“The triumph over the adversity, that is what the marathon is all about, and therefore there isn’t anything in life you can triumph over after that.”-- Katherine Switzer as stated in Spirit of the Marathon Here’s the executive summary version, and then I’ll have the long version with photographs, and I have an afterword with key findings. Each section is clear so skip to what you want to read. Executive Summary 1. I have had a few people tell me that in the past, if you couldn’t go sub-4, you’re not a marathoner, so why bother going out when I’m aiming for 5 hours. Screw that—in 21 months I have gone from 17 minute miles and running for less than a minute (aka the couch) to 26.2. Ironically, I ran the marathon EXACTLY 52 weeks from my first 5k -- at a pace very similar to that first 5k. Trust me, I respect the distance, and can’t wait to go after this again. 2. I almost had to switch marathons. They cancelled my flight Friday and told me, at first, that they couldn’t get me to Nebraska until Sunday. After much yelling and a panic attack, they got me on a plane. Unfortunately, this screwed my day before plans and left me dehydrated, no matter how much I tried to catch up. 3. The first 8 miles were a dream and my goal pace felt as easy as walking. I had some leg cramps overnight, and threw a horrific cramp in my left calf around (but just after) mile marker 8. From there to the end, I pushed on through more pain than I have ever felt in my life. I thought about taking the “marathoner’s option” and quitting at the half, and questioned continuing at every mile past 13. Every time I thought about quitting something just kept me going to the next street sign, the next goal post… 4. The course was very lonely for the back of pack marathoner, and many miles were solo. This gave me little distraction; it was just me, Garmin, my pain and the occasional runner or spectator. Even in my misery, something just fell in place. I loved this, I loved this sport, and was finding my real limits. Hell, I maintained a great pace through 22, and the walk breaks and stopping to stretch every 2 miles killed my times, as my run segments actually got faster (of each mile past 22, I walked .25 and ran .75). Walking loosened me up just enough to try running again. I kept a smile on my face through 90% of the race, and finished happy. 5. I want to get better. I’m mentally ready to go for 40-50 mile weeks, and hope that 2010 brings even higher mileage (60’s? 70’s?). Whatever it takes, I want to keep pushing my limits, see how fast (and far) I can go, and see how hard I can push until the course breaks me. 6. Best parts of the weekend: Meeting MidwestRunner at the expo (sorry I missed you at the statue); walking into memorial stadium (to pee); the volunteers and spectators, especially some who doubled back and cheered for me at a very lonely 14 and waited for me at 24 again (such as Elvis Superman). Chuck, a random guy who saw me about to break at 16 and paced me through 17 out of sheer kindness. Chris from Arizona who I met before the race and called out to me on her return on the out-and-back segment of the run. My partner waiting for me between 24 and 25 and never once questioned me finishing. I finished because of them. 7. You’ll need to read the long version to fully get this, but I learned that the marathon is bigger than a distance. It’s something I don’t fully understand, and may never understand, but know I’ll keep going back to see what it holds for me next time. Full Report “... Reflections of the fears I know I’ve left behind. I step out of the ordinary. I can feel my soul ascending. I’m on my way. Can’t stop me now. And you can do the same…” --Heather Small, Proud Still here? Here’s the blow-by-blow of the weekend. Weather: Nearly perfect. 48 degrees at the start, and I finished with weather in the 70s. There was a light breeze. The course was all sun, so it did get a bit warm at the end. Outfit: Motion Based compression shorts, orange sleeveless shirt, white bra, tons of body glide, socks and my Brooks Ariels. Sleep: got about 6 hours, then woke up at 2:30 with a leg cramp. Scared to death I’d kick one out and pull a muscle (which I did three times during training), I only dozed, fearing I’d end my race before it started. I tossed and turned until 4:30am, then got up and left at 5:30. Tony, my partner, got up to kiss me goodbye and told me he’ll see me at the finish. Breakfast: I was so scared going to the race I almost tossed my cookies. Got down one small muffin and some vitamin water, but not the pre-race fuel I’d planned on. Here’s a picture of me by the statue outside Memorial Stadium. Yes, that is an, “am I really doing this” look. I knew I was undertrained and questioned my ability to finish. My legs have not felt great at all, which didn’t help. I stretched, chatted with Chris from Arizona (a random runner I just met), looked for midwestrunner, and