The saga of the first marathon

The “Saga of the First Marathon” actually starts back in 1995 when I decided I was going to run a marathon before I turned 30.  9 years later it dawned on me that if I was going to do it I better get off my ass because January ’05 was the last chance to run the Houston marathon before I turned 30 in June ‘05.  Starting in 1996 I was cycling year round and riding MS150s, so I was in pretty good shape in 2004.  In September ‘04 I decided I’d run the marathon and in October ’04 I rode in my 3^rd MS150 that year and had ridden between 1000 and 1500 miles for the year.  I figured training up for a marathon (26.2 miles) wouldn’t be so bad having just ridden 150 miles in 2 days.

 

On my first run I couldn’t hardly make it to the end of the street.

 

I ran periodically starting in the beginning of October and pushed my distance up to about 8 miles, hating every step of it.  That’s actually when I started a running blog (now at www.screamingatthewind.blogspot.com).  Eventually I’m going to migrate the early running posts over to the current running blog, but I’m in no real rush.

 

The short version of the ’05 recap is that I undertrained because I had no clue what I was getting myself into.  I thought I was in good enough shape to run a marathon because I was in good enough shape to ride my bike over the horizon and back.

I was wrong.  I thought I might be in trouble after 5 miles, but also thought I might be able to gut my way through.  After 9 miles, when every step was in uncharted territory, I knew I was REALLY in trouble.  When we passed the half way point, I was fading fast and my 10 minute miles were becoming 12 minute miles and fast approaching 14 minute miles.  I hit the Westpark Bridge with a vengeance, because on the bike I hit hills HARD and relax on the other side.  I NEVER let hills win—ever.

 

This hill won.  I knew there was no way I was going to finish unless I found some energy somewhere.  My wife tells me I looked drained and near death coming over that bridge.  It was about there that my left foot and knee, and right groin was beginning to hurt, too.

 

Everything was going wrong.

 

I staggered up Newcastle, down the feeder road, got passed by a cleaning crew truck, staggered around the corner to 610 and Richmond, I think, and one of the medics asked me if I was ok.  I was most definitely not ok.  I threw in the towel right around there.  I called the missus to tell her to meet me at GRB, I was finished.

 

I know the question because I get it a lot:  why didn’t you run a half marathon first?

Answer:  I knew I could run a half marathon.  I wasn’t sure I could run a marathon and riding across the horizon and back was getting easy.  I chose to do hard, and failed…  hard.

 

I licked my wounds, rode in the MS150 in May, and in July decided to run the 2006 marathon.  I considered joining a club, but decided against it because I don’t do scheduled runs very well and wasn’t going to run it based on someone else’s plan or program, this was going to have to be my own redemption.

 

While training in 2005 I realized that when you train for a marathon, really train for a marathon, the actual running of the marathon is just a technicality.  You’ve already run the thing so many times in your head that the sense of inevitability as the thing approaches is more profound than the nervousness or anything else.  Preparation trumps everything.  I’d driven the course, walked over that bridge a few times to remind myself of that sting (a sting I still feel today), basically everything short of running the actual marathon before race day.  Of course, I also maintained a very moderate running schedule because, as I’ve said before, I hated every step of the training. 

 

And in 2005 there was more of it to hate. 

 

Nonetheless, the week before the run, there was really nothing left to do except run the race, and I had to wait on the calendar for that.

 

So, race day came, I showed up to the corrals late (as usual) but still within the crowd before the start, and got to running.  From the 2005 marathon I remember very little except for the pain, exhaustion, and utter, profound feeling of defeat.  From the 2006 run, though, I remember everything.  The smells, the sights, the view of the sunrise from the viaduct, the pipers on Main, the communion offering and the sprinkling of holy water, getting passed in the Rice Military Village by some chick the announcer knew, the spring in my legs as I crested the Westpark Bridge and KNEW I was going to finish this thing, the look of relief on my wife’s face (I do this crap to impress her, you know) at the same place, cruising through Tanglewood with “Monica” (who’s family was cheering wildly every 3 or 4 miles) and realizing that I had 2 hours to cover a distance that should take me 1 to 1.5 hours to cover, getting passed by the guy who had a “50 years old, 50 states, 50 marathons” t-shirt on and just thinking “damn”, entering friendly territory through Memorial Park, running with THE Jon Walk for a few miles down Allen Parkway, hitting the “wall” where my pace dropped from a steady 11:30 to 14 or so, then getting some oranges and things moderating back to 12-ish.  [As for this “wall”, I didn’t know I was hitting it when I did, only when I looked back at the times did I realize my times had come to a near stand-still.]

