On the way to a meeting/Short on time version:
Final time: 6:24:12
which is a 13 minute PR at this distance but 9 minutes over my time goal of
6:15. Most importantly, I ignored the primary rule of racing: run your own
race. Sort of like stealing rocks from Madam Pele in Hawaii. I paid for my
choice and am a better racer for it.
War and Peace Version:
Disney 2004 was my 3rd marathon. To be honest, I didn't really want to run
26.2. My training partner wanted an official marathon finish and after
dragging her through the Monkey Butt Ultramarathon trail for 28.5 miles last
March, I wasn't in a position to say no. She wanted to reach the Mickey medal
in 6:15 or less and I was going to pace her.
It sounds like a nice idea but I know better. What was I thinking? Sure, I
want to help my friend any way I can and it seemed early on that I might be
able to break 6 hours for this race. However, to pace someone assumes that the
pacer can maintain or exceed the chosen pace. When race day arrived I was
still coughing from a severe cold that had knocked me out of training for the
last 3 1/2 weeks. My goal went from setting the pace to keeping Michelle
company.
After the first few miles, my heart rate monitor showed me the truth I had been
denying all week. A pace that should put me at 150 has me at 163. 6:15 is not
in the books for me today. I'm not over my cold, the stomach cramps are
impacting my performance and I'm pushing way too hard way too early. Michelle,
however, is exactly where she needs to be. Do I push my heart rate in order to
keep Michelle company as long as I can or do I fall off? Dare I say bail at
the 1/2 marathon finish? I chose to push on knowing full well that this is a
26.2 mile race. I will pay for this later.
We ran the first 7 miles without any breaks before switching to an interval
run/walk system. The first 13.1 went rather well. Soon after the half way
point my left hamstring started to feel sore and weak. This "gonna cramp any
second" attitude from my hamstring annoyed me. I don't take unannounced mutiny
from my body very well. My left hamstring has never ONCE hurt during training
for ANY of my races. What business does it have complaining today? Inspired
by the left hamstring, other random body parts started to complain. The mutiny
culminated when I pulled an abdominal muscle while laughing/coughing at
Michelle's joke about the attractive drummer from Animal Kingdom. Suddenly, it
hurt to breath. It hurt a lot.
My brain could no longer handle it. This was the last straw. You never
realize how often you breath during a marathon until every inhalation becomes
painful. Every other ache and pain seems more intense when they are deprived
oxygen. At this point I told Michelle point blank to leave. She needed to go.
I needed...I needed a margarita or something but I didn't need to be the reason
she missed 6:15.
With Michelle safely on her way, I sank into Linae's Personal Pity Party. Here
I am, at mile 19, in the middle of NOWHERE Disney, and all I want to do is
stop. Why should I suffer so when it's not my first shot at this distance and
there's not a decent PR in it anymore? In fact, I'm on the way to a personal
worst!
As Fate would have it, Linae's Personal Pity Party occurred at a point where it
was just as far to walk back to the last park as it was to walk to the next
park. Pride would not let me sit in a medical tent until the end of the race
all because "I don't wanna any more". I decided to have a little self coaching
session. Should I quit? Yeah, right. Not quitting? OK then, self, you need
to do something to calm your systems down. The abdominal muscle is pulled,
nothing serious. A little Tylenol should take care of that. The other
unwanted aches and pains were part of marathoning. Walk for a mile, give them
some rest, then reassess.
By mile 22 I could breath comfortably, my leg muscles were back in the game,
and my mental attitude had shifted. The thought of more cytomax made me sick
so I threw it away. If I was going to have a "blow up" on the course, I was
going blow up big time. Go back to running and see how hard I could push.
Mile 23 passed with a mix of running and walking to keep my heart rate under
160. The power aid and water on the course were keeping me going. I saw the
man who always stands out on the road to MGM with his finishers medal. #154 or
something like that. He starts in the first corral. Anyway, he sounds very
encouraging. I believe him. I can finish. It's not that far. Can't be more
than a 5K, I told myself. Surely I can run a 5K.
And so I did. The more I ran, the more I could tell that my body would hold
together until the end. The decision to rest for a few miles had been a wise
one. My HR stayed below 175. I even managed a 13:45 split for mile 25. By
this point, almost everyone else was walking. My fellow competitors looked at
me as if they were looking at the village idiot but they offered whatever
encouragement they had left. As I left MGM, I was surprised to see Michelle
about 3/4 of a mile up. Digging just a little deeper I picked up the pace. We
reunited outside of Epcot. We had a philosophical discussion regarding the
margarita stand near the Mexican showcase. To buy or not to buy? In the end we
realized that margaritas might make us puke. The sooner we finished, the
better.
And finish we did: 6:24:12
The aftermath:
In the end I learned that I don't want to run another marathon for a long time
unless it's attached to an IM. Even then, an IM may be far into my future.
I've got a lot of athletic development ahead. Maybe once I feel I can finish
around 5:30, I'll try again.
Linae
p.s. Erin, I tried to find you at the #22 water marker but they said there was
no Erin there. Maybe I was so slow I missed you. Thanks for volunteering!
=====
My advice to you is not to inquire why or
whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while
its on your plate.
--Thorton Wilder
