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
Ni!
Showing posts with label report. Show all posts
Showing posts with label report. Show all posts
Friday, May 25, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Race Report :: Fargo Marathon :: Part 2
Part One
Turning off the bike path and heading north onto South 25th Street was spirit crushing. The wind was blowing hard and it suddenly felt 20 degrees colder. I tried everything to diminish my profile short of running sideways, and nothing seemed to help. My pace dropped to nearly 6:00 per mile, and I was working as hard as I felt I could only ten miles into the race. At the ten mile mark I was at 58:00, already :50 off of 2:30 pace with all of the minimal wind advantage already behind me. I was racing for places now.
The next several miles were a series of twists and turns through residential areas. It did take the edge off the wind, but it was still there, and still incredibly cold. With fewer spectators, wider streets, and small trees, the scene lacked warmth as well. Cliche as it is to write, I felt small and alone against the elements. I focused instead on getting to halfway, and then to mile 15, where I could pick up my next bottle.
Somewhere in this part of the race, I started getting time checks from my buddies Richie and Mahoney. They were riding around the course on bikes from the start, giving me encouragement during the early miles, and passing me tactical information toward the end. I knew they were going to be at the race, but I had no idea they would be following me around the course. Every few miles, they would show up at a corner and yell, "C'mon SUNDOG!". It was really cool, and another thing that I was able to look forward to during the tough stretches. The first check was probably around 14 miles, and it was 2:00 to first and second. So I learned they had been together basically the whole race up to that point. A bit disheartening knowing they were working together and I was isolated, but I had already made peace with the fact I was running my own race, so it didn't get me down.
The next check came through, still at two minutes, so I started to consider pushing the pace down a bit to see what I could do to that gap between now and twenty miles. It was naive, but I thought I was feeling pretty good, and what could five seconds a mile do to hurt me? I gave it a go, and shortly thereafter got another check from my guys.
"Two minutes to first, one minute to second! He's coming back, Sundog!"
Part Three
Later today--the second half of part two of a two part series! I'm not toying with you, I promise! I am a very slow, dithering writer, and I have to get showered and to work! More later--thanks for reading!
Run Two | Weather | Supplemental | Nutrition | Sleep | Injury
Turning off the bike path and heading north onto South 25th Street was spirit crushing. The wind was blowing hard and it suddenly felt 20 degrees colder. I tried everything to diminish my profile short of running sideways, and nothing seemed to help. My pace dropped to nearly 6:00 per mile, and I was working as hard as I felt I could only ten miles into the race. At the ten mile mark I was at 58:00, already :50 off of 2:30 pace with all of the minimal wind advantage already behind me. I was racing for places now.
The next several miles were a series of twists and turns through residential areas. It did take the edge off the wind, but it was still there, and still incredibly cold. With fewer spectators, wider streets, and small trees, the scene lacked warmth as well. Cliche as it is to write, I felt small and alone against the elements. I focused instead on getting to halfway, and then to mile 15, where I could pick up my next bottle.
Somewhere in this part of the race, I started getting time checks from my buddies Richie and Mahoney. They were riding around the course on bikes from the start, giving me encouragement during the early miles, and passing me tactical information toward the end. I knew they were going to be at the race, but I had no idea they would be following me around the course. Every few miles, they would show up at a corner and yell, "C'mon SUNDOG!". It was really cool, and another thing that I was able to look forward to during the tough stretches. The first check was probably around 14 miles, and it was 2:00 to first and second. So I learned they had been together basically the whole race up to that point. A bit disheartening knowing they were working together and I was isolated, but I had already made peace with the fact I was running my own race, so it didn't get me down.
The next check came through, still at two minutes, so I started to consider pushing the pace down a bit to see what I could do to that gap between now and twenty miles. It was naive, but I thought I was feeling pretty good, and what could five seconds a mile do to hurt me? I gave it a go, and shortly thereafter got another check from my guys.
"Two minutes to first, one minute to second! He's coming back, Sundog!"
Part Three
Later today--the second half of part two of a two part series! I'm not toying with you, I promise! I am a very slow, dithering writer, and I have to get showered and to work! More later--thanks for reading!
Run Two | Weather | Supplemental | Nutrition | Sleep | Injury
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Race Report :: Fargo Marathon :: Part 1
Race morning was pretty relaxed until about 7:00 a.m. when we headed across the parking lot of the FargoDome and into the throng. This was by far the largest race I've ever been part of, and everyone had the same idea--stay inside, but close to the doors, so you can leave at the last possible moment to get to the start line without freezing to death. The temperature outside was a marathon-friendly 56F, but the wind was decidedly against us, steadily blowing out of the north around 18 miles an hour with gusts to 25. Better than heat, I thought.
Thinking that fifteen minutes was enough time to get my well-practiced five minute warmup done with time to spare, Cindy and I headed out the door. Clearly, this was poorly thought out.
As we made our way to the start, the crowd got more and more dense, until finally it was like being in the middle of a house party. So, there we were, still in full sweats, stuck in the crowd, with something like six minutes to get to the line, strip down, and get warmed up. Nerve wracking!
We eventually found our way around to the start line with time for a few short strides, which was just as well, because I was warmed up well enough from the stress. I got a few short strides in around race pace, and took in about 100 Calories of my drink. Talking with Dick Beardsley calmed me down, strangely enough, at least until the gun fired for the wheelchair racers. Lost in the conversation, I heard somebody say 'gun's up!' and momentarily FREAKED OUT thinking I had just missed the marathon start.
At some point in the conversation, I told Dick it was my first marathon, and upon finding that out, he proceeded to nearly shake my arm out of its socket. What a great experience! He is every bit as engaging and down to earth as the character that comes through in his books.
