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I posted this report at another site and this is a copy and past job. I saw our own SRLopez down there and was able to catch up with him. I was disappointed that I never saw DanQ, though. <img alt="sad.gif" src="http://files.kickrunners.com/smilies/sad.gif"><br><br>
Anyway, on with the overly wordy race report:<br><br>
The Flying Pig Marathon is one of those races you just can't hate, no matter how poorly you do there. Two years ago, I ran this race as my third marathon and was convinced that I had a sub-4-hour race in the bag. No doubt whatsoever.<br>
Well, after completely falling apart around mile 20, I finished in 4:35 and some change, to this day my second worst race.<br><br>
A large group of 30somethings started signing up for this race earlier this year and it was growing into a big gathering, which I knew would be a great time no matter what. So I decided this was the year I'd take revenge on Teh Pig... if I could.<br><br>
The course already had an advantage over me mentally, and I knew it. It chewed me up and spit me out last time, and I knew it. I would have to put that aside and trust my training, and I knew it. I also came into this race about 15 pounds lighter than my last. I barely made the Clydesdale division, weighing 202 pounds right after eating lunch and with my shoes on, my phone in one pocket and my digital camera in the other.<br><br>
I didn't sleep well that night, but no biggy. I woke up when I wanted to, actually before the alarm. I ate some oatmeal and then took a shower. After getting out of the shower, I leaned down to turn the faucet to rinse the tub and felt something pull in my mid-upper back. You've got to be kidding me, I thought. I hunched over the toilet for a second and tried to stand up, but couldn't straighten out. No way this could be happening. I know this injury, which is an old one that crops up every blue moon. I finally straighten up and just hope that this won't affect the race, because this particular injury can make it tough to breathe.<br><br>
I met up with Bobmann and his wife, Maggie, before the race and we made our way toward the start and met up with a bunch of the 30somethings. Bob and I planned to run in the 3:50 pace group with Larry (LL CoolWhip). Bob hit the nail on the head when he said he was sure he'd finish around 3:50, but going by what I had said on the boards that I thought I could be anywhere from 3:45 to 4:15, or even worse.<br><br>
And that was so true. I had no idea when I'd finish. I'd be extremely happy with anything under 4 hours. My pie-in-the-sky goal, if the planets aligned, I had the wind at my back the whole way and got a little divine intervention, was 3:45. I figured 3:50 was a reasonable goal, though in my heart of hearts I didn't think I had that in me.<br><br>
So, we head to the corral and stop and visit with PacerChris, who's pacing the 3:10 (!) group. It was great to finally meet him as I've been in awe of his running for some time. Bob and I finally spot Larry at the 3:50 sign, like right under it. He wasn't kidding when he said he stick to the pacer like glue. I think one of his tattoos might've actually transferred to one of the pacer's arms!<br><br>
Ok, the actual race. The start was slow like it always is at a good-sized marathon. We cross the start line and we're not moving fast. I already don't like this. Two years ago, I ran the first two miles at about a 10:30 pace because I was stuck in the crowd and it just screwed me up mentally. I'm thinking, "Here we go again." we finish the first mile in about 9:40 or something. I know we're going to have to make up that time and I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to turn it on later to do that.<br><br>
The crowd starts thinning out after a couple miles and we're still passing walkers. I shan't rant about this. We start picking up the pace and I'm feeling ok. Larry is on the pacer like a second shirt and Bob and I keep lagging back. At one point, we were crossing the bridge back to Ohio and the pacer seemed to be pushing it up the grade. Bob informs me that we're falling back and should catch up, so we speed up a little and do so. At about this point, which is about 4 miles into the race, I start thinking that I'm not gonna be able to keep up with this group for very long. I'm trying to save my legs, but I was afraid I was pushing just a little too much.<br><br>
Also at this point, I realize I need to go to the bathroom and this wasn't something I could duck behind a shrub and take care of.<br><br>
I tell myself that I'll recover on the other side of the hill and keep going. A couple miles later, we hit THE hills. They didn't seem as bad as I remembered them from the last time. I must've been doing something right because some random guy next to me ask me what was my secret to running hills. Survival, I reckon. He must've really been feeling it. I kinda explain my way of dealing with hills and I think the conversation itself was enough to help him get up there.<br><br>
