Short version: 3:17:28. An eleven-minute PR, and a BQ.

192 OA, 17th AG

Fashion Report: Brand-spankin' new Albany Running Exchange white singlet, Grey shorts that need to be thrown away, yellow bandana, Adidas Adizero Manas.

I thought that a nice way to run this race would be to run the first 10 miles at a 7:45 m/m pace, the second 10 at about a 7:30 pace, then see what was left for the final 10k. This strategy didn't work out so well for me at Hartford, but whatever. I woke up feeling really strong, had been feeling really good about my training....seems that things could work out.

The VCM website has all these great stats if you type in your number. Mine was #3298, if you feel like stalking. So here's my pace over the following:

Miles 1-10:..........7:45.

Miles 10-13.1:.....7:33

Miles 13.1-20:.....7:31

Miles 20-26.2:.....7:12

Uhhh...so I sorta sped up a bunch, in a way I didn't think I could. Funny how it happened.

Miles 1-10 were devoted to just maintaining an even pace, even though I didn't know I was bang-on at 7:45's until I hit mile ten and saw that my split was 1:17:sumtin'. A little shaky race math proved that, I was indeed on pace...Hooray! (Careful here to remind myself: invest this elation, invest it inward, keep going, use it later.)

So that means I'm supposed to speed up now. Which is kind of hard at this point in the race: mile 9 at VCM takes you through this great part of Burlington which is lined with cheering spectators. It feels good and you look strong.

Mile 10 comes along, and (today) the sun comes out strong, while you're in the middle of no-man's-land Burlington: no hip caffes filled with caffeine-crazy spectators....just big parking lots, some cinder-block buildings, some not-so-good music groups. This gives way to a residential section, full of rollers and twisty turns. It's all hardly pace-inspiring. But I need to speed up, so I do. I am feeling remarkably good, and am in great spirits....I'm smiling all the while, slappin' little kids' hands, thanking them for coming out. We turn to run along the lake and are greeted by a cooling but not entirely welcome breeze.

I then do something really smart. No. Really. I start using relay runners to draft off of. My "race voice" is calling them "human shields," and they prove to be excellent aids as I go through the halfway point at 1:41:sumtin'.

I owe something to Dopplebock here: his "hunt and kill or die" mantra during is 24 hour World Championship race made me step up my own aggressive race voice. So what would happen is that a relay runner would pass me (and I've got the same low esteem for them that Spareribs does), and I would compliment them ("Looking strong....good form.") But what I was really thinking was "You're my shield, bitch. You'll take my bullets." Which is uncharacteristically dramatic of me, but it's really giving me a charge. During the run up Battery, VCM's Heartbreak Hill, my shield fades and dies. I think, "You're not good enough to be my shield." I find, use and spend another. and another. All the while enjoying this "Looking good! I'm using you shamelessly" dichotomy. I'm turning 7:30's here, so if you don't like my strategy or my language, I really gotta advise you to try it sometime, because it's a lot, a LOT, of fun.

Which, turns out, gets me to mile 20 in record time. It says 2:33:sumtin,' a solid 7 minutes faster than I've been here before.

Now and so. What turns out to be just fantastic about what I've been doing, is not once have I passed a mile marker and done that easy math which leads to How Many Miles Do I Have Left? There's been no "Ugh. Mile 16. 10 to go," followed by "Ugh. Mile 17. 9 to go."

Which means that I'm at mile 20, gettin' a fresh buzz from what looks to be a quality PR, I've got something good left in the tank, and I'm pissed off big-time that I haven't found the 3:20 pace group.

Time to hunt.

DB's words, my race. I see 10-12 runners in front of me? Maybe one of them is the 3:20 person. Water stop? I've got it down....make eye contact, shout "Water...you," grab it, pour it over my head, grab another to drink, feel the succoring power, speed up, pass those who choose to walk through the stops...all is good here. I still have this grin on my face, don't know why I feel this good, but a spectator yells at me "Hey Albany, Keep smiling" and I decide to do so.

I'm counting down now. 22, 23, 24. There's a relay runner who's been playing cat-and mouse with me, and she's strong, with that "I know what I'm doing" stride, a strong arm-swing, and there's a real confidence to her breathing. I'm keenly aware of her footsteps when she's behind me, and occasionally she'll come up to my side. At such a point, a spectator yells out, "Looking smooth!" I turn my head and say "Must be talking to you...want to kick this?"

