Dallas Marathon, 2007, Part 4
Part 3 click here
The
road would find C_ with her pace group, marking time to the beat of
her group leader, Bill. Like me C_ found the early going crowded and
slippery. Bill directed the group from side to side through the crowd
with shouts of “head left!” and “head right!” The group dutifully
followed; mustn’t get too far behind the leader! And unlike me, who cast
off my group by mile 4 or 5, C_ was much more committed to her pace
team. So she dutifully weaved left and dodged right through the first
crowded few miles of the race.
Their first 2 or 3 miles were a bit
slower than pace, so Bill had them speed up a bit through the leafy
neighborhoods preceding the loop around the lake. Bill didn’t talk much,
he didn’t engage in much conversation or banter. His focus was on the
race, and running it in time. As the crowd began to thin Bill eased the
pace back a bit to the right pace. They were on schedule as they ran
down the small hill to white rock lake.
As predicted, one benefit
of running with the group became apparent as they circumnavigated the
lake. Bill instructed everyone to close ranks so as to act as a wind
buffer. There was no sense in everyone breaking the wind if they were
all going to run the same pace. They were a team, a peloton sans
rouages.
Around the back side of the lake, probably about the same
place I started to endure my long slow fade, Bill handed over the
reigns of the group to one of the other runners so he could make a pit
stop. As mentioned earlier, the scepter held aloft by the pace team
leader was a long thin stick, emblazoned with several balloons bearing
the crest of the pace team; “3:40” in this case. Having bestowed the
honor upon one of the other group members, Bill was free to go about his
business while the group forged ahead. Catching back up was not going
to be a problem for Bill; he’d run a 3:05 marathon, so a 3:40 marathon
probably seemed fairly pedestrian in comparison.
The problem was
that the new temporary group leader was not as adept at keeping pace.
She began to run 30 seconds per mile faster than the required pace.
“Ha-HA! Look at me! I can be a pace group leader too!” The group began
to splinter apart as a result of the sudden change in tempo. It took C_ a
little time to realize what was going on, before which she began to
think that she was falling apart because she could no longer keep up. C_
had put her trust in Bill and his ability to pace correctly, and with
good reason; at the half way point the group came in 1:49:14; less than a
minute off pace. C_ wasn’t even checking her watch anymore, but she
pretty quickly realized that something was amiss. They were running too
fast. Too much running at this pace would have disastrous impacts later
on. But she also knew the importance of staying with the group, and if
push came to shove, the group leader, whoever it may be. So she tried to
keep up, to ride out this mess until Bill came back to retake the
mantle of group leader, and restore order to the proceedings.
All
of this was going on at just about the same time I was grappling with my
own problems on the back side of the lake. Objectively I was still
running rather well, but in a marathon you can sense oncoming disaster
long before it happens. It’s a slow, gradual, soul-sucking event. But
not all was lost. I tried to focus on the positives. The course was
still scenic. I was well over half way done now. I had no pain in my
legs, or anywhere else; I was getting tired, of course; who wouldn’t be?
Anyway things could be worse. One of my primary concerns was food. I
had lost half my supply of Gu, and already eaten the other half. I was
completely obsessed with snacks at this point.
Luckily for me, the
mile 17 aid station had something more substantial than the ubiquitous
water and Gatorade. Little miniature cliff bars. Like Halloween for
runners! It wasn’t Gu, but it was good enough! I grabbed one, and then
debated about when I should eat it. I thought I should wait until mile
20, but I also knew there was a hill at mile 19. I decided to err on the
side of gluttony and eat it before I got to mile 19. The cliff bar was
mint chocolate flavor. It was peat-black in color, and awfully dry and
difficult to eat without water. It wasn’t like my beloved Gu at all! I
munched about half of it as I approached the aid station just before the
hill at mile 19. I wasn’t fond of the cliff bar but it was better than
nothing. It even made me the slightest bit nauseous. That’s not too
unusual during a run. Again, your body just can’t tolerate much food,
and if you’re not used to eating a particular type of food during a run,
it might make you sick. So I kept munching away, careful to eat it
slowly so as to avoid getting sick. But man was it dry and chalky! Now I
was obsessing about water. I figured I could wash it down with some
water at mile 19. Just then I spotted a spectator on the right side of
the trail with an orange slice in his right hand, and like a religious
artifact, a pack of Gu in his left! Gu! Out of nowhere, Gu! Cue the
Angels singing and all that. And I completely missed him. I was all the
way over on the left side of the trail, and by the time I spotted him
there was another runner blocking my way. Although I briefly considered
doing so, it would have been extremely bad form to bowl over the other
runner in my quest to obtain precious Gu, and I didn’t want to stop and
lose my momentum in order to safely obtain the Gu, so I cried “Gu!” as I
ran by. Lose the Angels. Now how could I go back to the mini cliff bar?
I figured that there might be more Gu up ahead at the mile 19 aid
station, so I stopped eating the cliff bar after passing up the Angel of
Gu there on the lake.
I could hear it before I got there; the
unmistakable sound of multitudes of people having fun! Well, I thought,
haven’t heard that in awhile! Apparently mile 19 is the place to watch
the Dallas Marathon. There was a rocking band, people drinking beer and
offering us the same, Hooters girls passing out water and Gatorade. This
was great! I got a genuine shot of energy from the crowd. I realized
that there really weren’t that many people on the back side of the lake
up to this point. Maybe that lack of spectator support was what had been
dragging me down. I had no idea how much of a boost I was getting from
these people! But they were back! And they also had cliff shots!