with 15 minutes to gun dropped off my gear, and made my way to the back of the pack. I ended up starting next to someone with a 50 states singlet. She noticed I had the marathon colored numbers and we chatted. She told me I would definitely finish, just hold back since the race starts after mile 20. She promised if I did that I would pass people to the end, if not start passing people at the half. Mentally, I divided this race into quarters: mile 1-10, mile 10-20, mile 20-24 and 24-end. It took me 10 minutes to cross the starting line after the gun (cannon), which was fine. There is a notorious “bike path” early in the course that gets congested, so I held back, stuck to my pacing plan, and just enjoyed the sights while the crowd spread out. The first 4 miles were nearly perfect: 11:35; 11:32; 11:33; 11:32. The pace felt way too easy, like I was walking, but I forced myself to stick to it, knowing I wanted to have gas in the tank at 20. These first miles had some great sights, such as the capitol building: By far, the best part of the race is the small-town feel. All the locals came out. Some even offered the runners margaritas and jello shots... …Or had museum-like displays of their lawn mowers. I took time to thank the spectators, high-five kids, and just cruise along in my planned pace (11:34; 11:31; 11:30 miles 5, 6, 7). I hit the bike path and realized my stomach was growling. I looked at my garmin and realized I was late to start putting in my sports drink (by over 2 miles). I grabbed a banana a coffee shop was providing and started trying to get back on my fuel plan. This was the mistake that, combined with a bender on Thursday night and a dehydrating plane ride, caused the wheels to fall off. Just after mile 8, my left calf seized up. When I get cramps at night, I’m sometimes in bed screaming in pain. This was as bad as any night cramp, and I had a long trip ahead of me. Grabbing some Gatorade, I started trying to fix it, focusing on keeping a relaxed stride. I stopped watching pace and actually sped up into the 11:20’s, which was the pacing plan. This speed increase was unintentional, but amazing. My hope was that the leg would loosen up again by mile 13. Assuming electrolyte issues, I grabbed as much Gatorade I could. Through this, I still made the effort to thank every spectator I could and give any kids hi-fives that asked. Eye of the Tiger got a little overplayed, but spectator intentions were great. Having music randomly throughout the course All I had left was the smile on my face, a focus on keeping a good, relaxed form, and the will to persevere. Smiles can be powerful and make the best of a worst situation. Marathoning taught me that. Almost the entire field was doing the half, so the crowd started shouting, “one more mile”. I realized I had a choice: I could do the half and no one would begrudge it. I knew by now that the calf was not going to loosen up and this would be a problem for the duration. At the split, I almost turned, but decided I could always DNF and went straight, knowing there was 13 more miles of pain down that road. The worst part, as I went straight, I took a picture of the field I would be running with: Note: there’s only one runner in the distance. If I did this, it was on my own and all about me. I stopped at the halfway mark for gu, Gatorade and water. This station was manned by some very sweet national guardsmen. Just after the station, a guy in a POW/MIA shirt called out to me, “Congratulations #1109—you have the guts to do what few dare attempt.” Ok, now I can’t quit. A friggin POW just called me brave. I rounded a corner and actually started passing some marathoners who were walking (remember the words of the 50 states member at the beginning of the race??). As I rounded the corner there was a guy dressed as Elvis Superman with an inflatable guitar playing music and giving me hi-fives. The pain receded some and the crowd drove me on. Maybe I can do this. From here to the end of the race, I did, in fact, pass people. The course becomes an out and back, so as I headed out towards the turnaround at mile 20, all the elites were running past. It shocked me to see how much pain some of them were in, and it was disheartening. I still had over 2.5 hours left, and I didn’t want to come back looking like that. I finally walked a water station at 16, and a runner asked if I was ok (at a walk I was limping). I mentioned my cramps. He told me to stretch, so I sat on the grass and worked on my leg for a minute. Then someone shouted, “#1109, are you ok”. I told the stranger I was about to get up and keep going, afraid he was a course official considering pulling from the race. He yanked me up and paced me through 17. His name is Chuck, and he was a local recreational runner that comes out to pace people and help them mentally re-focus. Re-focus I did, and I didn’t stop until the water stop just