So THE hills are behind us, but I know people will be telling us that it's all downhill from here. I also know that that is BS and inform Larry and Bob that there are some sneaky, tough little hills later in the race.<br><br>
Shortly after this, we start going downhill and I wanted to go faster than the pacer was going. So I started to pull ahead. In the back of my mind I thought if I could get ahead of the pace group far enough, I could stop at a port-o-let, take care of business and hopefully they'd be passing by at that time. Even if I didn't hit the head, I figured I'd quickly slow up after the downhill and they'd catch me anyway.<br><br>
I really started to chew some miles at this time. Mile 10 was about and 8:30 mile and I believe mile 11 was 8:03. After that I was anywhere between 8:17 and 8:30ish for several miles. I kept track of my splits, but my chrono was reset somehow in my bag on the way home.<br><br>
At about mile 16, I started feeling a little emotional, thinking I had it and would be well under 4 hours. But I had to remind myself that I had a long way to go, including the part of the race that demolished and demoralized my two years ealier. And my legs were starting to feel it and get a bit sore, so it wasn't in the bag. Also, I've still got to go to the bathroom and the urge is coming and going, coming and going. Everytime I pass a bunch of port-o-lets, I say, "No, not this time, maybe the next."<br><br>
I got to mile 19 and realized that was right about where it all fell apart before. I was still feeling ok, but not great. I was hoping to report that I got to mile 20 and felt great, so I turned it on. I actually was thinking about that at the time. But that was nowhere near the case. I kept up the pace around 8:20s to 8:40s and started realizing that I could get close to 3:45 if I could hang on long enough.<br><br>
At about mile 23, I started to slow down. I didn't feel like I was slowing down, but my watch told the truth. I tried to speed up, but there really wasn't much there. I figured the hell with 3:45, I'll have to try to hold on for a sub 3:50.<br><br>
At about mile 24, there's an Elvis impersonator and he starts singing "One for the money, two for the show..." which is about the only part of any Elvis songs I know. So I do what any exhausted marathoner who's trying to hang on should do... I run at him singing with him and doing some ridiculous dance. It fired up the spectators and water-table folk and gave me a burst of energy for all of 20 seconds.<br><br>
After that, I decide that I have enough energy and push myself to speed up. No, I'm not gonna coast to the finish. I'm gonna push myself to finish the best I can. I owe it to myself having run this far this well. All the time during mile 24, I ran for the mile 25 marker, knowing once I got there, I could let it loose for the last mile and 285 yards.<br><br>
Mile 25 comes and goes and I look at my watch and know 3:45 ain't gonna happen. The math just wasn't working out. But I turn it up anyway. With about a half mile to go, I start my kick and really move. I'm passing everybody and no one's passing me. I'm even yelling at people to get out of my way.<br><br>
It seemed like the finish shoot lasted forever. I was absolutely thundering along and felt really strong, blowing by people. Finally, I see the finish line, or Finish Swine. I'm giving it all I got now and cross the line, making sure not to trip on the mats and looking up for the photo.<br><br>
I am damn pleased with myself and when I stopped running, I just stood there, not believing what I had just done. A volunteer medical-type came up to me and asked me if I was ok. "Oh, I'm great!" I said, and shuffled up a little further to get my medal. I walk a little bit more and realize I never stopped my watch. I do and see a time of 3:45:15. Holy smokes, there's a chance I actually broke 3:45!<br><br>
I wait for Bob and Larry at the finish line instead of going for water and food. And the urge to go to the bathroom completely subsided after finishing the race. Figures.<br><br>
I catch up with those guys and some well-earned congratulations are exchanged as we talked about our respective races.<br><br>
I wouldn't find out my official time until I got home the next day -- 3:44:54 (8:35/mile). I came in 12th place out of 143 Clydesdales in the 200-219 pound category and 744th out of 4,017 marathoners.<br><br>
I still can't believe I actually ran that. I did not think I had that good of a race in me. I wish I could adequately express the gratitude for the support and friendship I've received from the 30s group on and off the CR board. There's no way I would've done this without you all. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!<br><br>
And with that, I can say that I've gotten my revenge on Teh Pig, and then some. And lemme tell you, it is sweet!