Cliff
shots. Sort of like Gu, but they taste less like yummy frosting and
more like fermented brown rice sludge. Supposedly it’s a more “pure”
energy source or something. I’m just saying, I like frosting more than
fermented sludge, and I think most people are on my side here. But “to
each their own”, right? Yeah, if only. Here it’s “to each their own
cliff shots”. But complaining aside, I needed one. I threw down my
half-eaten cliff bar and tacked left to a line of 5 or 6 volunteers
handing out shots. I grabbed the first one I saw, and noticed it was
fruit flavored. I thought “I want vanilla or coffee or something” and
actually threw it at the next guy, who had a vanilla flavored shot at
the ready. I think he thought I was throwing a nasty sticky empty cliff
shot wrapper at him; he sort of recoiled and let it drop. I probably
should have just kept them both or something. Anyway I felt like a jerk,
throwing cliff shots at the volunteers, but you do strange stuff when
you’re running a marathon. But I did end up with a vanilla. Sorry, the
miles made me do it.
It’s pretty common to see elite runners
trying to grab a cup of water or something from a race volunteer and
completely biffing on the attempt, knocking over the cup and getting the
volunteer very wet. I used to see that and think “what a jerk, what an
idiot”. Now I understand all too well that the seemingly simple task of
grabbing a cup of water becomes pretty difficult 19 miles into a race.
You drop it, spill it all over on you, on the ground, on innocent
volunteers and passers by. It’s a mess. And water is the least of your
problems. That Gatorade? Oh it tastes yummy, but you get it all over
yourself. And that stuff is sticky! It gets all over your hand and arm;
it spills on your face and down the front of your shirt. And it is cold
and sticky and annoying! Same goes for that sweet running nectar, the Gu
shot. That stuff gets everywhere, particularly on your fingers. Running
a marathon is messy, sweaty, sticky business. You really have to
embrace the mess or else it becomes yet one more negative gnawing at
your mind.
So embrace it I do. I now have bits of peat-black cliff
bar sludge coming out the corners of my mouth as I’ve finally procured
some water with which to wash it down. My entire right arm is frozen and
sticky with lemon-lime high endurance formula Gatorade from a
disastrous attempt at hydration a few miles back. I’m sure I don’t smell
nice either. And I don’t care! The fantastic crowd at mile 19 gives me a
jolt of energy as I gird myself for the attempt at the “Dolly Parton
Hills” which separate me from the long slow descent to the finish
starting at mile 21. Dolly Parton? Well that can’t be all bad, I figure,
as I make a left turn away from the lake, and start up the first of the
hills. Near the top of the first hill, spectators have set up an
impromptu aid station; how cool is that! And as I approach I realize
that it’s staffed entirely by dudes dressed in drag, sporting rather
generous, uh, attachments in honor of the hills’ namesake. Just
brilliant! It’s rather nice to have stuff like that going on to take my
mind off the race.
The worst of the hills are over at mile 20. I
clock an 8:14, my slowest mile since mile 1, For all my obsessing
earlier about staying below 8:00, considering the terrain, that time is
not discouraging. I actually feel oddly good, way better than usual at
this point. Mile 20 always feels significant in a marathon. It’s a nice
round number. You only have 6.2 miles left at that point. A 10 K. Oh
heck you can run a 10 K, right? Also it is traditionally where you might
start hitting the aforementioned “wall”. The wall is a sad experience.
When you hit it, you know without a doubt that you time will start to
suffer. It’s just a question of how much at that point. At Ft. Collins
in 2006 I hit the wall at mile 21. I proceeded to lose 4 minutes off my
pace in 5 miles, and finish 2 minutes and 30 seconds slower than 3:30.
People often say that the marathon is divided into the first 20 miles,
and the last 6.2. I think this is because you can generally keep things
under control for those first 20, but after that, it’s a crap shoot. You
run 20 miles, approaching 3 hours, with a goal in sight, and blow it in
the last 6. It’s like building a house of cards from the ground
up, and watching it all fall over as you try to put on the roof -- with
the joker, naturally. Or the King of Hearts, depending your viewpoint.
Regardless, it’s extremely disheartening. At this point in Dallas I had
about 3 minutes in the bank. If I hit the wall now, I would almost
certainly finish just over 3:30. Again.It’s like waiting for a
bomb to drop, feeling certain that things are going to fall apart any
minute now. But I keep plugging away nonetheless. After the 21 mile mark
the course turns onto Swiss Street, a straight tree-lined parkway that
trends gently downhill, directly back to downtown. So I’ve got that
going for me. I see a gentleman carrying a large platter with bananas,
cut up candy bars, and orange slices. Oh I’m totally going to hit that! I
run past, make a feeble grab at candy bits, and spill several of them
on to the ground whilst getting none attached to my hand. “Sorry!” I say
as I keep moving. There’s another chance at food gone by the wayside. I
reach the mile 22 mark and check my split time. 7:41. 7:41? That’s
fantastic, much better than anticipated. Far from losing time against my
3:30 goal, I’m actually banking even more time, even this late in the
race. Let’s try to keep that going! As I cross the mile 23 mark, I look
again. A 7:45 mile! And my total elapsed time is almost exactly 3 hours
of running. That means I have 30 minutes in which to run the last 3
miles of this race. 10 minute miles, I think. I can do the math, and the
equation favors me. If I can run faster than 10 minute miles from this
point forward, I will break 3:30. I repeat that to myself again. I will
break 3:30. What a turnabout from just a few miles back! I just need to
hold it together for a few more miles.
Part 5 click here
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