GCM Race Report - rvelich's - VERY Long (Read 1121 times)

And now a few (ahem) personal notes - starting and ending with Rick and his family: Meeting Rick and his family did not disappoint. He is just as nice as he seems on here. His family is almost too good to be true. Even his teenage daughters were bearable, and I hate teenagers. I actually regret not running the race with Rick, for several reasons. First, we could have been miserable together. Second, I would have had a great cheering section. Third ... it just would have been cool to witness. You had to be there to understand (ask Mishka - he was), but I don't think I've ever seen somebody with so much support. Ever. Not even at the Olympics. Rick must have had 25 people there cheering him on. At least half a dozen different signs with his name on them. I felt so bad for them having to be out there in all that crap; they'd have had one big party on a nice day, but on that day it had to be miserable. His kids were cold before the thing even started. But somewhere around mile 7-8, I come around a corner and find his crew. They'd met me a whole hour before hand, but they actually hurt my ears cheering for me as I went by. And like I said above, this was the loneliest course imaginable. So that was pretty cool. At mile 17 or so, once the true hell had started, I found Rick's wife and a couple other supporters. She actually ran to get ahead of me and take a picture. Note to Rick: your wife can run. She'll be kicking your ass pretty quickly, if she can't already. Don't let her start training. ------------------------- A final ode to misery, because I want you saps to feel the pain. In that other thread, Mishka posted a pic of me at the end that gets it pretty well. The shirt was soaked to the skin for 20+ miles. I was carrying a good 10 pounds of rainwater. Shoes were ice cubes. Hands stopped functioning completely. The wind was indescribable. The day before, we'd talked about it. If it stayed in the direction it was at then, it would have been okay. Headwinds for the first half, wind at your back for the end. Race morning, we found 15-25 mile an hour winds, steady winds, then gusting winds, but always winds, straight from the east north-east. If you look at the course map, you'll note the direction of the last 12 miles. Straight east north-east. All of it. Right into the headwind. With rain then snow then rain then sleet. I always carry sunglasses. Always. I even have a new pair with lenses that can be changed, including clear lenses designed just to keep out the rain and snow. So I, of course, showed up without any glasses. For the last 12 miles, I ran with my eyes half-closed or all-closed. Hunched over like Quasimodo. It was truly ridiculously miserable. Despite last week's Grand Stupid Anti-Taper, I was on track to comfortably PR ... and then hit that wind. It was soul sucking. And it was so, so lonely. At one point, even though I was on a straightaway, there was nobody else there. No.Bo.Dy. Half a mile ahead and half a mile behind, no runners, no cops, no aid stations. Of course no spectators. Just stupid me, running in the street, with the cars coming from behind me ... me hunched over, eyes closed, everything soaked. Miserable. Just miserable. Did I mention how much fun it was? The only un-fun part was realizing the PR wasn't going to happen. I saw it start to slip away around mile 20 ... and I mostly wussed out, I think. At the very end, I had way, way too much sprint left in my legs. I blew by a guy in front of me like he wasn't there. If I were watching me, I'd have made a comment about what a sissy I must be ... because I know I could have run harder out on the course. But dear God that soul destroying windrainsnowrainwindwindsleetsnowrainwind. The bottom line is that I learned that I can run a lot faster. Just not on that day. And that misery needs a lot more company. ---------------------------- Speaking of company, as you've already read in Rick's report, Mishka (Phil) was indeed something of a godsend. I'd heard I might find him along the course, but had no idea what he looked like. Then around mile 8 or so, somebody calls my name - my real name - and slaps my hand. I was already a little foggy, so it took me a good mile to figure out it had to be Mishka. On his bike, in that crap, with a camera. He's great photog, by the way. Note to the ladies: Mishka has a great smile. In fact, I was informed later by trusted sources that he is both "cute" and "hot." I can neither confirm nor deny, but he does have a great smile, and it was awfully welcome. At mile 26, I found him waiting with his camera. I offered my two word race report, which he may have noted somewhere. It was: "(bleeping) miserable." It was great to see him at the finish line. He met Kelly, we talked for a bit, and I was too numb to know how cold I was. And that's where things really got interesting. I met a new friend I call Hypothermia. First name Mild. I I don't ever want to meet his cousins, Moderate and Severe. I really didn't think I was that cold. But when we got inside, I looked around and realized it looked like a war zone. Seriously. People were lying on the floor, huddled under blankets, shivering uncontrollably. I saw people weeping. No joke. And these were all sub-4 marathoners. I got to a table, started stripping off wet clothes in front of everybody - I was too tired and cold to care. And then Kelly handed me a cup of hot chocolate ... and I couldn't drink it. I was shaking so badly I literally couldn't take a sip. I sat there for 10 minutes, shaking, moaning. And the best part is that it was FUNNY. It really was. I kept cracking up because I couldn't drink anything. I kept having flashes of the movie Airplane with all the classic Ted Striker "I have a drinking problem" scenes. It was just like that. I couldn't stop shivering long enough to drink something. You had to be there, but it was funny. Kelly thought I was losing it; I think she was close to calling an ambulance, because I was just sitting there, half moaning, shaking like I was having a seizure, and giggling. Best part was that everywhere I looked, other recent finishers looked just about the same. They were giggling, too. It was like a bad B-movie scene in a cliched insane asylum. But with lots of technical gear and people with bandaids on their nipples. Here's a hint at how truly cold I was: there was a beer waiting for me, and I didn't want it. That's just wrong. ----------------------------------------- It stopped being funny when I started thinking about Rick. Everybody was miserable. The winner only managed a 2:38 (last year was 2:21). Only a handful of people beat 3 hours. The race site doesn't list DNF's, but I think there were at least 350 people signed up, which means 60 or so didn't finish. Of course, a lot of them were probably smart enough not to start. But at least I was done. He was still out there. I wanted to go out and wait for him. I had a rough idea when he'd show up, since I saw him at an out and back. And Mishka had just told me he'd had problems with his leg that slowed him down for the last 10k. But when I went out to the finish line, in 30 seconds I was shaking uncontrollably again. We finally found a spot inside where I could be halfway warm and watch for him. His family went out to wait around the corner ... and they were out there for a while. They didn't want to miss him, of course, so they went out too early. And had to be just about dying themselves. A braver man would have run walked hobbled out to tell them to wait inside. Mishka knew he was close, so he and I and Kelly waited by the door. You should have seen his finish. He comes around the corner with everybody in his family running with him. Like 20 people. Most of them carrying signs. At the end, they were all crying. Rick, his wife, all the kids. Even the teenagers, who probably thought it ridiculously uncool to be weeping over hypothermic Dad and his busted leg. There's a picture in that other thread that captures Rick perfectly, just across the line, holding a sign ... that look on his face. Absolutely drained, probably colder than he'd ever been. But finished. Done. A marathoner. I could go on (who? me?). But it wouldn't really explain it, so I won't try. It was just pretty damn cool to be there. It's what it's all about. Why we run, why we do this stupidness to ourselves. I couldn't get Rick inside. Every one of the 15 20 25 100 or so people cheering him wanted to hug him and talk to him ... meanwhile, I'm worried he's going to die right then and there. I kept telling his wife to drag his goofy ass into the (semi) warm hotel before he passes out ... and then he got hung up in that cold entryway, still white as a ghost. And I know he's about 30 seconds from those uncontrollable shakes. The best part: he tries to make plans for the evening with us. I did my best not to laugh at him, and just told him to go get warm. Because I knew that my only plans involved a long hot shower and beer. He called me this morning, so I can safely assume he did survive. Barely. ------------------------ By that evening, there was no wind. The sky was crystalline blue. The temperature was 10 degrees warmer. God is funny. Or at least thinks He is. ------------------------ A final comment. No, really. This is what makes RunningAhead great. And for the record, if I'm a dick sometimes when people try to mess it up with stupid stuff, this is why. Because I'm selfish, and I want to keep it the way it is. Because of RunningAhead, what would have been a pretty pointless (and miserable) marathon turned into something pretty special. I got to meet Rick and his family, got to watch somebody who's training I'd observed for months finish his first marathon, under the worst conditions he'll ever face. I got to meet Mishka, a complete stranger, who is an awfully nice guy. Who helped both Rick and I a lot more than he knows, by the way. And who does look a little bit like an emu crossed with a llama. But a really "hot" one, apparently. Did I mention that? Again, I can't confirm that. You decide, ladies. And when I finally get back to my hotel room, there's a voicemail from an unrecognized Nashville number. Just as I'm trying to access it, the same number rings again, so I answer it. It's my RA buddy Trent, calling from his home phone, I guess, who'd obviously cared enough to watch the clock and be curious as to how it went, and call and bug me. And of course, I just checked the 2000 swamp, and there's a whole thread of rude, crude comments waiting for me. Because those idiots care. Pretty cool, huh? Our patron Eric works awfully hard on this place. But honestly, it ain't the log that matters. I don't care about new features, or even the shiny graphs and maps. What I care about is what Eric made possible - which was, for me, all of the above. So thank you, Eric. I think Rick and Mishka and I had a pretty cool day, all things considered, and we only got to share it because of this place. ---------------------------------

