Plan Executed

I will save you the suspense of wondering whether I qualified for the Boston Marathon or not.   That would be a very big not.   It has taken two days to put things in perspective and   a lot of talking with friends for me to come to grips with what happened.   I still don’t have all the answers, but it is over and done with.   I just hope I learned something.

I can say that I executed my plan as perfectly as I could have considering the circumstances (more on that later).   The goal was to hang on with the 3:20 pace team until I either finished or blew up.   Unfortunately, it was the latter.   I will give a full race account just in case you see any other knowledge to be gained that I might have missed.

The race morning started very early…..and very cold.   Most of the team met up to get the 5K runners to the starting line for their race.   They started at 7:15 about 2 blocks from our starting line.   Lara & Mason were running as well as Sara, Blake, and Mr. Jimmy (Paul’s dad).   Mason surprised me because on Wednesday, he had the flu.   But he really wanted to run to support St. Jude.   After they took off, we had to go straight to the starting corrals to get lined up for our race.   I kissed Christine, told everyone good luck and made my way to Corral 3 where the 3:20 pace leader would be.

As I was waiting, they announced a temperature of 25 degrees.   Did I mention it was cold?   I chatted with some other runners in the pace group and found out our pace leader had done Ironman Florida only 3 weeks ago.   Amazing.   After listening to a young St. Jude patient sing the National Anthem (brought tears to my eyes), I awaited the start.   I didn’t have to wait long and we were off.   The start was like any race I have been in with people jostling for position.   This was interesting because 20 to 30 people were jostling to get on the 3:20 pace leader’s heels.   And I was one of them.

The first few miles we clicked along and were hitting the 7:38 pace dead on.   I wasn’t super comfortable, but things were going okay.   I had only run twice in the past two weeks, so I knew that it would be tough to get back up to speed.   But I had 26.2 miles to find a rhythm, so I was not concerned.   It was interesting that with the group being so large, the jostling was still going on.   The aid stations were starting to feel like an open water start for a triathlon.   I don’t know how someone didn’t hit the deck with all the maneuvering.   I was drinking Powerade at most of the stations unless I accidentally got a water.   I wanted to stay ahead of the electrolyte curve with the pace I was going.

Around the 4 to 5 mile mark, I started getting hot.   I removed the gloves and pulled up the sleeves on my dri-fit long sleeve shirt.   I had a long sleeve under armor shirt on as well.   At this point, my chest started feeling a little tight and I questioned whether my under armor shirt was shrinking.   It was also around here that the mental games started.   “I was running too fast.”   “I couldn’t hold the pace.”   “I would never make it.”   But I just remembered my game plan: hang on until you have to stop.   So I did.

The first real test came at the 8 mile aid station going into the park.   I had taken my S-cap (salt tablet) at mile 7, and I was eating a gel at mile 8.   Because of the cold, the gel was like thick frosting.   As I was trying to get it down, I ended up inhaling some water.   I quickly stopped by the side, coughed a bit, and then finished my water.   I needed to drink some water to wash down the gel.   When I looked up, the pace group was 30 yards ahead already.   Here it is.   The moment I drop.   My chest was tight.   I was not feeling comfortable.   I gave it my best………   Did you?   Did you really?   No!   Get your ass in gear!   So I picked up the pace.

When I pulled back even with the pace group, it was a huge emotional victory for me.   Physically, I didn’t feel any better or worse, but mentally I had won a small battle.   Small, but important at the time.   I never let the pace group pull away from me again.   9 miles….10 miles….11 miles….12 miles….screech!   That was me coming to a halt with a rippling cramp in my calf.   Are you serious?   12 miles?   I walked for a bit and then started running again.   Maybe it was a fluke.   Nope.   It was for real.   I was screwed.

As I watched the pace group run ahead, I quickly realized my situation.   My body was not happy and I still had 14 miles to go.   And my chance at Boston was gone for the day.   By the time I reached the Half Marathon point, I was already down 2 minutes and 25 seconds on the pace group.   When I ran up Beale Street I saw Lara & Mason, and I felt ashamed.   I had failed already and I was not even close to being finished.   This was not how things were supposed to happen.

I kept running still hoping to salvage a good time.   At least I kept running when I could.   The calf cramps would just not let go.   I was taking my electrolytes, drinking plenty of fluids and eating gels.   I couldn’t figure it out.   But quitting was not an option (it never has been.)   So I switched to ultra-runner mode and it all came down to running when I could and walking when I couldn’t.   Forward progress was the new game plan.   And then just after the 16 mile mark, my left hamstring locked up.

Do you ever have the feeling that someone has a little voodoo doll of you and they just got a new box of needles?   When I grabbed my leg and screeched to a stop, another man ran by and yelled, “Try to walk it off.   You will be fine.”   He probably knew the reality as well as I did.   The last 10 miles were going to be fun.

As I walk/ran/hobbled from aid station to aid station, I watched as runner after runner, pace group after pace group went by.   I have never in my life been passed by so many runners.   I was getting more depressed with each step, but I continued to fight against it.   Inside my head I was screaming, “RUN DAMMIT RUN.”   But every time I would get up to speed and start making progress, I would cramp.   And then things got worse.   At least mentally.

Around 23 to 24 miles, I figured out that I would not even break 4 hours.   Now I apologize if that sounds arrogant.   I mean no offense.   But with my 3:20 goal, my training, and my expectations of myself, 4:00 was going to be a hard one to swallow.   I figured I was about as low emotionally as I could get.   And then I finally started reading the signs.

Not the mile marker signs, but the signs that were dedications or support for some of the children at St. Jude.   Somewhere in all my vanity and self absorbed Boston Qualifying pity party, I had forgotten the reason I was there.   And that was to support these children with my fund raising and with my actions.

Now at the time, I didn’t come to that conclusion.   I was still having drinks at the pity party.   But the signs changed the focus of my prayers which had been steady since mile 12.   I switched them from my pain relief to the relief of the others suffering around me: runners and children.   And the final miles eventually ticked off.

When I finally crossed the line, my clock said 4:02:04.   Definitely not 3:20.   I found the kids and my friends, got a couple of beers (I was shaking so much I spilled half of them), and sat and awaited the rest of the team.   My day was done.

The rest of the team kept trickling in as the day went on.   And just as I had my struggles, they had theirs.   Hopefully they will post their reports on the team site.   But I have to say, that I was thrilled to watch Christine come in.   She had her struggles midway through the race, but she finished much better looking than I did.   And on top of that, she dropped 22 minutes off her time from last year!

Here are my pictures from the finish of the race.

And here is Christine.

Any question who had the better race?

And now for the rest of the story.   Later that night I had a fever of 100 degrees.   We went to Rendezvous Barbecue and I could only drink one beer and ate about 3 or 4 ribs.   Something was not right.   After we got home Sunday, I went to the after hours doctor and he gave me lots of drugs.   I had an infection in my head that also had my lungs full of crap.   I guess the under armor shirt was not tight after all.   I don’t know if that was the reason for the early cramps, but I know it didn’t help.

In retrospect, I executed my plan perfectly.   I may have failed at reaching my time, but I gave it everything I had trying.   Now all I can do is follow Christine’s orders, rest and plan for the next assault.   It may be here before you know it!

Tags: St Jude Marathon