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| Running in the shadow of the Washington Monument |
Well, my mile PR of 4:32 is pretty pathetic, all things
considered. It sounds impressive to non-runners, but any runner
this side of Frank Shorter knows it's not that big of a deal. I'm just not
"fast," and I don't think I ever will be. So that leaves the
marathon. And until today, all I could say was, "no, not yet, but I'm
planning on it." We often hear that it's the thought that counts, but
thoughts don't run marathons. And so last March, before I had even run my first
half-marathon, I made the somewhat rash decision to enter my first marathon:
the Marine Corps Marathon (MCM) of Washington, D.C., on October 22. After a debut half-marathon that didn't go exactly as I wanted, I almost changed my mind, and
tried to register for the half-marathon component that I thought the MCM had.
But I decided to stick with it even when I found out that there was no such
race, only a 10k, and I've run enough of those in my life. So a marathon it
was.
The road to my marathon was long and difficult. As I said,
my debut half-marathon hadn't gone exactly as I had hoped. So, first, I had to
pick myself up off the ground after that race mentally, and then physically,
which I hoped a full two weeks of no running would do. On May 22, two weeks
after my first half and exactly five months before I would toe the line of my
first marathon, I began training for it. The unusually acute returning pain of
that first run back caused me to write in my running log for that day that
"I spent most of this run thinking about how strange it is that, exactly 5
months from today, I will have needed to transform my pathetic body into that
of a marathoner. And, somehow, I'll do it." A few weeks later, I
confronted the next challenge in my training: a two-week trip to Greece, during
which I would serve as chaperone to a couple dozen teenage boys from my high
school. Being realistic, I acknowledged that I wouldn't be able to do much
intense training or high mileage during my trip abroad. But I also didn't want
to have to start my training completely over when I came back to America, which
meant that I would have to take no more than two successive days off on the
journey. Thanks to a keen eye for down time, a treadmill on a cruise ship, and
the same relentless discipline that has kept me running every mile I've run
since graduating, I managed to miss only one day while I was there: the last
day of the trip, which I had planned to take off anyway. I did miss an
additional successive day thanks to having to fly back to America, but that was
it.
Upon returning to America, I faced another challenge. But
this one I imposed upon myself. A marathon would be twice as long as I had ever
raced before. So I decided I would run more than I ever had before as well,
including at least one week in excess of 100 miles. The prospect of this
frightened me somewhat, however. The closest I had ever come to this was a week
in college at 99.1 miles, when I had the relaxed life of a student instead of
the 9-5 obligations of a real adult. And even then, the effort nearly destroyed
my body. Coming even close to that distance in my post-collegiate running
career had had similar effects. But I wanted to try anyway; the lingering
existential splinter of not getting to 100 in college was an additional
motivator. So, in the last full week of August, right around when my summer
mileage peak would have been in college, I ran my first 100-mile week (it
actually ended up being 105), capped off with what was then my longest run, at
22.22 miles. Two weeks later, I ran my second 100-mile week; two weeks after
that, I ran a 93-mile week. I was subsisting on a steady diet of marathon pace
runs, tempos, fartleks, and long runs. And I felt far better than I expected
to. I even felt like my lungs had expanded. In this manner did I inaugurate a
new era of training.
It was hardly all triumph and ease, though. There were many
mornings I reacted to my pre-work alarms with disgust, simply wishing to go
back to bed. And yes, on a few occasions, I did do exactly that. And on some
occasions when I pushed through anyway, I probably should have just gone back to bed, given the way
my body felt. I also had to deal with one inopportune ankle rolling, which
prevented me from running what would have been the peak workout of my pre-taper
marathon training and kept me from reaching 380 miles in a single month for the
first time since college. Finally, in the midst of all this, I had to balance
my work and life responsibilities, the latter of which included, for the first
time, a stint as a cross country coach. (I coached a local grade school's team
from the end of August through mid-October, two practices a week plus meets.)
It was a busy fall.
But soon enough, the weekend of the marathon arrived. And it
brought with it my parents and oldest sister, who had kindly made the drive out
to watch my marathon debut. I was happy to see them, but also grateful for the
leeway they gave me while I was there to maintain certain aspects of my routine
to ensure marathon success. I was also grateful for the ride and company they
gave me during the pre-race marathon expo for packet pick-up. (It was out at a
hotel I would have had trouble reaching without a car.) That day, I tried to
eat as much as I could (within reason), while also frontloading my input so
that I wouldn't have too many bowel issues morning of. I slept plenty the night
before the night before, but only fitfully the night before, as I expected; this did not worry me,
as I am a perhaps irrational adherent of the "it's only the night before
the night before that counts" school of race sleeping.
