Joined
·
5,629 Posts
Last year, I vowed never to run this race again. I didn't much care for the course and organization. But I just couldn't miss the huge party that was brewing and after running a 3:47:25 in Akron, Sept. 29, I felt confident enough to shoot for a PR and was itching to race again. So I signed up.<br><br>
I wanted to come in about 10 pounds lighter than I was during the Akron Marathon. Unfortunately, I was about the same, but that didn't bother me. I was still confident that I actually had a shot at a sub-3:40 and was going to go pants down and go for it.<br><br>
The night before the race, I slept about and hour and a half due to construction (and probably mostly my light sleeping). I watched TV from about 2 a.m. til 4 a.m., when I started getting ready for the race. Ate my oatmeal, drank some water and all that fun.<br><br>
I was confident enough in this race that, much like Tiger Woods wearing his red shirt on Sunday, I broke out my "What Would Pre Do?" t-shirt. I wore a short-sleeved Under Armor compression shirt underneath.<br><br>
So I walk to the race with <b>Moe</b>, <b>Kris</b> and <b>Nick</b> and we get there plenty early. It felt cool out, not cold. But it already was a little windy. We get to the start and meet up with several other folks and I find Bob and Maria's sister, Jen, since we all planned to start with the 3:40 pacer.<br><br>
We fight our way through the start line (do you have to enter from the back and fight your way all the through?) and get to about the 3:50 pacer. Good enough, we can see the 3:40 dude and his balloons.<br><br>
Finally, after some guy yammering on the PA system, the race starts, late. I already had removed all my outer clothing and just had the t-shirt and shorts on. I even put my throw-away gloves in the drop bag. I felt plenty warm.<br><br>
So we get over the start line and the 3:40 guy is gone. We spend the first mile blowing through people trying to catch him. It actually feels a bit invigorating and is helping me to totally warm up. We get close enough to see the pacer and slowly, but surely catch him over the next two or three miles.<br><br>
Already I'm not feeling right. I even tell Jen that I'm usually all smiles early in the race and talking my head off to anyone who'll listen and goofing off with the spectators. But for some reason, I was in a bitter mood. I was solely focused on the pacer and not having any real fun. I don't know what the deal was, I just wasn't myself.<br><br>
Now I remember from last year that early in the race, there was a section of downtown streets that were pretty dodgy with potholes, ruts and grooves. When we hit that part, I warned Jen to be careful. So wouldn't you know it, just as we were about to leave that section, I roll my right ankle. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.kickrunners.com/forum/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="Roll Eyes (Sarcastic)"> I let out a "Fuck!" at the top of my lungs followed by a string of curses. I punctuated the rant by punching some sort of light post or something, scaring the hell out of a couple other runners.<br><br>
After my tirade, during which I continued running a little hobbly, I assessed the situation and realized no real damage had been done. I figured it would be cool and just kept on keeping on. I started to notice that the pacer was really putting the hammer down. We had done a couple sub-8 miles and mostly were between 8 and 8:15 miles. That was fine by me. I wanted to be below the 3:40 pace.<br><br>
At about mile 8.5 or so, we were getting ready to head down a big ol' hill. I heard the pacer tell everyone to take it easy, that we would take it slowly down the hill. "Fuck that, I can't go slow down this hill," is what I said out loud and took off around the pace group. I thundered down the hill and felt good that I was no ahead of the 3:40 pace group. But the bad part was that I had ditched Jen. I felt bad about that, but also thought that it might've been a big mental mistake for later. After getting to the bottom of the big hill, I hit what is the main hill around mile 10 on the course. I got up it in not too bad of shape, though it was work.<br><br>
After getting to the top of the hill was when trouble started. I had noticed the inside of my ankle was a little sore, but no big deal. But what happened next both confused and frightened me. It felt colder and was windier at the top of the hill. At about mile 11, it felt like there was an air pocket in my UA shirt around my belly. I thought that was quite weird and felt my stomach, but no air pocket. The sensation continued and I felt another couple of times. Nothing. Then I realized that the front of my body was numb and couldn't feel my shirt. Okay, whatever, I continued on.<br><br>
