Race Report :: Fargo Marathon :: Part 3

Part One
Part Two

A few moments later, I indulged myself with a little positive self-talk, and set off to reel in second place. I think I was around mile seventeen when I started, and by mile nineteen, I had him in sight. It didn't seem like I was making progress for a long time, but then suddenly he would be noticeably closer. The gap finally started to look like it was closing at mile twenty. At the marker, my time was 1:56:12, nearly a perfect even split between the conservative first ten miles and the cold, windy second ten. I was moving well, expending more effort, but holding steady while my competition was losing ground.

Somewhere in here, Todd introduced himself. He had been cycling out ahead of me since mile seven or so, part of the crew that was keeping tabs on the top few individuals from each race. He asked me what my name was, so that as he was riding out ahead, he could tell everyone who I was. He told me people had been asking. Sure enough, I started to hear less of "Number FOUR!" and more of my name. If I hadn't been thankful enough for the cheering before, I was practically gushing now. Having hundreds of people urging you on by name is both exhilarating and humbling. If you have the opportunity, I highly recommend trying it out!

From mile 20 to 21, I kept myself calm, repeating in my head, "Don't get after him yet, not yet. The race starts up the road." I've heard from too many people that the race starts at 20 miles. I say, if it does, the race ends at 23. From inside the race, 20 miles is nothing. You're not ready to race, you're warmed up for the prologue.Some of the best advice I've heard is, if you think you're ready to push at 20, just wait until 21, and if you're ready at 21, wait for 22. And if you're ready at 22, well, you get the picture. I tried to keep all of that in mind as well as Mystery Coach's advisory that the race would start at 23 miles.

I was within ten meters of second place when the mile 21 aid station became visible a short distance ahead. As the distance to the aid station halved, and halved again, so did the gap. Within a few meters of the tables, I felt an automatic surge. A switch flipped. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed second place went for a cup of water. I did not. In an instant, the advantage was mine. Patience had paid off, and I was in second place!

In slow motion, I remember passing my last bottle, seeing the black triangles I had marked out the night before. It's mile 21, the race is nearly over. I won't need it, I rationalized. In hindsight, the risk I took was huge, but for some reason I thought creating a gap was more important than fueling up for the last 35 minutes of the race. Obviously, I don't watch enough NASCAR. This would be the biggest lesson of the race.

The next time check came through--still two minutes to the front. That gap was not closing. The race was won. I turned my focus to the race behind me. Just before 23 miles, I began to feel the first familiar signs of that deep fatigue the back-to-back workouts replicated so well. I think Thomas asked me a while back if bonking during a training run could actually be helpful. I would say now, yes, definitely. Knowing that I had broken through several 'walls' thicker than this in training was invaluable. It didn't make it easier, but it did give me confidence. I could hold on.

Mile 23 and 24 were a blur of effort and anxiety. Another time check. Two minutes. Don't care. How about a time check to third place? Since the pass, I had been listening intently to the crowds after I passed them, straining to hear the cheers as the third place runner passed. Each loud group that I passed, I heard only once, and they were cheering for me. Third couldn't be that far behind, could he? I thought about just sneaking a look back. Just a little peek. I stopped myself. I don't look back. Never have, and I wasn't starting today. More than being a sign of weakness to your competition, it is a sign of weakness to yourself. Still, I couldn't believe what I was not hearing. I had to know where I stood.

"I'll check it out, Sundog!"

Thirty-eight seconds was the gap I had built in the ten minutes since the aid station. Not a lot, and I was struggling mightily. I also learned that the difference between looking back yourself and having someone else look back for you is semantic. There is basically no difference. Your mind treats the information the same way--you speed up if the gap is closing, and you relax if it isn't. This frustrated me, because the reason I don't look back is that I believe I should always be putting in my best effort. I shouldn't need a reason. This train of thought took my mind off the increasing pain for about half a mile. An Exercise in Utility--haha.

At 24 miles, the gap closed slightly to thirty-five seconds. A quick check of the watch showed 6:10 pace for the last mile. Two miles was more than enough distance to turn the race around, and he was still fighting. I had to respond. My legs were thick, my stride was thin, and my fuel was gone. I grabbed a cup of gatorade in a last gasp effort to fuel my Final Stand. It was syrupy sweet. Way too strong. Exactly what I needed. I didn't get much more than an ounce, but by mile 25, it seemed to be making a difference. The effort was still maxed, but the fatigue was lifting, and it started to feel like I had willfull control again.

The confidence was compounding over the last mile. The gap was back to thirty-eight seconds, and my first glimmer of accomplishment started to sparkle. As each tenth of a mile clicked off, I got stronger. As I covered the last stretch of road before turning in to the FargoDome parking lot, I knew I had completed my first marathon. The beginning was finally at an end!

Todd stopped at the entry to the parking lot and turned toward me. I said a quick 'thanks!', gave him a wave, and I was on the homestretch. This part was a bit unnerving, as it was deceivingly long, winding around and down into a large service entrance. As I entered the building, I looked up at the clock. I distinctly remember being disappointed upon seeing the clock reading well past 2:33. I quickly put that behind me, and waved to the crowd. I heard my name, very loudly, and saw my wife, and then it was over. I crossed the line in 2:33:46.

A friend of mine asked me, who was the first person I remember after crossing the line? I know I walked through a gauntlet of people handing out medals, but the first person I remember was the guy who cut my chip off my shoe. He congratulated me, and I thanked him. Then, like Todd, he was gone. These ephemeral occurences stick with me very strongly. They are the essence of the experience, the thoughts that live on in your mind because there is no resolution, because you can't ever fill in the blanks or understand why that happened.

I finished the race able to walk well, and was lucid enough to start taking on fluids and get my warmup clothes on quickly. I had a bit of trouble sitting down to get my pants on, but no problems getting back up. I took that as a good sign, and it made me feel better about missing my time goal by such a large margin.

Almost immediately, I resolved to come back to try for the win next year. The people of Fargo were amazing, and as a lifelong resident of North Dakota, I'm particularly excited about the prospect of winning its biggest and best marathon. Hopefully it's more competitive next year, and there will be a fight to the finish in course record time. I can't wait.

Run Two | Weather | Supplemental | Nutrition | Sleep | Injury

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