There was a lot of anxiety-inducing mystery about the dawn of my first marathon. But one thing I was sure about was my
morning routine, which I record here mostly for the benefit of my future self:
I woke up at 4:35 (with an anticipated marathon start time of about 7:55). As
quickly as I could, I took care of the bathroom stuff, then ate a light
breakfast of a banana, peach Greek yogurt mixed with oatmeal, and 40 fluid
ounces of water. After this point, the mystery began to set in. My sister Katie,
in town for my marathon, picked me up at my place at 5:45, then drove me to
Eastern Market Metro station, which would take me to the Metro station open
closest to the start line of the race. When I arrived there, though, the
station was still closed, so I had to wait for it to open (which it did a
little after 6). I then had to wait for the first train, and then wait on that
train for longer than I expected, which began to worry me, for two reasons: I
thought I wouldn't get through security in time (they advised 90 minutes), and
I really, REALLY had to take a leak. The crowd leaving the Pentagon Metro station
didn't make things any better, although I was able to think clearly when I got
out of the station and found a hidden place to Austin Powers.
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| The greatest urination scene in cinematic history |
After that, I
just sort of moved with the crowd in the pre-dawn light, feeling a bit like I
was in a disaster movie or something.* The walk from the Pentagon Metro station
was longer than I expected, and I considered starting to run if I didn't get
near the starting line area by within 50 minutes of my expected start time,
though I arrived there soon enough. I got through security fine. But the other
side of security was not the starting line, as I had hoped, but a mass of large
tents, with runners milling about every which way. I was already at 50 minutes
to go before the start, and didn't feel like figuring all that out, so I began
a warm-up with my clear plastic pick-up bag still in hand out to find my place
in the starting chute, just so that I knew where it was and could be there
without any issue starting. I found it about .75 miles into a warm-up, so I ran
back toward the camp a bit (to 1.25 miles, halfway between the two distinct
pre-marathon warm-up lengths recommended by two previous coaches I had asked
about this) then headed back toward the closest bathroom to it that I could
find for my final pre-race relief.** Satisfied, I emerged and began a warm-up on a stretch
of road right next to my starting chute, experiencing periodic bouts of
butterflies and ducking over to hidden recesses for leak-taking throughout. Soon
enough, though, it was time for my first marathon to begin. Lacking time to
figure out the post-race pick-up bag system, I chucked my bag full of not very
important clothes (I learned my lesson from the Flying Pig, at which I lost a
shirt from a race I had come in 2nd) into a place I hope to find them later and
went to the 2:30-2:59 section of the starting chute, where I had confidence
that I belonged. The start was delayed for ten minutes, giving me more time to
think about what I was about to do, which I didn't want or need. But I got it.
I was nervous for many reasons in the moments before the
MCM's giant howitzer went off. But my most pressing concern was the start
itself. It seemed that the starting line was divided in two, on opposite sides
of the median of what is usually a highway. I was very worried that I was on
the wrong side of this median, that all the runners I wanted to be near were
there, and that I would lose track of them from the start of the race. It
didn't help matters much that the paths remained separate for the first half
mile or so of the race. I was relieved when finally they merged, and I could
focus on my race. The foremost thought in my mind at the beginning was what my
old Coach Dehring told me (and basically what my old Coach White had also told
me): DON'T START FAST. I found myself constantly checking my watch to make sure
I wasn't going too fast throughout the first half of the race, even when I felt
like I could be going much faster. The first few miles of the race, run through
Rosslyn and Arlington, were uphill, which helped me hold back a little, but the
temptation always presented itself. Still, I think I did a good job of
restraining myself miles 1-6, even as other runners went past me (some casually
chatting as they went, though a Brit I ran alongside across the Key Bridge
didn't say much***): 6:03, 5:54, 5:53, 5:48, 5:55, 5:46. I felt calm and strong
throughout this early, hilly part of the race, spending most of my time
focusing on restraint and not effort.