before 19. Each mile I just told myself to make it to the next marker and I could walk. I kept lying to myself to keep going. The mind is a strange thing, even as my body screamed to quit, I could confuse my mind, lie to it, bargain with it, and trick it to do what I wanted. There was just me and the pain, and it became almost meditative. Agony, right foot, more agony, right foot, breathe, check my posture, relax my shoulders, agony, right foot… I started a silent chant, “pain is temporary, pride is forever.” I have heard of mantras, and I never thought I would use one. I was wrong. Pain seemed to be my world, but I pressed on. It was the second lowest and second hardest portion of the race, and quitting seemed imminent. Skip this paragraph if God talk is offensive—this is a one paragraph deal. Honestly, I wish I could say I felt God at this moment, but it was the ultimate of solitude. I couldn’t even ask God to take the pain, as this was something I was subjecting myself to. Somewhere in the pain, though, I found peace, and reflecting back, I know God was with me in those that helped me out just as I would hit my breaking point. Sometimes you can’t choose how you have God walk with you, you just trust he was there. He spoke to me through others that day, and it made the day that much more powerful. Just then, at my low point, Chris from Arizona called out to me and said I looked strong and I had the race in the bag. She was on her way back to the start and posting a great time. A while later I hit the park, and was so relieved to see the sign. The turn was a long way out still, but it meant progress. I took my third gu here, just after mile 17, and then continued on. I admit to walking some in the park, mostly the downhills as my right IT Band finally made its presence known. This was expected pain, right on schedule (it became problematic between 15 and 17 of all my long runs). Most of this was still running, and I was still picking off people. No one passed me, which was amazing, since I felt awful. Still thinking about just keeping loose and running, people kept shouting, “looking strong.” It’s odd what your brain does when on pain, and I laughed as it mentally created a BCG matrix on my legs, with the left calf as the proverbial “dog” and my right IT band the “star”. I thought it was funny I still had two quadrants running fine. Realizing this makes me a serious geek, I pressed on. I hit the turnaround, tied my shoe, and grabbed a bit of water from some people who set up an impromptu aid station. Amazingly, at this point I’m a minute ahead of my pacing plan and have some hope for a 4:59 or better. My partner saw me from the car, said I looked really comfortable and loose, and thought I hadn’t made the turn. Tony parked and stood at 20, waiting for me to come back. He waited at mile 20 for 10 minutes until he realized I was running ahead and he missed me. I felt great after 20 and had a peppy run through 21. It was almost meditative, the pain was so bad my mind seemed temporarily numb to it. As more people moved to a walk/run, my slow and steady kept me going. At 22, though, my mind broke and the race nearly beat me. The pain came back to my conscious mind, and all I could think of was quitting. Honestly, this is the first moment I teared up, and someone else’s pacer joined near me and helped push her runner on. Her words helped me keep going. At the next water station and thereafter I walked .25 mi, and then made myself run through to marker 23. 5:00 in now out of the question, and I stopped to try and stretch the calf and IT band. Stopping only made me hurt worse. Again, I considered quitting, but started playing leapfrog with a group of people. I was running when they walked, and they would pass me while I was walking. Again, a silly game, but it kept forward momentum. It is important to note here I never use Gatorade. Hate the stuff—it makes me sick. I had forgotten that fact in my desperation to try and fix the cramps. From here to the end of the race I keep convincing myself to not puke on someone’s lawn. The good thing: I was in so much pain, this was a secondary concern. The first was to keep running, and then my mind would occasionally wonder if an upcoming yard would be a good spot to be sick. It ended up being kind of humorous as every lawn I’d pick would have spectators come out to cheer for the laggards. I think the pain had driven me to temporary insanity. In the depths of despair and pain, something clicked. I noticed my run segments were getting faster, so all I had to do was keep moving towards the finish. I kept going and started to run/walk with the group I was previously leapfrogging. At mile 24.6, I saw my partner and stopped for a minute. Not once did I mention how close I was to quitting, I just let him hold me as I took one minute or less to bawl out the pain and frustration and despair. For those who