Anyway, on with the overly wordy race report:<br><br>
The Flying Pig Marathon is one of those races you just can't hate, no matter how poorly you do there. Two years ago, I ran this race as my third marathon and was convinced that I had a sub-4-hour race in the bag. No doubt whatsoever.<br>
Well, after completely falling apart around mile 20, I finished in 4:35 and some change, to this day my second worst race.<br><br>
A large group of 30somethings started signing up for this race earlier this year and it was growing into a big gathering, which I knew would be a great time no matter what. So I decided this was the year I'd take revenge on Teh Pig... if I could.<br><br>
The course already had an advantage over me mentally, and I knew it. It chewed me up and spit me out last time, and I knew it. I would have to put that aside and trust my training, and I knew it. I also came into this race about 15 pounds lighter than my last. I barely made the Clydesdale division, weighing 202 pounds right after eating lunch and with my shoes on, my phone in one pocket and my digital camera in the other.<br><br>
I didn't sleep well that night, but no biggy. I woke up when I wanted to, actually before the alarm. I ate some oatmeal and then took a shower. After getting out of the shower, I leaned down to turn the faucet to rinse the tub and felt something pull in my mid-upper back. You've got to be kidding me, I thought. I hunched over the toilet for a second and tried to stand up, but couldn't straighten out. No way this could be happening. I know this injury, which is an old one that crops up every blue moon. I finally straighten up and just hope that this won't affect the race, because this particular injury can make it tough to breathe.<br><br>
I met up with Bobmann and his wife, Maggie, before the race and we made our way toward the start and met up with a bunch of the 30somethings. Bob and I planned to run in the 3:50 pace group with Larry (LL CoolWhip). Bob hit the nail on the head when he said he was sure he'd finish around 3:50, but going by what I had said on the boards that I thought I could be anywhere from 3:45 to 4:15, or even worse.<br><br>
And that was so true. I had no idea when I'd finish. I'd be extremely happy with anything under 4 hours. My pie-in-the-sky goal, if the planets aligned, I had the wind at my back the whole way and got a little divine intervention, was 3:45. I figured 3:50 was a reasonable goal, though in my heart of hearts I didn't think I had that in me.<br><br>
So, we head to the corral and stop and visit with PacerChris, who's pacing the 3:10 (!) group. It was great to finally meet him as I've been in awe of his running for some time. Bob and I finally spot Larry at the 3:50 sign, like right under it. He wasn't kidding when he said he stick to the pacer like glue. I think one of his tattoos might've actually transferred to one of the pacer's arms!<br><br>
Ok, the actual race. The start was slow like it always is at a good-sized marathon. We cross the start line and we're not moving fast. I already don't like this. Two years ago, I ran the first two miles at about a 10:30 pace because I was stuck in the crowd and it just screwed me up mentally. I'm thinking, "Here we go again." we finish the first mile in about 9:40 or something. I know we're going to have to make up that time and I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to turn it on later to do that.<br><br>
The crowd starts thinning out after a couple miles and we're still passing walkers. I shan't rant about this. We start picking up the pace and I'm feeling ok. Larry is on the pacer like a second shirt and Bob and I keep lagging back. At one point, we were crossing the bridge back to Ohio and the pacer seemed to be pushing it up the grade. Bob informs me that we're falling back and should catch up, so we speed up a little and do so. At about this point, which is about 4 miles into the race, I start thinking that I'm not gonna be able to keep up with this group for very long. I'm trying to save my legs, but I was afraid I was pushing just a little too much.<br><br>
Also at this point, I realize I need to go to the bathroom and this wasn't something I could duck behind a shrub and take care of.<br><br>
I tell myself that I'll recover on the other side of the hill and keep going. A couple miles later, we hit THE hills. They didn't seem as bad as I remembered them from the last time. I must've been doing something right because some random guy next to me ask me what was my secret to running hills. Survival, I reckon. He must've really been feeling it. I kinda explain my way of dealing with hills and I think the conversation itself was enough to help him get up there.<br><br>