Awesome. I'm not sure what else to say.

Awesome, miserably awsome misery.

Congratulations Rick! As you said in your blog, you are now a marathoner. I volunteered at the GCM, setting up and tearing down the drink stations. It was a miserable day to run. Your race report is inspiring. Thanks for sharing it. Mike

Thank you. Seriously. Sincerely.

First Candice poops her pants, then you have to run through the misery of potholes and windrainsnowsleetwindrain. I fear what awaits me. I hope it's not a poop/pothole combo.

We've covered poop and Global Warming Freezing My YamBag Off. So I'm assuming you'll be facing a plague of locusts. Or maybe one of those big asteroids landing in Boston. It's probably in the Bible. Or maybe Nostradamus. Good luck. I'm glad you're next. Wear sunglasses in case of locusts.

Then around mile 8 or so, somebody calls my name - my real name - and slaps my hand. I was already a little foggy, so it took me a good mile to figure out it had to be Mishka.

I think the first time I saw you, I called you monkey man. I felt bad about that at first given that you had no clue who the frick I was. Then I figured it gave you something to take your mind off the miserable misery.

Because of RunningAhead, what would have been a pretty pointless (and miserable) marathon turned into something pretty special. I got to meet Rick and his family, got to watch somebody who's training I'd observed for months finish his first marathon, under the worst conditions he'll ever face. I got to meet Mishka, a complete stranger, who is an awfully nice guy. Who helped both Rick and I a lot more than he knows, by the way.

It was great meeting you guys. I figured I'd see some other people I knew in the race anyway, but it was having the opportunity to meet you guys that really got me out there in that crap. The amazing thing to me is what you said above. Rick said the same in his race report numerous times. I had no clue I'd ever be helping you guys out that much. Reading both your thoughts in the last couple days has been really cool. I had a great time being out there and I didn't even run the damn thing. I'd have to thank Eric too for the community this site provides. Much much more than a log. I'm glad to see it's settled back to the good stuff that really makes it special.

Ok...so I read all of JK's blather and now I just have to say...Jesus wept...and Zoomy, too.

Brilliant.