At about mile 13 was the first inkling that things were about to go pear-shaped. My right hip starting bothering me, actually causing me to wince a at times. It was a slower mile, I think my first 9-minute mile. But when I hit the halfway point, my time was about 1:48:25, exactly where I wanted to be. I had missed the previous water stop because I didn't see it. I wasn't too concerned. Mile 14 was a better mile, about 8:15 or something like that.<br><br>
Then the wheels started coming off. I missed the next water stop, again because I didn't see it coming. I was already through it by the time I realized it was there. I was in bad need of a gel and could feel my energy slipping. I couldn't feel my left hand and arm because they were so cold. I could not believe how cold I felt. My hip was increasingly bothering me as was my ankle, though I don't think neither was all that bad. The ankle pain, on a scale of 1-10 must've been about a 2. The hip was a bit worse, spiking at about a 6 or 7, I guess. I also felt a couple pinches in my left IT band on the side of the knee, but those seemed to go away after a while.<br><br>
But I was slowing down mightly and limping a bit, which really worried me. My miles were slipping into the 10-minute area and I could feel myself slowing down. I really wasn't sure how long I could keep going and I knew I was risking really hurting myself. I started to think that my 10th marathon would be my first DNF. I thought about walking through the water stops, but kept telling myself to wait for the next mile and reassess. At about mile 17, <b>LGreenberg (LL)</b>, passed me and asked if I was alright. I simply said, "No," and then explained what had happened with the ankle and such. He said, "Why don't you walk it in?" I answered, "I'm afraid to."<br><br>
And I was afraid that if I started walking that I wouldn't be able to run again and I'd either get frustrated and quit or, more likely, get too cold to be able to continue. I still don't know why I was so cold. But I knew I had to keep running as long as I could to finish the race.<br><br>
At this point, I knew my race was shot and at least was able to hit the first beer stop, which also is somewhere around mile 17. After this, I was in a really dark place, just plodding along. I really regretted wearing that shirt because I was not doing the memory of Prefontaine any justice. And I thought about all the people who'd picked me in the Philly Phantasy game and how they'd put their trust in me and I had let them down. There were not many happy thoughts at this time.<br><br>
Most of the miles after 13 were hazy, but I remember thinking about pain, thinking about thinking about pain and thinking about thinking about thinking about pain. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.kickrunners.com/forum/images/smilies/icon_scratch.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="scratch"> I think I actually chuckled to myself silently at the time about that one.<br><br>
Somehow, I made it to mile 20 running (barely) constantly. At mile 15, I thought there was no way I would've made it to 20. No way. But I think hitting that mark made me let my guard down. I got there in 2:56-somthing, the same time I did last year. if I could string together a 1-hour 10k, I'd at least be sub-4 hours. But I didn't think there was a shot in hell of that and I suddenly decided to take my first walk break.<br><br>
Well that was that. The death march had begun. I walked and ran from that point on, probably running a quarter-mile at the most at any one time. When I'd stop running, I remember limping badly to the point of stumbling up on the curb. But I still question whether I was hurting that bad. My memory is so hazy. Somehow, I think I should've been able to suck it up better than I did.<br><br>
Anyway, I continued on and the thought occurred to me that maybe I could suck back and run <b>Nettie</b> in. Then I remembered how cold I was and decided I needed to get to the finish ASAP. I would see gloves and long-sleeved shirts on the side of the road and thought about picking them up. I probably should've.<br><br>
Eventually, I made my way to the finish, but I was not happy to be done with the race. I was very disappointed in my effort and didn't even bother to look up my time until yesterday, which was 4:17:25. After running three sub-4 marathons in a row, it made me sick to see that time.<br><br>
I didn't even have the pleasure of hearing the 30s cheering section because I was so deep in my own little world at the finish, partly trying to block out the pain to at least finish running.<br><br>
The post-race festivities, though, were a huge pick-me-up. I basically had missed everyone else finishing the race, so I was anxious to hear how everyone else did.<br><br>