She doesn't answer, which is all good. 'Cause we're at mile 25, and it suddenly strikes me to say "This final mile is brought to you by I AM MORE AWESOME THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE." Because since, well, she's been nice company, but she is nevertheless a relay runner, and leaving her behind just gives me more fuel for the last mile. Heh. I have a single-minded determination to kick hard here, mainly because I haven't seen the 3:20 pace group yet, haven't really been watching the Garmin, and so don't really know if I'm on BQ pace here (God forbid I ever do something organized like write down a split chart for a goal pace, or anything like that.)

A cool thing happens next. I see the fellow who, that morning, gave me my Albany Running Exchange singlet (he raced the 2-man relay with a twisted ankle, and had to walk it in): I catch his attention from several strides behind him, yelling "Hey Joe! This (pulling on singlet while I pass him) this turned out to be lucky!"

His answer? "Dude, you're smoking!"

I look at my Garmin and see that I'm at a 6:44 pace....under HM pace for me. Then the thing goes haywire, flashing random numbers, and beeping. I get a big grin out of this (I ran so fast it broke my Garmin), and turn the last corner. the clock is reading 3:17:sumtin, and I hear the announcer say that there's a runner in a yellow bandana who looks like he just started the first mile. I look up at him and wave, acknowledge the shout-out. This is how I cross the line.

According to the VCM website, I passed 101 people from miles 20 through 26.

Maybe I'll fill in more later

Walt

OMG!!!    Amazing performance Walt. 

What  can I say?  Your finish is so unbelieveable that it certainly was brought by I AM MORE AWESOME THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE  

Your training must been great & you really put together a terrific race plan

Way to run with physical & mental toughness.  It must have been difficult to hold back so much in those early miles.  Congratulations on a terrific race.    

Hot friggin Damn Walt.

Nice......and I really mean.......Nice Race.

I love the mantra.....I love the attitude......Awesome competitor.

What a fantastic race and way to smoke the relayers and everyone else in the vicinity. Congratulations on running a fine marathon and unleashing the speed perfectly. You don't need no stinkin' pace group or pace chart.

You had "IT" on Sunday and used it.

I am so happy for you and can't wait to see what you'll run next----putting all your PRs on notice.

Superb!

HOLY CRAP WALT!  What an awesome execution of a race, and hilarious read too!  I'm printing this one out and putting it on my locker room (err, office) wall! 

I want to be like Walt!

Aw shucks, fellas.....'tweren't nothin'....I should add a few things, like the race was "Third time is a charm" because it was the third time I'd run VCM, and my sixth overall marathon. To that end, my training has been pretty loosely-organized (which is why it took me three years to finally qualify for Boston).

I can't stress enough here how important it is that I never found the 3:20 pace group....the hunt for them was really just the proverbial carrot, and I the jackass.

No but really....there's a line that I told to CNY Karin: "They call it longing because desire is full of endless distances," which is a great line for runners, and one that I frequently site before I launch into a thing about Just How Mental This Sport Really Is. At least for me.

I had been trying to toughen up my "self talk" (not my phrase; I like "race voice") on my long runs, and trying to define and explore the relationship between physical pain and mental exhilaration. What I came up with (which works for me and my own little world of one) Is that Marathoning has a huge mental thing to it, but before you get to that thing, you need a certain amount of conditioning. The same way a dancer needs a certain amount of stamina before he or she can dance at a professional level, or that a lawyer who litigates needs a certain amount of verbal prowess before they can litigate credibly.

And what I came up with was: Balance. The more miles you put in, the better your balance is, when you have to tread between exhaustion and exhilaration. This has probably been said before (we've been running since, like, forever, right?)

So and all this is pretty pat, and has probably been hashed and re-hashed a bunch of times, which in one way, is great, because there's this (clichéd but really hard to achieve) lesson about balance, which is conveniently metaphorical to many aspects of life, how you need a balance of x, y, and z, and how this takes work and discipline.

Yawn. And I'm the one writing here.

So what they don't tell you in the Balance Workshop, or maybe they do, I've never been to one, is that: I'm not talking about a balance between work and life and family or whatever. I'm talking about how to poise, with exhilarating confidence, yourself between two huge and swirling worlds of real hurt, and an almost unfathomably deep sense of accomplishment.

Because, if your poise is good enough; if you've honed, with miles, your equilibrium: you'll get this great thing thrown at you, but you'll have to reach for it, and still keep your balance.

And what is thrown at you is this: IT'S MILE G-D TWENTY, SUCKAS. BRING IT THE F*** ON. And to handle that and run with it? It makes me feel more alive than I ever felt possible.

Slo...."Hot friggin' Damn." You nailed it. That's kinda how I felt the whole race.

Walt