A Marathon Sized Blog Post

Advance Warning

This post will most likely be very long.  I am able to make that prediction right from the very start because of the amount of crap that I have floating around in my head that is begging to be placed here for your reading pleasure.  So with no further ado...

Saturday was the 2012 Kentucky Derby Festival mini Marathon and Marathon.  What follows is a verbose recanting of my pre-race activities, my race report, and some emotional touchy feely stuff thrown in at the end for good measure.

Pre-race Stuff

Friday night I had a pre-race dinner with my friends from RunTheVille.  There were some familiar faces and some brand-new ones.  This is really a good group and the support, friendship, and camaraderie that the members show each other is phenomenal.  It is interesting to see a group of people from diverse backgrounds drawn together by one common interest.  At least a healthy one that is.  I'm sure the same statement could be made about an AA meeting.

Nothing classier than a little Walmart branding.

I went home that night and began laying out all of my race day junk: running clothes, post-run change of clothes, shoes, Bodyglide, etc.  I put the Garmin and the new JayBird Freedom headphones on their chargers and then headed off to bed for what amounted to about 5 semi-decent hours of sleep.  I had posted once before that I sleep like crap.  That fact still hasn't changed.  Although I did stop taking the OxyElite Pro three days before the race.  Early in my weekly reading I had stumbled across an article somewhere about a marathoner who had collapsed from heart failure at the finish line.  I took this as a sign and decided to knock off the thermogenic a few days before the race.  No sense in tempting Fate.  Not that I haven't given her a run for her money on many other occasions, but this time I wasn't feeling quite so lucky.

The iPhone alarm buzzed at 04:50.  I hit "snooze" a couple of times and finally drug myself out of bed, showered, ate a quick breakfast of toast, apple butter, and milk, and then went about getting my gear on and packing things into the car.  It did take me a few minutes to find my RoadID.  I hadn't placed it with the rest of my gear and I just knew that if I didn't find it today would be that one ironic time that I collapse in the middle of a run with no identification.  So RoadID securely on my wrist I finally made it out the door around 06:15.

In the car I was still feeling pretty blasé about the marathon.  This wasn't by any means arrogance, and certainly was not confidence, but rather a feeling that I was going to go out and push myself to do what needed to be done to get through 26.2 miles.  Nothing more, nothing less.  As I pulled out of the neighborhood I turned on the Sirius XM and was immediately treated to Richard Marx' "Should've Known Better."  I wasn't sure what to make of that, but I know that I did feel my testosterone drop about 10 points almost immediately.  The rest of the ride to downtown Louisville was uneventful.  I parked about a mile away from the finish line in the Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts parking garage.  A cherry of a choice that would come back to haunt me later.

I had e-mailed with an RTV friend and another group of marathoners who were meeting in front of the KFC Yum! Center at 06:00.  I knew there was no-way those folks would still be around, and I certainly didn't see them as I made my way to the starting corrals.  The race had sold out at 18,000 people and just after passing the starting line, maneuvering through the crowd became nearly impossible.  The event organizers had placed the gear check on the same street that the race was starting from.  I didn't find this to be very logistically sound.  As I shuffled through the throngs of people, I began to pay attention to the bibs that everyone was wearing.  The half marathon participants all had green race bibs, and the marathon runners had grey bibs.  So as I made my way through a sea of green bibs, I began to feel very smug about the fact that I was running the full marathon.  "Yep, I'm a tough guy.  Got my grey bib right here to prove it."  "Hey, how you doin'?  I'm running 26.2 miles today."  "Why, yes, I am wearing a grey bib.  It is pretty bad ass."

After squeezing through the gear check crowds I heard someone calling my name.  I turned to find an old friend that I had gone through the academy with.  His wife was running the marathon and he and his kids were there to support her.  We spent several minutes catching up on where we were in our careers and who from the old days was doing what.  So after embracing him, I set off to find my corral.  Some of the RTV members had said they were meeting at the Paul Hornung statue outside of Louisville Slugger Field.  I found myself at the PeeWee Reece statue completely on the other side of the building.  Funny thing about being a guy who doesn't really care about sports -  all those names and statues look alike.  Amazingly enough, they must look the same to other runners too because I found all of the RTV members, minus one, at the PeeWee Reese statue.  The other guys and girls were running the half marathon; some their first ever.  I was the only one running the full.  Okay, I have to be honest at this point.  I lied earlier about feeling smug.  Instead what I really felt was a little isolated and alienated; although not necessarily in a bad way.  However, with my friends that feeling now was tinged with a bit of sadness.  I really don't have an explanation for that, except that in a crowd of thousands I was once again trudging off alone to face down 26.2 miles.