And I hope Mayor Streets, who walked the marathon, tripped and fell on his ass around mile 4.5 on the crappy roads. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.kickrunners.com/forum/images/smilies/tongue5.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="tongue5">
I wanted to come in about 10 pounds lighter than I was during the Akron Marathon. Unfortunately, I was about the same, but that didn't bother me. I was still confident that I actually had a shot at a sub-3:40 and was going to go pants down and go for it.<br><br>
The night before the race, I slept about and hour and a half due to construction (and probably mostly my light sleeping). I watched TV from about 2 a.m. til 4 a.m., when I started getting ready for the race. Ate my oatmeal, drank some water and all that fun.<br><br>
I was confident enough in this race that, much like Tiger Woods wearing his red shirt on Sunday, I broke out my "What Would Pre Do?" t-shirt. I wore a short-sleeved Under Armor compression shirt underneath.<br><br>
So I walk to the race with <b>Moe</b>, <b>Kris</b> and <b>Nick</b> and we get there plenty early. It felt cool out, not cold. But it already was a little windy. We get to the start and meet up with several other folks and I find Bob and Maria's sister, Jen, since we all planned to start with the 3:40 pacer.<br><br>
We fight our way through the start line (do you have to enter from the back and fight your way all the through?) and get to about the 3:50 pacer. Good enough, we can see the 3:40 dude and his balloons.<br><br>
Finally, after some guy yammering on the PA system, the race starts, late. I already had removed all my outer clothing and just had the t-shirt and shorts on. I even put my throw-away gloves in the drop bag. I felt plenty warm.<br><br>
So we get over the start line and the 3:40 guy is gone. We spend the first mile blowing through people trying to catch him. It actually feels a bit invigorating and is helping me to totally warm up. We get close enough to see the pacer and slowly, but surely catch him over the next two or three miles.<br><br>
Already I'm not feeling right. I even tell Jen that I'm usually all smiles early in the race and talking my head off to anyone who'll listen and goofing off with the spectators. But for some reason, I was in a bitter mood. I was solely focused on the pacer and not having any real fun. I don't know what the deal was, I just wasn't myself.<br><br>
Now I remember from last year that early in the race, there was a section of downtown streets that were pretty dodgy with potholes, ruts and grooves. When we hit that part, I warned Jen to be careful. So wouldn't you know it, just as we were about to leave that section, I roll my right ankle. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.kickrunners.com/forum/images/smilies/rolleyes.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="Roll Eyes (Sarcastic)"> I let out a "Fuck!" at the top of my lungs followed by a string of curses. I punctuated the rant by punching some sort of light post or something, scaring the hell out of a couple other runners.<br><br>
After my tirade, during which I continued running a little hobbly, I assessed the situation and realized no real damage had been done. I figured it would be cool and just kept on keeping on. I started to notice that the pacer was really putting the hammer down. We had done a couple sub-8 miles and mostly were between 8 and 8:15 miles. That was fine by me. I wanted to be below the 3:40 pace.<br><br>
At about mile 8.5 or so, we were getting ready to head down a big ol' hill. I heard the pacer tell everyone to take it easy, that we would take it slowly down the hill. "Fuck that, I can't go slow down this hill," is what I said out loud and took off around the pace group. I thundered down the hill and felt good that I was no ahead of the 3:40 pace group. But the bad part was that I had ditched Jen. I felt bad about that, but also thought that it might've been a big mental mistake for later. After getting to the bottom of the big hill, I hit what is the main hill around mile 10 on the course. I got up it in not too bad of shape, though it was work.<br><br>
After getting to the top of the hill was when trouble started. I had noticed the inside of my ankle was a little sore, but no big deal. But what happened next both confused and frightened me. It felt colder and was windier at the top of the hill. At about mile 11, it felt like there was an air pocket in my UA shirt around my belly. I thought that was quite weird and felt my stomach, but no air pocket. The sensation continued and I felt another couple of times. Nothing. Then I realized that the front of my body was numb and couldn't feel my shirt. Okay, whatever, I continued on.<br><br>
