This is a rebroadcast of a blog posting done after my first Half-marathon in 2005. I have a race this Saturday, and thought it would be nice to remember the good times.
I have been meaning to get this blog started with some MS SQL Server stuff, but have not had the time. Well, I actually have not thought of a decent topic to get things started. So, in the interim, I decided to blog a bit about my run this past Saturday.
For those that do not know, I have been “training” on and off to run in the NYC Marathon for the past two years. Unfortunately (or is it fortunately?), I have yet to be selected to run in the race. So, this year I decided to run in the Hartford Half-Marathon held the first weekend in October. This was my first mistake.
I spent a good chunk of my summer training to run. This involved several runs throughout the week during lunchtime, as well as long runs on Saturday mornings. A special thanks to my wife Suzanne, for her understanding and support while I left her alone with the children every weekend. I thought the training went well, right up until my longest run of 11.4 miles on 9/24, two weeks before the event. I was able to complete that run without stopping, giving me a sense of accomplishment. Or was it hubris? Whatever it was, it was not enough for the actual race.
Another special thanks to Suzanne’s parents, who spent Friday night at our house so that they could watch the kids while Suzanne and I went to Hartford. We woke up around 6:30 AM and left the house about 6:45 AM. I grabbed a banana for my breakfast, since during my training I would run without much food or water beforehand. I wanted things to remain the same, so I thought a whole banana should be enough, plus I’ll drink at the water stations, so I will be plenty hydrated as well. Not to mention the pasta dinner last night. This would be mistake number two.
Race day started out miserable, and it only got worse. It started raining overnight, and there was a steady downpour at the start, just to keep things exciting. I noticed that several of the men around me decided to run without a shirt, and I thought what do they know that I do not? I decided to start the race with my shirt on, because I could always remove it later. Mistake number three just occurred, for those that are keeping score at home.
All of a sudden, we were off! Herded like cattle through the start barriers, we were running through the city streets, like the fools that we are. I could see the elite runners in front of me, and told myself that I did not want to see the backs of their heads again, ever. Luckily, this would hold true. A few quick turns, and we were headed over the Founder’s Bridge into East Hartford. I passed the first mile marker and the group I was with at that time commented that we had done the first mile in 7:15. My personal goal for the race was to average about an 8:30 mile, or to finish in under two hours. In training I have run three miles at a 7:20 pace, and even 5 miles at a 7:36 pace. This is good, I said to myself, I can stay with them for another mile, then fade back to find people looking to do an 8:00 or even 8:15 pace. And I did just that, staying with them until mile two. Most likely, this was mistake number four.
Around mile number four I met a man who was trying to do an 8:10 pace. Unfortunately, this was too much for me at this point. By the next water station I had decided it was time to shift my strategy. I would stop to walk the length of the water tables and take my drink, then run again. At this station there was also a Port-O-Potty, so I took a few seconds to answer nature’s call as well. Great, I said, there goes the time I gained with the 7:15 first mile. Oh well. I got back on the road and kept plodding away, all the time being slowly passed by more and more people. I felt quite slow, but soon I passed mile marker five and the clock there read about 41:45.
I honestly do not remember much about the next two miles.
By now the wind and rain had pretty much beaten me down mentally and emotionally. I was walking for brief distances, but still running. I had enough energy to pick up the pace going down any slight slopes. I would estimate that I was jogging for a half mile, taking a brief walk, and then jogging again. This continued until about mile seven at roughly 1:00:00, and I finally took my shirt off. I proceeded to wring it out and no less than a half gallon of water came out. No telling how much water remained, but I quickly estimated that I had been running the last few miles with an extra six or seven pounds of wet clothing. The fact that my shoes also weighed extra did not occur to me until much later. I made it to the next water station and grabbed one of those gel packs for nutrition. I sampled some, just about vomited, and tossed the rest aside. Quite possibly mistake number five, not taking in the extra energy despite the taste.
From mile eight to ten it was a nice mix of running and walking, perhaps slightly more running. I would hold my shirt in my hands, wring it out, and switch to the other hand periodically. This was done simply to balance the load on my shoulders, as by this point I was officially running with weights in my hands (and on my feet). I made it back over the bridge and we took a left to head down to the Colt factory. Right about now my body was ready to stop. I quickly surmised that there had been no checkpoints yet. In other words, despite my chip, I could probably take a shortcut and no one would ever know or care. After all, it was not as if I was going to win anything. And I really just wanted this thing to be over. But, what if there was a checkpoint? I had to keep going. No way was I going to get DQ’d for something stupid like missing 100 yards of a race. I train on these streets I thought to myself, and now is the time for me to put my head down and finish strong. What an idiot. I passed the ten mile marker at about 1:33:00 and then said Hey! I can do three miles in 27 minutes, and still finish in under two hours, despite dragging my ass around East Hartford all morning. Yes, I am that stupid.
By now I started to really understand that the pain in my upper hamstring was not a muscle strain, but a muscle cramp. I was doing more walking than running, being passed by people of all shapes, sizes, and ages. I was a broken man. Actually, I am not even certain I am a man anymore after Saturday. The cramps were getting worse, but holding steady, and they occurred if I walked or if a ran. So, I would count steps. Walk for forty steps, run for sixty. All the time, I kept two things in the back of my head. You can still finish ahead of the marathoners (a small prize, but all that I had left, really) as well as you had better finish through the gates running.
Well, I did just that. I made it through the gates in stride, cramps and all, and heard the announcer call out my name. Very cool, actually. And as I grabbed my water, Mylar jacket, hamstrings, and chip (not in that order), I heard them announce that the marathon winner was approaching the finish. So, the day was not a total loss.
Speaking of loss, on Friday I weighed in at 216 to qualify for the ‘Clysdale’ division (men over 200 pounds). After the race, I went to the gym and showered, and I weighed myself again.
204. Twelve pounds lost in the past 22 hours. I am lucky I was not in the hospital.
Lessons learned? Well, I need to eat more and earlier in the morning. Perhaps some eggs and toast to go with the banana, about two hours before the race instead of 30 minutes before. And I should run in a 70 degree downpour without a shirt, and drink extra cups of Gatorade along the way in order to replace some salt and po
tassium. I probably should have had twelve ounces for every mile on that day. That was a real problem, it was very hard to know how much I was sweating with all that rain. The loss of twelve pounds tells me just how dehydrated I was, which explains the cramping and the wall I hit after only five miles or so. Also, I need to pace myself from start to finish. Had I started out slower, I could have had more at the end and possibly even finished in under two hours. I guess I will never know.
When it was over, I told Suzanne that I was done with this running stuff. I will probably keep up with some 5k or even 8k racing, but runs of ten to thirteen miles were not in my future anymore. I was crossing this off my list of things to accomplish in my life, and never need to do another. Her response? “No, you’ll be back here next year, I want you to race again. This was fun, and next year I can bring the kids.”
Okay then. How about I get to enjoy the next nine months or so? Can I at least do that before even thinking about doing something as stupid as this again?
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