Tuesday, May 18, 2010

In Which I Run a Half Marathon....Part II

Dane Rauschenberg is famous for running 52 marathons in 52 weekends in 2006. I stumbled across his blog in late 2009 as I was Googling information about the Ogden Marathon I had just signed up for. I read every word of his recap of the 2009 Ogden Marathon with keen interest and took note of the fact that, when a guy who has raced all over the world called this marathon course "breathtaking," I knew I was in for a treat.

Even though my usual pace is around 9 minutes per mile, I lined up at the starting line past the 10 minute pace flag in order to at least start the race with my wife, who runs a little bit slower than I do. We were far enough back not to even hear the gun sound, but the low rumble of feet hitting pavement sent a tingle up my spine and let me know that the experience was about to begin.

Crossing that starting line felt surreal. On one hand, it was time to focus and get myself started on this big undertaking I'd been training months for. On the other hand, I wanted to stop, take it all in and savor the moment. When I saw the pace of the crowd in front of me, that moment didn't last long. I blew a kiss to my wife, bid her farewell, then started picking my way through the crowd.

I knew when I started my training that running on the road would better prepare me for a road race (duh,) but I had no idea how different it would be running a race with thousands of other runners around you as opposed to having it all to yourself. The first mile for me was all about getting in front of the slower-paced racers. I probably averaged about 7.5 minutes per mile over the first mile, well above my normal pace, but all in an effort to get out of what felt like the slow lane. Nothing against anyone else out on the course with me, but it was crowded and I wanted to get up to runners around my pace before the start of the first hill.

As you leave the town of Eden, Utah, you make a U-turn around the edge of the Pineview Reservoir and head south on Route 158. A few hundred yards after the first mile marker stood what is considered the toughest hill on the marathon or half marathon course. I hadn't done any hill training, but the hill was early enough in the course that it didn't have too much effect on my pace. I got to the top of the hill and, for the first time since crossing the finish line, looked around at my surroundings.

The sun was just above the line of mountains to the east, reflecting its rays on the reservoir, which sparkled and shimmered in the morning light. The air was crisp, not too cold. A perfect morning for a run.

I felt great for the first 5 miles, which wound their way along the edge of the reservoir. Around mile 3, I found a guy who looked to be about my age but much more of a runner, whose pace I liked. I settled in behind him as we weaved our way gradually through the crowd.

Although I'm sure it's not advisable, I never drank water while out on my training runs, not even the long 10- and 12-mile ones. So I was excited to take advantage of the aid stations along the way. I felt good enough to pass the first two at miles one and two, but passing the third, I thought I'd give it a shot. Running full pace, grabbing a cup of Powerade and downing it on the run and tossing it toward (but, alas, not in) a cardboard wastebasket made me feel like a real runner.

Around mile 5, the course crossed over the Pineview Dam and took a sharp turn to the east, merging onto Hwy 39, which winds through Ogden Canyon. This was the first real downhill portion of the race, and I took advantage. Extending my stride, I eased off the gas and let gravity do all the work. A nice rest at almost the halfway point.

I'm usually pretty focused on my runs. I talk to myself, think about what's going on in my life, and act as my own motivational speaker. "You've got this. No sweat. Just one foot in front of the other." The usual stuff.

At around mile 6.5 I had a momentary reprieve from my inner dialogue. A runner who appeared to be slightly older than I came up on my left, sprinted past me, cut across my path about 10 feet ahead and darted to the right side of the course. I wasn't sure what he was up to until I saw the line of porta-potties up ahead. I chuckled to myself and made sure I wasn't close to an emergency myself before getting back into focus. But seconds later, I heard a woman's blood-curdling scream, followed by his voice saying, "OH, %&$#!!! The door wasn't locked!!" Everyone within earshot couldn't help but laugh. Not two seconds later, we hear a second scream and another "OH, $*#*@!!"

Apparently not one, but two women had failed to lock the doors to their porta-potties, leading to what I'm sure was a memorable experience for all involved.

Note to self: if you have to use the john out on the course, lock the door. And if you forget, the woman screaming next to you should be a clue to check the lock.

That moment of levity was a nice break, especially considering that it came just short of the halfway point.

As my wife and I stood at the starting line, I had commented to her that my left hip had been giving me a little pain since the night before. Prior to the halfway point, I had felt great. But between 6.5 and 7 miles, my hip started to hurt.

I pushed through and tried to ignore it and focus on the beautiful scenery that was the Ogden Canyon. To the left was the jagged canyon wall, sitting no more than five feet from the edge of the road in some places. On the right was a shallow gorge with a large stream running through it. Dane had it right. This course was breathtaking. I think the most useful part of it all was how it kept me entertained, kept my mind off the constant plodding of feet on pavement.

I love to people watch in the airport. It turns out running a race with thousands of other competitors is also a great place to people watch. This race was full of people of all shapes, sizes and ages. At one point, I ran for several miles behind a girl who, for some reason, had tucked her circa 2003 iPod into the back of her rolled up shorts which weren't...um....quite snug enough around her waist. With each bounce of each step she took, the iPod pulled down her shorts juuuuuuust enough to do a great impression of a plumber, if you know what I mean.