I purposefully placed myself in a corral behind the one on my bib.  I was planning on starting out slowly and I felt like this was the most effective way of making sure I wasn't in the way of other runners as I did so.  I hate showing up to a race and spending the first two miles bobbing and weaving through slower runners or speed walkers who have decided to jump right up front.  I spotted Corey Queen from Fatherverse in the crowd.  Couldn't miss Corey because of his Superman shirt.  I took a moment and introduced myself because we follow each other on Twitter but have never formally met.  We talked briefly before the race started.  Corey has the heart and determination the size of a mountain and it was energizing to talk to him before the start.

I never heard the starting gun, whether because of the size of the crowd or the distance from the actual starting line.  As the crowd began to move forward I started the music on my iPhone, turned on my JF3s and put them in my ears, and then started the Runmeter app on my phone before depositing it securely back into my armband.  Due to the sheer number of people it would be nearly 15 minutes before I actually made it to the starting line.

The Actual Race

"Race" might actually be a bit of an over-statement.  I was there to run a marathon but I sure as hell wasn't "racing" anybody.  My training had been lackluster from the start and my heart hadn't really been in it to begin with.  I knew starting out that somewhere later in the day this was going to become a test of mental perseverance and I had no illusions about that at all.  To complete the mission (and make up for my crappy quality of training) I was going to have to be smart about how I went about this.  I crossed the starting line, hit the start button on my Garmin and off I went.

I started out my race loaded down with chews, gels, and Gatorade.  I had this great fueling plan that I had all worked out in my head.  I wasn't dodging runners or walkers and I stayed pretty consistent with a slow and steady pace.  Around mile 3 I remember thinking that I had several more hours to go and feeling that detached, disinterested feeling again. At 4.5 miles in it began to rain.  That lasted about five minutes or so and I could see the edge of the cloud so I knew it wouldn't last long.  Despite the numb feeling that I was having, I was enjoying the scenery, the cheering crowds, the runners themselves.  So much so, that when I made the turn onto Central Avenue and started for Churchill Downs, I realized that I hadn't had a gel, a chew, or any fluid for the last 8 miles.  It was then that I made myself slow down, just inside the Downs and popped in a few chews and drank some Gatorade.  I began to berate myself for being too much in my own head and getting off track with my fueling plan.  I hoped that I hadn't compromised myself and resumed the run.

At the split, I started laughing when another marathoner began calling out, "Where are you going?!" to the half-marathoners as we made the turn South.  After running with so many people for the first 9 miles the street after the split felt nearly deserted.  The run down Southern Parkway was uneventful and I had to remind myself to keep fueling, but at Iroquois Park the strategy changed.  We were nearly half-way and faced with the first real climb of the marathon.  I wasn't going to be a hero at this point, as I had in the past, and power my way through those hills.  I knew doing so was a recipe for disaster on the second half of the run.  So I alternated between speed walking the climbs and running the descents.  Nothing significant to note in the roughly three miles through the park, except for someone dressed in a scary white Pegasus costume, giving high-fives at the bottom of the final hill.  That I intentionally avoided because it just seemed creepy.

The long run down back down Southern Parkway and 3rd Street was monotonous.  The crowd along the roadway had thinned considerably and there were few runners near me.  I fell in with people with whom I traded roles as "the rabbit" for several miles.  Eventually those same people either faded into the back or surged ahead out of sight and were replaced by others.   By mile 17 I was committed to walking the water stations, which I did to refill my hydration bottles.  It was also at this time that I started to be concerned about time, but then I remembered the admonition of a friend at the dinner the night before.  "Don't worry about anything.  Just get out there and enjoy it," he had said.  I was able to relax a little after that.

Just after the turn onto Breckenridge, and just before mile 21, I began having pain in the front of my left hip, but it felt deep; as though someone was driving a blade straight into my joint with every step.  I continued to push through because I had enough experience on training runs to know that oftentimes those pains will simply pass if I work through them.  It was also about this time that I started wondering just what the hell it was that I was doing and why I was doing it.  What was I trying to prove?  Who was I trying to prove it to?  If it was about being able to clear this distance, I had done that in January.  If it was about being a tough guy, I had a laundry list of accomplishments that had that macho crap stamped all over it.  Would I ever even consider doing this again?  What would the point of that be?  You see, the funny thing about being out there by yourself for this amount of time, pushing yourself through this level of exertion, is that you sometimes get so deep inside your own head that your thoughts begin going places that they otherwise would not go.  You become beset by your own inner demons.  Some, such as Self-Doubt, you have most likely met before.  Others, with no logical association to the challenge before you, decide to show up and crash the party.  It is certainly at this point that it becomes mental.  For the lone runner, it is here that you discover the limits of your mental toughness and the strength of your will.