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| Coming from behind |
I carried on in this same fashion for the next portion of
the race. I was taking advantage of every water station on the course, though
carefully ensuring it was water that I saw; at one point, I grabbed a Gatorade
by mistake, but had the presence of mind to look at the cup, dropping it and
swapping it for water when I saw yellow inside. Half of this portion of the
race was the same out-and-back toward Rock Creek Park that I had run a few
weeks earlier in the Navy/Air Force Half Marathon, so I knew what to expect. At
7 miles in, I decided to deploy the first of three Cliff Gel cube packets I had
prepared for the race, strategically consuming them just before a water station
so that I could wash it all down. This caused a momentary discomfort in my side,
but after that, nothing, which was a relief. After the turnaround, I ended up
in a pack for about 800 meters of the race (a fact I announced to my
competitors, to little response). This pack was going slightly too slow for my
liking, though, so I moved out of it along with another runner. This brought me
to the first truly spectator-heavy part of the race, under the Arlington
Bridge, where I saw all of my family members and got a momentary burst of
adrenaline from all the applause. After that, though, the race became
dramatically lonelier. And just before we got to Hain's Point, I got my first
real scare of the race, when suddenly my right hamstring (or was it my left? I
honestly can't remember now) suddenly tightened up. I was worried that this was
going to turn into some kind of race-ending pain. But it wasn't affecting my
gait, and wasn't any worse than other pains I've persevered through before, so
I ignored it and kept going. Eventually, it transferred to the other hamstring,
then went away entirely, thank God. Going around Hain's Point, though I was
motivated by the fallen soldier portraits positioned along the MCM's famous
Blue Mile (which itself was unexpectedly full of spectators). I tried to be very conscious of my time when
I hit 13.1, although by this point my GPS and the course markers had diverged
by about .11 miles, so it was best used for pacing anyway. I do know that,
starting at 13.1, I began to stop telling myself mentally to hold back, and to
let myself speed up. But here were my splits 7 through 13:
5:49, 5:53, 5:49, 5:48, 5:45, 5:46, 5:48
When I escaped Hain's Point, I began to feel the best I did
throughout the whole race. This portion of the race was mostly on the familiar
and spectator-filled territory of the National Mall.**** There
was a turnaround in front of the Arlington Bridge that confused me slightly,
but I figured it out, and used the nearby water station to ingest my second set
of Cliff Gel tables of the race, right around mile 15. As I said, this began my
best stretch of the race. I passed at least three people on the by now very
stretched out race as I went by the Washington Monument, around the Mall, in
front of the Capitol building, and then toward the 14th Street Bridge. I felt
strong and confident, buoyed on both by cheers from my family and by dozens of
anonymous spectators rooting for "Wild Bill." It seemed people were
even recognizing that I looked good and strong, which is certainly how I felt,
even if at one point I asked some random guy walking around the Mall if I were
still on the course (I was, thank God). I continued feeling this way, and
surprising myself, all the way up to the 14th Street Bridge, where I passed
what ended up being the last person I would pass all race, and beginning the
final segment of solitude for this surprisingly lonely event. Here were my
splits for miles 14-21, undoubtedly the most impressive portion of the race for
me:
5:41, 5:44, 5:41, 5:44, 5:43, 5:40, 5:41, 5:45
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| Feeling strong |
The hardest part of the race for me was the last 10k, which
shouldn't be a surprise. It didn't help much that I had to run it entirely
alone, and that it began with a seemingly endless and endlessly uphill segment
crossing a bridge. I was grateful, during this trying period, to receive a
water bottle from someone who just happened to be on the bridge at that time.
Even though I also took advantage of a water station about a mile away (at
which someone was also offering whiskey, which I declined), I really, REALLY
needed water right then and there. So thank you, kind stranger. Mile 22 was on
the other side of the bridge; at the water station closest to it, I ingested my
last gel packets, which would have to last me for the rest of the race, as I was
pretty confident they would. The next few miles of the race were a somewhat
disorienting back and forth through Crystal City; at one point, the race took
me through a hotel parking lot, which confused me. It was at this time that the
race truly begin to weigh on me, perhaps more mentally than physically, as I
was still notching off decent splits. It is perhaps no coincidence that this
should happen right around the point of what had been, up to that time, my
longest-ever run. But having already come so far, I had no intention of letting
up, much less giving up. So I persisted through Crystal City, then into a
portion of the race that navigated somewhat haphazardly through what seemed
like active construction sites. As I got near the Pentagon again, I realized I
had only 1.5 miles or so left.