Other people had on shirts with interesting messages. Two girls, walking on the right side of the road, had shirts which said on the back "I have rheumatoid arthritis and you're STILL behind me." Okay....

Another girl had a black t-shirt that had emblazoned on the back "RUNNING TO CATCH MY FATHER'S KILLER."

I saw a boy who looked to be all of 10 years old. I saw a man who appeared to be in his 70s who I struggled to pass, his pace was so fast.

All along the course, volunteers and spectators alike cheered on the racers. Just as I hadn't had any experience with refreshments during any of my runs, I'd never had random strangers clapping and encouraging me. At several points, it moved me. At many points, it motivated me. All along the way, I appreciated everyone who turned out to cheer on people they had never met.

At mile 9 I picked up a banana slice and a gel packet. They gave me a boost of energy, but by the time we were winding our way out of the canyon and approaching the mile 10 marker, I was starting to hurt. My left knee and hip were giving me pain with every step. Not bad enough to stop, just bad enough to be on the back of my mind as everyone gazed up to the opening of the canyon at a gorgeous waterfall flowing from the south wall of Ogden Canyon.

Exiting the canyon, the course curves to the right and, all of a sudden, veers off the road and through a pedestrian tunnel. Out of nowhere, we emerged into a gorgeous park on a runner's path. Signs indicated we had approached the 5K mark. Only 3.1 miles left. My hip was hurting more now. My knees were aching. Legs tired. Lungs feeling a slight burn.

More Powerade at the 11 mile aid station, but it wasn't doing much more than keeping my legs going. I could feel my pace slowing down and, for the first time, was afraid I wasn't going to make my goal of finishing under 2 hours.

All through my training I had run without a stopwatch, using the one on my cell phone which I would leave on the hood of my car as I left the house, then calculating my time when I returned home. So not knowing what shape I was in time-wise was not a new thing to me. But feeling as if there was a chance I could come up short only pushed me to run faster. Not much faster, but as fast as I felt I could.

The last three miles of the course were much different than the reservoir and the canyon. Fewer people around, but still cramped because of the tight quarters. More spectators. More trees, more shade.

After almost 2 miles in the park, I passed the 12 mile marker. One mile and change left. A few hundred yards later, I looked to my left and saw downtown. Almost there. A sharp turn to the left put us on Grant Avenue, the last straightaway.

Every run during my training, I pictured this moment. Being on Grant Street with the finish line in the distance. Seeing the crowd lining the street. By this point I was really hurting. As I passed 22nd Street, I could feel my left calf beginning to cramp up. "Not here. Not now." I thought. "Just make it to the next intersection." Never had I thought about stopping on the last mile or, heaven forbid, walking the final half mile. In every practice run, I had sprinted the final hundred yards. I wanted to finish strong, not limp over the finish line.

I found a way to manipulate my left foot as I ran to keep my leg from cramping up. As I passed the stoplight at 23rd street, the crowd was lethargic. People around me seemed tired as well. Like a basketball player trying to pump up the crowd for a big defensive stop, I put my arms out and waved them toward the sky, imploring someone, anyone to give me that last burst I needed to get to the finish line.

I got it. The crowd cheered, and I could make out the clock at the top of the finish line arch. I knew I had started at least three to four minutes after the gun sounded, and the clock read just over 2 hours. Only 50 yards to go to make my goal. A rush of adrenaline swept over me as I sprinted as hard as I could, raised my arms over my head in triumph and crossed over the finish line.

All in one moment, it felt like the race had taken five minutes and five days, all at the same time. It felt like the easiest, yet the hardest thing I had ever done. I walked to the side of the finishing area, bent over and let the emotion sweep over me.

There's something incredibly powerful about setting an audacious goal, pursuing it, and then all of a sudden realizing you've accomplished it. Seven months of training, sweat, pain, stretching, ibuprofen, sore knees, sore muscles and intermittent doubt were wiped away as I stood up and saw a woman in front of me ready to put the finisher's medal around my neck.

My final time: 1:57:43.9. A sub-9 minute mile. Right on time.

I had done it.

And, in that moment, I felt like I could do anything.

5 comments:

  1. Great post, James. Maybe I cried a little, maybe I didn't. I felt exactly the same way at my recent race. How exhilarating.

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  2. Love this. I'm so proud of you and Jeni both. You guys are amazing!

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  3. Thank you for taking us along with you through this beautiful journey. If this doesn't inspire every reader, I don't know what will.

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  4. Breathtaking and inspiring. Thank you for sharing. I am training right now for my first half marathon. I am sure I will read this a couple more times for motivation...

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  5. What an awesome story~ I love your writing and how you make me feel like I'm actually there. I don't really like running all that much either, but when I ran my first 5K a year ago I felt the same exact way you did and now I'm addicted to that feeling. You give me the courage to try and set some bigger goals for myself!

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