know me, I hate to cry, but it was like pulling a band-aid off a wound—it hurt my pride but was the release I needed to finish. After that I jumped back on the course, plastered on a smile, and told him I would see him at the finish. Amazingly, physically I felt good (other than the leg cramp and nausea), my posture was still good, and I still could hold a fairly relaxed stride. I had gas left, and I’m almost to 25! Had I not had cramps, I so could have gone sub 5. I start to get disappointed and wonder why this couldn’t have happened on one of my long runs. I start thinking about how soon I can run my next marathon so I can put this demon to rest. I caught back up to the “leapfrogging” group and passed them on a hill at 25 and just pressed on, running much more than walking, but putting in breaks until the last .2 miles. Right before mile marker 25, Elvis Superman started cheering and shouting, “I knew you could do it! Glad you’re still smiling!” He probably says this to everyone, but man, I was smiling. This was mine. Not how I wanted it, but it was mine. I pushed to the finish, and came in at 5 hours, 13 minutes and 17 seconds. I heard my name announced as I entered the chute and the announcer cheered for me, “keep going!” and I kicked it up and pushed over the final set of mats. It was over, and anticlimactic. Tony wasn’t anywhere to be found, I had my medal and rose in a minute, got my gear, and nearly collapsed as my leg cramped worse. My right leg felt left out and decided to join in the cramping party. Standing there, I was mad something as dumb as cramping (which happened on NONE of my training runs) ruined what could have been so much more. I started thinking about how soon I could be ready to go out and rectify this result. I was hungry. I know I can have a race that felt as good as those first 8 miles. 18 miles of sheer hell (and cramping that would not quit for another 4 or so after the race). This is me after the finish, back at Tony’s sister’s, about to take an ice bath. I want to another one. I don’t know if I can wait until October, but the wait guarantees I will up my mileage and maybe not be as undertrained for the next one. The good news: I’m only minimally sore (my right knee, probably from compensating for the cramped left leg), so I can get back to running ASAP. Afterword: ”I know why I was born to be this way. Every day I’ll try, and I’ll do everything that it takes to become the one I’ve always wanted to be. Watch right now and you will see the Champion in me.”-- 3 Doors Down, The Champion In Me I called my friend and mentor the moment I got to the car (you know who you are) and let her know how the race went. By the end of the call, I was mostly over the disappointment. After some ass kicking by some members of the ladies locker room, I realized that yes, I am a marathoner and I should not be disappointed. I want to do this again. Next time, I want to push myself further, harder, faster. I hoped I’d walk away with a better understanding of 26.2 and how to run the race. Instead, I’m more confused. This was the greatest mental and physical challenge of my life, and I want more. I know that on any given day, the race can be completely different and what happened this time may never happen again. Or, conversely, it can happen every time. I know no more now than when I started, and maybe that’s how it should be. The marathon is something I don’t fully understand, and may never understand, but know I’ll keep going back to see what it holds for me next time. I am hungry. I am a marathoner. Maybe even longer one day (but I didn’t just put that in writing, did I?)… By the way, if you read all of this and I see you at a race sometime, I owe you a beer.

Great Race and kudos on your accomplishment! One thing though ... Were is the table of contents in your novel

Very cool. Chris, that was quite something to read. (Had to go get another post-hockey glass of wine). I'm now way past my bedtime but will carry that with me for a while yet.

WOW! I read all of it. Cool report.

Congratulations, Chris! I'm really impressed at how you not only worked through the pain, but you already want to do it again!

Thanks everyone for the reading and comments!!

I hope to take you up on that, some day.

Maybe if we get River to Sea relay off the ground? If not, I know I'll see yu at a race sometime and will have beer in the cooler.

Amazing story, Chris! Thank you so much for writing it out in so much detail. It was very moving and now I'm both looking forward to and dreading my own experience in just a few weeks - even more so than before! I'll look for you in that sea of 30,000 in October, and maybe hit you up for that beer.

Don't dread it, you will have a blast, and I do hope to meet you in October in the sea of 30k runners.

A true testament to the strength of human nature.....awesome job!!

Wow, nice job Chris. Sooo, what's next?