And thank God. Because right about then, I think
I finally began to hit the infamous Wall. For those who don't know, the
"Wall" is that point which runners confront in a marathon when their
bodies finally start to give up on them, when moving your legs feels like
trudging through a vat of molasses, when lungs collapse, when cramps attack,
when your mouth becomes arid, and when only a sunk costs-induced delirium can
get you to the finish. I had managed to avoid it all this time, and I don't
think I was truly slamming up against the Wall now, but I was certainly growing
tired. Fortunately, this came late in the race, after I had already covered so
much ground. A few miles earlier (I think around 18), someone had told me I was
"almost there!" I wasted precious breaths shouting back "Don't
say that!" But at mile 25 or so, when I found myself back on a highway and
I heard someone say I was almost there, I didn't just decline to shout back
because I was running out of breath. At this point, it was true. I only had to
keep things together for a mile more. Soon enough, I could see where I would go
to finish; soon enough, I made that turn; soon enough, I could see the finish.
Going up the last hill, I passed one of the wounded warrior cyclists, then used
whatever energy I had left to get to that finishing chute. I didn't have much
of a sprint in me at that time, but I didn't need one: I saw on the clock that
I was well below my goal of 2:35. I ended up crossing the line in 2:34:29, in15th place, 4th among 20-24-year-olds. But, more important, I had finished. Final splits were: 5:53, 5:43, 5:40, 5:53, 6:02, and 3:30 (for the .55 miles my Garmin said I ran after completing my 26th mile).
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| The final stretch |
I walked through the post-finish chute in something of a
daze. The whole area was lined with Marines, all of whom kept congratulating me
and handing me post-race goodies (including a finisher medal), and all of whom
kept telling me good job. I was a little disoriented, but I did manage to reply
to at least one of them that he was the real hero, which I really meant. I
escaped the finishing chute with a suitable amount of recovery swag, got some
pictures with someone, then began ambling my way over to a place where
spectators could find the runner they had supported. Turns out I didn't need to
go over there after all, because my family found me well before I reached that
place. They hugged me, sweat and all, congratulated me, and stood with me under
a shady tree as I tried to return to reality.
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| Still in my post-marathon daze |
Eventually, despite my
lactic-acid-addled legs, we all walked together from the finish area to the
Rosslyn Metro station, where I, in a well-earned first, sat down on the
famously long escalator, and where we took the train back to Eastern Market. My
family then returned me to my apartment, prepared for the long drive back to
Ohio, and then set out on it as I bid them adieu. For the remainder of the day,
I did very little (understandably), stretching, eating, and laying about,
marinating in the glory and the pain of my accomplishment (most of the latter of which seemed to be in my quads).
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| It's a long escalator, and I was tired |
So there you have it. The next time someone asks me if I've
run a marathon, I can definitively say yes. And not only that. I can also say
that I ran an incredibly smart race, only increasing my pace throughout,
negative splitting for my halves (1:17:30/1:17:00), only passing people,
distributing my energy almost perfectly, and running alone for large portions of
the thing, including the entire final 10k.
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| Pictured: A smart race |
I can also say that I ran an
incredibly fun race, which the MCM definitely was: The spectators were great;
the scenery was incomparable; the aid stations were well-placed; and my family
got to see me several times. The Wild Bill singlet I rocked was a crowd
favorite, even though only one non-family spectator knew exactly who he was (I
heard him say "Wild Bill! Go Hillsdale!" as I ran by); I think a lot
of people assumed he was some kind of Pre-type figure they didn't know about
(which he basically is).
I have few criticisms for myself, really: Basically, I need
to run the tangents better, because I added about 400 meters more onto this
course than it was actually supposed to be. And I need to get faster. But
that's not something to dwell on for my first marathon. I may not have a great
mile time, or great speed. But I think I learned today definitively that
endurance and strength I have in abundance, which means that the marathon might
be the right distance for me. Today was a good start. But something tells me
this won't be the last time I run a marathon. And something else tells me that
this won't be the fastest time I run a marathon in, either. For now, though, I
can remain tremendously happy with this accomplishment. Yes, random small-talk
maker, I have run a marathon.
Now please don't ask me about my mile time.
*See, e.g.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJ8kTwoTu8o&t=2s
*See, e.g.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJ8kTwoTu8o&t=2s
**Which happened to be during the National Anthem. Sad!
***During the race, I wondered if I would be near him the near the end, so that I could say a version to this Royal Navy midshipman what American John Paul Jones said to the British during the War of 1812: "I have not yet begun to run!"
***During the race, I wondered if I would be near him the near the end, so that I could say a version to this Royal Navy midshipman what American John Paul Jones said to the British during the War of 1812: "I have not yet begun to run!"
****At one point during this segment of the race, a Spanish-speaking spectator even cheered me on.
Excellent run, especially for a first-time marathon.
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