At about mile 13 was the first inkling that things were about to go pear-shaped. My right hip starting bothering me, actually causing me to wince a at times. It was a slower mile, I think my first 9-minute mile. But when I hit the halfway point, my time was about 1:48:25, exactly where I wanted to be. I had missed the previous water stop because I didn't see it. I wasn't too concerned. Mile 14 was a better mile, about 8:15 or something like that.<br><br>
Then the wheels started coming off. I missed the next water stop, again because I didn't see it coming. I was already through it by the time I realized it was there. I was in bad need of a gel and could feel my energy slipping. I couldn't feel my left hand and arm because they were so cold. I could not believe how cold I felt. My hip was increasingly bothering me as was my ankle, though I don't think neither was all that bad. The ankle pain, on a scale of 1-10 must've been about a 2. The hip was a bit worse, spiking at about a 6 or 7, I guess. I also felt a couple pinches in my left IT band on the side of the knee, but those seemed to go away after a while.<br><br>
But I was slowing down mightly and limping a bit, which really worried me. My miles were slipping into the 10-minute area and I could feel myself slowing down. I really wasn't sure how long I could keep going and I knew I was risking really hurting myself. I started to think that my 10th marathon would be my first DNF. I thought about walking through the water stops, but kept telling myself to wait for the next mile and reassess. At about mile 17, <b>LGreenberg (LL)</b>, passed me and asked if I was alright. I simply said, "No," and then explained what had happened with the ankle and such. He said, "Why don't you walk it in?" I answered, "I'm afraid to."<br><br>
And I was afraid that if I started walking that I wouldn't be able to run again and I'd either get frustrated and quit or, more likely, get too cold to be able to continue. I still don't know why I was so cold. But I knew I had to keep running as long as I could to finish the race.<br><br>
At this point, I knew my race was shot and at least was able to hit the first beer stop, which also is somewhere around mile 17. After this, I was in a really dark place, just plodding along. I really regretted wearing that shirt because I was not doing the memory of Prefontaine any justice. And I thought about all the people who'd picked me in the Philly Phantasy game and how they'd put their trust in me and I had let them down. There were not many happy thoughts at this time.<br><br>
Most of the miles after 13 were hazy, but I remember thinking about pain, thinking about thinking about pain and thinking about thinking about thinking about pain. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.kickrunners.com/forum/images/smilies/icon_scratch.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="scratch"> I think I actually chuckled to myself silently at the time about that one.<br><br>
Somehow, I made it to mile 20 running (barely) constantly. At mile 15, I thought there was no way I would've made it to 20. No way. But I think hitting that mark made me let my guard down. I got there in 2:56-somthing, the same time I did last year. if I could string together a 1-hour 10k, I'd at least be sub-4 hours. But I didn't think there was a shot in hell of that and I suddenly decided to take my first walk break.<br><br>
Well that was that. The death march had begun. I walked and ran from that point on, probably running a quarter-mile at the most at any one time. When I'd stop running, I remember limping badly to the point of stumbling up on the curb. But I still question whether I was hurting that bad. My memory is so hazy. Somehow, I think I should've been able to suck it up better than I did.<br><br>
Anyway, I continued on and the thought occurred to me that maybe I could suck back and run <b>Nettie</b> in. Then I remembered how cold I was and decided I needed to get to the finish ASAP. I would see gloves and long-sleeved shirts on the side of the road and thought about picking them up. I probably should've.<br><br>
Eventually, I made my way to the finish, but I was not happy to be done with the race. I was very disappointed in my effort and didn't even bother to look up my time until yesterday, which was 4:17:25. After running three sub-4 marathons in a row, it made me sick to see that time.<br><br>
I didn't even have the pleasure of hearing the 30s cheering section because I was so deep in my own little world at the finish, partly trying to block out the pain to at least finish running.<br><br>
The post-race festivities, though, were a huge pick-me-up. I basically had missed everyone else finishing the race, so I was anxious to hear how everyone else did.<br><br>
And I hope Mayor Streets, who walked the marathon, tripped and fell on his ass around mile 4.5 on the crappy roads. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.kickrunners.com/forum/images/smilies/tongue5.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="tongue5">