 

The best part, though, is entering downtown.  The buildings are like a giant gateway that leads into a giant valley.  You can hear EVERYTHING.  The “March of the Centurions” plays on my own personal soundtrack at about this point with the music building to a dizzying crescendo only to be drown out by…  You enter the valley and it’s two turns and on to the home stretch.  The few remaining people (5 ½ hours in) are cheering like total lunatics (or, at least, that’s how the mind’s ear remembers it), what little fire is left in the engine burns a little hotter.  “Monica” was faltering, so I had to yell at her to not quit because it wouldn’t be right to beat a quitter to the line.  She kept running, but I beat her anyway.

 

It was very…  vindicating.  There is so much more to running a marathon that merely running.

And now it’s time to do it again.

6 miler update

The schedule I had jotted down, and the clock, really only allowed for a 3.5 mile run last night.

I got to my 3.5 mile turnaround point, started to turn around, looked at the clock, and started to wonder…

 

The first half of the run had been remarkably easy and quick.  I still felt good.  If I hurried, I could still make it home by 8 and make my 9:00pm appointment.

 

On the other hand…  I could knock out 3.5 tonight, then hit the trail for 6 in the morning, maybe even 6.2 and call it a true 10k…  although, realistically there was very little chance I’d wake up early enough to get in a full hour or so run in the morning, AND I was going out of town Thursday, which would be the next morning I could realistically cram in a longer run…

 

Then, the light turned green and I bolted across the street without even thinking about it another second.  6 miles it is!!  I let out a (louder than expected) bark of a laugh, people looked, but I didn’t care.  I was actually feeling pretty good and even somewhat enjoying the run.  As Holden said, I might be becoming friends with running.

 

I touched the tracks and made the turn back home.  A check of the timer showed me that I ran the first half in just over 30 minutes.  If I hustled, I could make it home in an hour.  I wasn’t sure I had enough juice in the tank, and there was a pretty stiff headwind, but if there’s a chance of failure, I might as well fail big.  There were a couple of points on the trail where I leaned on the accelerator just to see how the engine would perform.  At one point a guy and his wife passed me very slowly on their bikes.  I flipped on the burners and tried to catch up to them and was getting close, until she looked over her shoulder and added a little speed of her own.

That’s ok…  I ran faster than a bike rider there for a few seconds.  Even better, I ran the whole route.

For the final leg, I saw that I needed to finish in about 15 minutes to break an hour.  That was unlikely to happen, but it was worth a try.  By the time I got to the home stretch it was clearly not going to happen, but I could still get home in under 11:00/mile, so I kept the pressure on and stopped the clock at 1:02:57, just under 10:30 per mile.  Not a bad run.

 

The tale of the clock:

6.02 miles. Total time: 1:02:57 for a 10:27 per mile pace.

Splits (1&4 = 1.82 miles, 2&3 = 1.19 miles):

1. 18:10.5  (9:59/mile pace) ç11 seconds faster than the previous running of this segment.

2. 12:01.0  (10:05 pace)

3. 13:30.4  (11:21 pace)

4. 19:15.7  (10:35 pace)ç1:30 faster than the previous running of this segment.

 

The average mile was 10:27.  The standard deviation (yes, I’m bit of a nerd) was only :37.  I’d still like to get some more consistency.

For the first time a 5:00:00 marathon seems within reach (11:27 pace), and a 4:30 marathon is not inconceivable.  I still have a long way to go for either of those marks, though.

Running my metaphor

There are really two types of true “runners”:  elites, and the rest of us.  (Look there, I referred to “runners” as “us”!!)

 

The elites are the gods among us who manage to run 4 minute miles as easy as we eat our corn flakes in the morning and string together 26 very impressive 5 and 6 minute miles and barely break a sweat.  These people breathe running and make a very fine living off of such endeavors.

 

They enter races and expect to compete to WIN, not just finish, but win.  They are finely tuned running machines, and we speak their names in hushed tones:  Haile Gebrselassie, Paula Radcliffe, Deena Kastor, Paul Tergat, Robert Cheruiyot and many many more.  You recognize them from their pictures and the pattern on the soles of their shoes.  When you see these people have signed up for your marathon, you know immediately that 1. You have lost and 2. You are not one of THEM.