At the next water station I bypassed the volunteers and went straight to the table to refill my hydration bottles.  I then headed toward mile 22 and Barrett Street where I spotted some very enthusiastic friends from RTV.  It really lifted my spirits to see them and after a frantic stop and some sweaty hugs I was rolling once again.  My renewed vigor didn't last long as I came to what is quaintly referred to as Mount Barrett, a very steep climb to reach mile 23.  I tackled the climb for a full 10 feet before I realized it was a futile effort and I walked to the crest.  The pain in my left hip had switched to my right as I made my way toward Baxter Avenue.  The run down Baxter Avenue was small rolling hills with a few bars along the route with patrons (some intoxicated) looking on from the their chairs or standing on the roadside.  The feeling from the crowd along this route was much different than the rest of the race course.  There was something more subdued and less enthusiastic about it.  It was at this point that I felt like an animal on display and it was an extremely uneasy feeling that caused me to push harder ahead.

At mile 25 medical crews were handing out cups of ice.  I took one and crunched on it as I moved along.  Shortly thereafter the low battery tones started sounding in my headphones.  Just before mile 26 they were dead.  So much for the advertised 6 hour charge time.  I tossed them in my belt and kept moving.  It was on Main Street approaching mile 26 that I found the 5:30 pacers.  I couldn't even recall them having passed me, which was mildly disturbing considering how few runners there seemed to be on the marathon course.  I knew I wanted to beat 5:30 so I turned it on to move past them.

The turn for the home stretch and the finish line found the runners spaced out enough that I was virtually running alone down the strip toward the finish.  It was then that over the blaring music they announced my name to the crowd, who promptly erupted in thunderous applause and cheers.  This carried me all the way to the finish.  Over 26.2 miles and it came down to this one moment.  The doubt, the pain, the hordes of mental demons - all forgotten in the sound of faceless voices celebrating what I had done.  For one single, shining moment I was a rock star.  And with the click of the Garmin button, it was over.

Reality Check

A shiny hunk of metal.

After having crossed the finish line, I noticed that the race organizers had moved everything further back from the finish line.  Last year's race had everyone bunching up just after the finish to receive your medal, and pick up some recovery snacks.  This year, after crossing the line, I wasn't even sure there were medals left.  I limped to the point several yards away where the volunteers were putting the medals on the runners.  Medal hanging around my chest, I made my way to the area where the bananas and Powerade were.  I wanted nothing more than to find some place to sit.  The pain in my left hip had returned so severely that I almost laid down on the ground where I was, but I knew I had to keep standing.  Laying down might mean not getting up.

My family and friends hadn't been able to come to the race, and watching the other runners excitedly reunite with their loved ones I was struck by a certain degree of disappointment.  My rock star moment was something that they hadn't shared.  I also knew that no matter how I tried to explain to them what had happened on this day - on the run and in the last few moments before crossing the finish - they would never fully appreciate the gravity of it.  I have used the title 'One Man Running' since I began running for a variety of reasons.  Standing there on the other side of the finish line among all the other finishers, silk ribbon and hunk of metal securely around my neck, I was reminded of one of those reasons.

Pulling myself out of momentary self-pity I stumbled back toward the finish line.  Corey still hadn't come in and just prior to the start he had made a comment about meeting him at the finish line.  So I stood there and waited.  Even though I knew Corey would have family waiting for him, it is something all together different when someone that has just suffered through the same pain is there to greet you at the end.  I didn't wait long and Corey came through the finish in true superhero fashion with his daughter running beside him (you can read Corey's story and see a video clip here).

After welcoming Corey back in from the road I decided to head back to the car.  My earlier decision to park a mile away now my next, and hopefully final, challenge of the day to face.  It took a minute to find my way out of the fenced off enclosure around the "Fest-A-Ville".  Not only did I feel like an animal again, but an angry, injured one.  So after making my way back to the street I literally limped/shuffled the mile back to the car.  I had the sensation that something was missing, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what.

Post-race Thoughts

I had some residual soreness, especially in my left hip, after the race, but nothing like I would have expected.  I popped a few Advil and had a professional massage on Sunday where I discovered that my calves were a little more tender than I thought.  Overall, however, I felt pretty good and continue to do so.  So now I'm simply trying to determine what comes next.

And it finally occurred to me what it was that was missing that day that I limped my way back to the car.  In January, after running 26.2 miles, I was overcome by the dreaded "marathon blues"; a complete loss of interest in running.  This time, however, was different.  Not only did I not have that feeling, but I actually was ready to run again by Monday.  Perhaps not marathon distance, but ready none-the-less.  Quite honestly I'm a little surprised at both my physical rebound as well as my mental/emotional recovery.  I'm in a good place.  I just need to figure out how to make the most of it.

So there you have it.  Way more information than you probably wanted or was even interested in.  I should take a poll to see how many people just quit reading after a certain point.  I do promise you though no matter how painful it may have been, it was much more exhausting to write.  I'll do my best to treat my race reports with more brevity in the future; although I can make no promises there.  So until next time, I remain one man...running.