing myself as a heroic warrior with some serious injury, perhaps a gunshot wound, heroically making his way back to base camp to present news of the war to the General lest the battle would be lost. As my skin turned red and my eyes squinted, I walked down a wide open highway in an increasingly sparse crowd of runners and spectators.
At mile 24, I could feel the leg start to deteriorate more, but knew that with only 2 miles to go, it would basically take something like it falling off altogether for me to stop. Nevertheless, it slowed me down even more, and I started wondering what exactly I had done so wrong to deserve this.
At mile 25, another runner came up on my shoulder and said something - I don't even know what, but it was enough for me to strike up a conversation. He too was carrying an injury - a bad ankle - and seemed to come at the perfect time for me, being quite willing to keep me company the whole way in. We passed the last water station and grabbed a drink, and all at once, we saw the last turn into the Sun Devil stadium parking lot ahead. We turned, then turned again, and there it was... the oasis in the desert - the arch representing the culmination of 4+ months of hard slog in the cold, the heat, the rain and the snow.
Determined that my finish line picture would be of me running, I tried to break back into a run for the last few steps, but instead managed only a strange skipping motion, my right leg now able to take almost no weight at all.
My finish time, 5:46:07, was slower than I would have considered possible, yet I was far from last, with runners, walkers, joggers, and crawlers still coming in. I said goodbye to my new friend and headed straight into the medical tent for more ice, my biggest regret later that I hadn't secured his email address.
I had done it. Everything that I'd feared came to pass, and yet, somehow, I'd fought through it and finished my marathon.
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