 

I, like most of the people out there running, am not an elite runner.  I will likely never, ever win a race that is actually attended by a field of runners without remarkable good fortune.  I am racing only the clock, and in my race against the clock I find my metaphors.

 

Life is a marathon.

My faith is a marathon.

School is a marathon.

Fatherhood is a marathon.

… is a marathon.

 

And, of course, wisdom

 

One step at a time.

Remember to breathe.

Preparation is key.

If there’s no risk of failure, it’s not worth doing.

If there any risk of failure, be sure to fail BIG, or not at all!

Know which kind of pain you’re feeling, and address it accordingly.

 

If the marathon were not a metaphor, these little nuggets of wisdom wouldn’t be applicable to anything except running a marathon.

 

But of course, even for the gods among us, the marathon is a metaphor.

 

Galveston 5k update

Ok, so I am resigned to the fact that I will NEVER be an elite runner due to the fact that I have a job. However, an interesting thing happened over the last 2 or 3 weeks.

I found myself wanting to run.

I dare say I found myself enjoying the runs that I've been going on. Gobbling up the scheduled miles, then going at it for another few, just for good measure.

How sick is that?

I even found myself referring to myself as... [gasp]... a runner. Although, admittedly, I still refer to others as "real runners".

Anyway, this brings us to the Galveston Rebirth 5k.

I had only 1 goal for this run: break 30 minutes.

We packed up the family and headed to the island for the run with the weather reporters telling us that the weather is going to suck all weekend long. The little 'un was looking forward to the beach and had told us so all morning and evening, and for the entire drive to the island. We were hoping that the weather would allow us to actually appease him.

I then occurred to me that I had never run in the rain. Clouds were a good excuse for me to skip a run, but I was growing an increasing resolve to run this thing rain or shine. I checked the map to confirm the morning logistics, realized it was only 3.5 miles to the starting line from the hotel, and began seriously considering running to the run. Reason took over in the morning and I decided to sleep an extra 45 minutes.

I get to the registration booth early--very early--despite making the mistake of following another runner almost all the way to her car because I thought she was going to the registration booth.

Oops.

I get my number, my goodie bag, and yes Jon and Holden, my race chip. Then I had about an hour and a half to wait for the race to begin, which I thought was starting in 30 minutes. I got the logistics wrong.

Then it started raining. And kept raining. And kept raining. Until about 5 minutes before the gun, it rained. I usually get soaked during a run, but in this case I was soaked before the run. I was also soaked during the run. I stayed soaked for about an hour after the run and didn't fully dry off for maybe another hour or so.

Here's something I learned about in Galveston: swamp crotch. Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all.

Ok, so on to the run.

There were about 750 who registered, and only 266 picked up their chips. After the interminable waiting was finished, we took off in a thick crowd that quickly thinned out and I was able to move forward fairly quickly. I fell into a pace behind 4 runners when one of them had to stop and tie his shoe. They slowed down, he caught up, and I dropped into a good pace behind them. It was at this point when I remember getting yelled at during the one season I ran for the cross country team after I stopped DURING A RACE to tie my shoe and I thought to myself "I won't make that mistake again". Meanwhile I seem to be managing to hit every puddle of water along the way and sure enough, my right shoe come untied. I tried to ignore it, but had to stop and tie it since my shoe was beginning to slide around. I tie the shoe--double knotted, thank you--and catch up to my pacers who have collected 2 more runners.

It is about this time--close to the 1/2 way point, I think--in the run where I begin to feel a bit of agony. I think I'm running out of steam and realize I've been running WAY too fast, but then there's a group of people ahead of me cheering like a bunch of nutters. Interesting how a group of cheering "fans" will put an extra pep in your step. I then drop my pacers and begin to reel in some of the folks in front of me. This is also the point in the race where I realize it's not the 1/2 way point, but it's the 2 mile marker (they didn't have actual mile markers, but refreshment tables were reportedly near the first and second mile marks, consequently, there're no splits). I'm very happy right now because I looked at my watch and I've been running for less than 20 minutes. This might turn out to be a good day.

We turn on to 25th Street which is the final straight of the run, and I pass this dude who was catching a breather. 45 seconds later dude passes me like I'm standing still. I decide at that point to pass his ass.

A minute later, 2 ladies slowly pass me in front of a guy cheering us on who says "you're not going to let them pass you, are you?" I am, at this point, gasping for air and trying to maintain my cadence. I manage to gasp out "I'll catch them". They glance at each other and smile.