Okay, come on, let's hear about the race! I made eye contact with Chad Wallin, the eventual winner, just before the gun. He gave me a nod and a brief smile, which told me that he knew more about me than I knew about him. I got the feeling I was the unknown, the dark horse. Kind of a cool feeling, but ultimately irrelevant, as Chad would go on to kick my ass by over two minutes. I went as most dark horses do--into the vapour trail of the winner.
[Course map]
As the gun sounded, I tapped the watch and immediately set to work on my first task--a slow initial five miles. Mile one was a 5:53 with a slight tailwind, though the time at the mile marker was 5:46. I wasn't startled, as I had learned to trust my watch. And sure enough, mile two was a 5:50 on the watch, but a 6:01 on the marker. After that, I settled in to a 5:45 pace for a third, and ultimately final, warmup mile. Three out of five turned out to be pretty good, and I settled in feeling that I had invested a twenty second deficit from race pace very wisely.
I was very relaxed through the first part of the race, and found myself playing to the crowd quite a lot. It gave me a lot of confidence to be able to chat a bit with some of the people assembled along the course. I knew if I could comfortably talk and maintain my pace, I was at the right effort. The people were very enthusiastic and friendly, yelling out "Go FOUR!", or "Nice pace, FOUR!". Once in a while, and this was especially helpful toward the end, I would hear, "I can't believe how fast he's running."
If you're ever spectating the last few miles of a marathon, do the runners a favor and whisper that loudly to a neighbor. It really helps.
Mile seven was the first of three 'elite' aid stations. I had been allowed to place my bottles on the tables, even though I didn't officially qualify for 'elite' status. I grabbed my first bottle, and spent a good three-quarters of a mile getting it down. During that time, I passed Scott Colford, the eventual number four finisher. This was the only part of the course that stood me up like a sail, with the wind at my back.
It only lasted for a little over a mile, but I tried to use it as much as possible. I think I went 5:30-5:35 for that stretch, and I would have gone faster if not for the voice of reason in the back of my head telling me to conserve fuel, even at the cost of giving up the tailwind.
As mile nine passed, the wind picked up, and the bike path gave way to an open six lane road. This was the first of what would be seemingly endless stretches of freezing polar gales blowing me backwards over the last half of the course...
Part Two
Tomorrow--part two of a threetwo part series! I need to get some sleep! Recovery (and family) calls.
Run Two | Weather | Supplemental | Nutrition | Sleep | Injury
Thinking that fifteen minutes was enough time to get my well-practiced five minute warmup done with time to spare, Cindy and I headed out the door. Clearly, this was poorly thought out.
As we made our way to the start, the crowd got more and more dense, until finally it was like being in the middle of a house party. So, there we were, still in full sweats, stuck in the crowd, with something like six minutes to get to the line, strip down, and get warmed up. Nerve wracking!
We eventually found our way around to the start line with time for a few short strides, which was just as well, because I was warmed up well enough from the stress. I got a few short strides in around race pace, and took in about 100 Calories of my drink. Talking with Dick Beardsley calmed me down, strangely enough, at least until the gun fired for the wheelchair racers. Lost in the conversation, I heard somebody say 'gun's up!' and momentarily FREAKED OUT thinking I had just missed the marathon start.
At some point in the conversation, I told Dick it was my first marathon, and upon finding that out, he proceeded to nearly shake my arm out of its socket. What a great experience! He is every bit as engaging and down to earth as the character that comes through in his books.
Okay, come on, let's hear about the race! I made eye contact with Chad Wallin, the eventual winner, just before the gun. He gave me a nod and a brief smile, which told me that he knew more about me than I knew about him. I got the feeling I was the unknown, the dark horse. Kind of a cool feeling, but ultimately irrelevant, as Chad would go on to kick my ass by over two minutes. I went as most dark horses do--into the vapour trail of the winner.
[Course map]
As the gun sounded, I tapped the watch and immediately set to work on my first task--a slow initial five miles. Mile one was a 5:53 with a slight tailwind, though the time at the mile marker was 5:46. I wasn't startled, as I had learned to trust my watch. And sure enough, mile two was a 5:50 on the watch, but a 6:01 on the marker. After that, I settled in to a 5:45 pace for a third, and ultimately final, warmup mile. Three out of five turned out to be pretty good, and I settled in feeling that I had invested a twenty second deficit from race pace very wisely.
I was very relaxed through the first part of the race, and found myself playing to the crowd quite a lot. It gave me a lot of confidence to be able to chat a bit with some of the people assembled along the course. I knew if I could comfortably talk and maintain my pace, I was at the right effort. The people were very enthusiastic and friendly, yelling out "Go FOUR!", or "Nice pace, FOUR!". Once in a while, and this was especially helpful toward the end, I would hear, "I can't believe how fast he's running."
If you're ever spectating the last few miles of a marathon, do the runners a favor and whisper that loudly to a neighbor. It really helps.
Mile seven was the first of three 'elite' aid stations. I had been allowed to place my bottles on the tables, even though I didn't officially qualify for 'elite' status. I grabbed my first bottle, and spent a good three-quarters of a mile getting it down. During that time, I passed Scott Colford, the eventual number four finisher. This was the only part of the course that stood me up like a sail, with the wind at my back.
It only lasted for a little over a mile, but I tried to use it as much as possible. I think I went 5:30-5:35 for that stretch, and I would have gone faster if not for the voice of reason in the back of my head telling me to conserve fuel, even at the cost of giving up the tailwind.
As mile nine passed, the wind picked up, and the bike path gave way to an open six lane road. This was the first of what would be seemingly endless stretches of freezing polar gales blowing me backwards over the last half of the course...
Part Two
Tomorrow--part two of a three
Run Two | Weather | Supplemental | Nutrition | Sleep | Injury
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