So THE hills are behind us, but I know people will be telling us that it's all downhill from here. I also know that that is BS and inform Larry and Bob that there are some sneaky, tough little hills later in the race.<br><br>
Shortly after this, we start going downhill and I wanted to go faster than the pacer was going. So I started to pull ahead. In the back of my mind I thought if I could get ahead of the pace group far enough, I could stop at a port-o-let, take care of business and hopefully they'd be passing by at that time. Even if I didn't hit the head, I figured I'd quickly slow up after the downhill and they'd catch me anyway.<br><br>
I really started to chew some miles at this time. Mile 10 was about and 8:30 mile and I believe mile 11 was 8:03. After that I was anywhere between 8:17 and 8:30ish for several miles. I kept track of my splits, but my chrono was reset somehow in my bag on the way home.<br><br>
At about mile 16, I started feeling a little emotional, thinking I had it and would be well under 4 hours. But I had to remind myself that I had a long way to go, including the part of the race that demolished and demoralized my two years ealier. And my legs were starting to feel it and get a bit sore, so it wasn't in the bag. Also, I've still got to go to the bathroom and the urge is coming and going, coming and going. Everytime I pass a bunch of port-o-lets, I say, "No, not this time, maybe the next."<br><br>
I got to mile 19 and realized that was right about where it all fell apart before. I was still feeling ok, but not great. I was hoping to report that I got to mile 20 and felt great, so I turned it on. I actually was thinking about that at the time. But that was nowhere near the case. I kept up the pace around 8:20s to 8:40s and started realizing that I could get close to 3:45 if I could hang on long enough.<br><br>
At about mile 23, I started to slow down. I didn't feel like I was slowing down, but my watch told the truth. I tried to speed up, but there really wasn't much there. I figured the hell with 3:45, I'll have to try to hold on for a sub 3:50.<br><br>
At about mile 24, there's an Elvis impersonator and he starts singing "One for the money, two for the show..." which is about the only part of any Elvis songs I know. So I do what any exhausted marathoner who's trying to hang on should do... I run at him singing with him and doing some ridiculous dance. It fired up the spectators and water-table folk and gave me a burst of energy for all of 20 seconds.<br><br>
After that, I decide that I have enough energy and push myself to speed up. No, I'm not gonna coast to the finish. I'm gonna push myself to finish the best I can. I owe it to myself having run this far this well. All the time during mile 24, I ran for the mile 25 marker, knowing once I got there, I could let it loose for the last mile and 285 yards.<br><br>
Mile 25 comes and goes and I look at my watch and know 3:45 ain't gonna happen. The math just wasn't working out. But I turn it up anyway. With about a half mile to go, I start my kick and really move. I'm passing everybody and no one's passing me. I'm even yelling at people to get out of my way.<br><br>
It seemed like the finish shoot lasted forever. I was absolutely thundering along and felt really strong, blowing by people. Finally, I see the finish line, or Finish Swine. I'm giving it all I got now and cross the line, making sure not to trip on the mats and looking up for the photo.<br><br>
I am damn pleased with myself and when I stopped running, I just stood there, not believing what I had just done. A volunteer medical-type came up to me and asked me if I was ok. "Oh, I'm great!" I said, and shuffled up a little further to get my medal. I walk a little bit more and realize I never stopped my watch. I do and see a time of 3:45:15. Holy smokes, there's a chance I actually broke 3:45!<br><br>
I wait for Bob and Larry at the finish line instead of going for water and food. And the urge to go to the bathroom completely subsided after finishing the race. Figures.<br><br>
I catch up with those guys and some well-earned congratulations are exchanged as we talked about our respective races.<br><br>
I wouldn't find out my official time until I got home the next day -- 3:44:54 (8:35/mile). I came in 12th place out of 143 Clydesdales in the 200-219 pound category and 744th out of 4,017 marathoners.<br><br>
I still can't believe I actually ran that. I did not think I had that good of a race in me. I wish I could adequately express the gratitude for the support and friendship I've received from the 30s group on and off the CR board. There's no way I would've done this without you all. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!<br><br>
And with that, I can say that I've gotten my revenge on Teh Pig, and then some. And lemme tell you, it is sweet!