A guy and a girl pass me up a few seconds after that. I remember seeing them earlier because she was wearing pink shorts and a shirt from a bar and had one too many tattoos while he had none and I thought they were an odd couple. That's two more I'll have to pass.

The finish line is at Mechanic Street and 23rd. We get 2 blocks past Broadway, and it's time to turn on the burners--or my version of them.

The first "victims" are the odd couple. They were chatting with an older lady I had seen at registration, but not since. The dude catching a breather is the next to fall. The 2 ladies who slowly passed me earlier are about a block away and we're 2 blocks from Mechanic. As we approach the turn, I pass them, then the pink shorts bolt around my left shoulder.

At this point I realize I have a remarkable amount of energy in my legs and take off after her. I catch and pass her. Much to my surprise another pair come screaming up the road past me. The girl takes off, the guy drops back, and the crowd (as I hear it) goes wild.

This is a by-God race!! A slow motion explosion that has taken over three miles to unfold!

She inches past, I inch past, she inches back up, then BOOM!!! I hit the line first and the guy is right behind us.

I look up to see who this sparring partner was and much to my surprise see a very disappointed child who can't be more than 15 years old giving me a run for my money, with her grinning dad standing right behind us. She got a pat on the shoulder, he got a hand shake, and I got me some water, not the least bit embarrassed for not letting a girl win because I looked at my watch and saw 29 minutes and several seconds. The first 26 minutes of the run flashed by in a blur. The last two minutes or so seem to have taken forever. Interesting how time works.

I was having so much fun I decided to go back on the course and run some folks in. That's how much energy I still had and how much FUN I was having.

There was the 67 year old grandma who was having trouble keeping her pants up (no kidding).

There was the little girl (like, 8) who's older brother (10?) passed her but, with my urging, decided to whip his ass to the finish line.

There was the guy running with his daughter who was pissed at him because he wasn't supposed to be running, per doctor's orders.

There was the girl, about my age, running with her grand mother.

There was story after story after story... it was a ton of fun.

Thank you Galveston.

Running update [SPOOOOON!!!]

It wasn't as bad as I was expecting it to be. It was actually pretty decent.

3 miles scheduled. Ran those 3, then tacked on a pair of extra ones for June. 1: 9:21.41 2: 10:19.00 3: 10:25.14 At this point I ran about a quarter mile and walked another quarter mile cooling down, then decided that since I was already a half mile into the loop, I might as well prepare a good dose of shame for June, so I started running some more.

3.5 - 4: 5:23.75 5: 14:39.43 (I was a little tired here) 6: 11:33.12 (a bit of a rally for the final mile).

Friday get away day

Today is the first scheduled running day of September for me.

After 3 days off, I’m going to go to Memorial Park, run a terrible 5k that will include excruciating agony and boredom as well as 2, possibly 3 miles at a pace far slower than should be normal, then maybe, if I’m lucky, leg and side cramps. 

I can’t wait.

Hoorah.

 

Thus far this training thing is an exercise in physical and mental discipline.  I’m not trying to get away from running, I’m trying to get absorbed into running, so I’m not bringing my iPod on the runs yet.  I’m trying to become one with the pavement, one with the visceral, carnal action of running.  I’m seeking zen (maybe THAT should be the blog name?) in running shoes.  In fact, I don’t suppose I even need running shoes.  I’m going to Galveston next weekend for my first ever “out of town” run, and I think I may run nude on the beach to greet a sunrise, just to have the feel of running free.  I’ve read about it and how liberating an experience it can be to just run and completing an elemental ccircuit between the prehistoric and modern man.  Participating in the one thing that mankind does when frightened AND elated.  The one activity that connects defense and offense, protecting ourselves from being eaten while providing something for us to eat.  I think that’s going to be something to do…  but I don’t think I’ll be telling my wife that.  I doubt she’ll let me do it.

Last day to hit the mark

And hit the mark, I did.

3.64 more miles in the books, which means I hit my mark of 48, plus another .4 for good measure.

Not sure which is the more overwhelming feeling right now, the satisfaction of knocking down another 3 1/2 miles, or the tight balls of hate in my shins.

Only 2 splits, both measuring 1.82 miles:

1: 18:55.41

2: 21:42.65 (mostly because I got stuck by a long red light, but also because I was wearing down)

Total: 40:38.06

Pace: 11:09 per mile

That's a tolerable pace for me right now. It won't be in a month, but then again running only 3.6 miles won't be acceptable in a month, either.

2 off days coming up, and I need them, bad.