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FLRC Newsletter - Jun 2003 |
| Boston Marathon '03 | |
Was marathon number eight for me, and number three of the new career.
This one was the slowest and the hardest of the recent set, and taught me the most about how long and intently I can focus through pain. My placing at 1259 / 17,xxx was about 500 better than last year.
3:10:00 - 55 second walk to the start line = 3:09:05. The latter is what they record, and it's within the standard to qualify for next year's edition.
Many of you know that I live by the low running mileage multisport training plan. I stand by it. I ran somewhere around 30 miles per week, with a maximum week of probably less than 40 miles.
I can recite a list of selected training challenges and setbacks. A bruise near my knee caused me to take a week off from running in March. My job search has been super stressful. The winter made it hard for me to train at the intensity I wanted. Too many chocolate brownies. (oops...I mean, that gold medal from Empire State Games is sooooo heavy.)
The race itself: the course is famous; generally downhill the first 5 miles, various mild features the next few miles, then a series of short "hills" from around mile 13 to mile 22. Downhill, and then almost flat to about 25.7. Right turn and up a gentle slope for a long lock, turn left, and see the finish.
The opening 5 km was on a 6:45 pace. That would be cool. Duplicating last year's even-split performance would yield a big PR. Somewhere around mile 7, my quads told me all was not right. Th descent had taken a toll.
Mile 9, my left glute tightened. It was way too early to be experiencing those pains. At the one-third point, I wondered if I would be permitted to run Boston in '04 without an additional marathon to requalify. It would be so much nicer to have an option to improve my qualifying time. Mile 11, a lovely cramp through my hip adductors. The start temperature was 70 F, not so cool, so I had already been religiously taking Gatorade at every mile.
I decided to be more evangelical and get two, three if I could manage to hit the beginning of the right side aid, the end of the right side aid, and then cross over the street and hit the left side aid, which was always offset to be just a bit further along. At 30 meters per oscillation, that's an extra quarter mile I ran.
Mile 16, there goes the left calf. At each of these incidents, I remembered a specific exercise or drill I had done to practice the correct movement of these parts. To my pleasant surprise, I was able to focus on good form and for the most part, my throbbing limbs obeyed. The splits went from 7:00 to 7:10 to around 7:30. I had put in nearly an hour of intense concentration, and there was still more than an hour to go, remembering how to move my body while still relaxing.
Skipping back to mile 10: for those early miles I had the impression of people streaming past me. At mile 10, I was roughly even with the pack. I tried three times to run with people, but each time, a short interrogation resulted in an answer like "I'm just here for the medal,"and they shot out the back. At the "hill" near mile 17, I was making progress against the crowd, while seeing time slip away. I write "hill" because the grades are more like College Avenue. Nothing approximately like Buffalo shows up. The downhills seared my quads. I knew to tip forward to minimize the impact and alsomaximize speed. The worst part was getting around the person in front of me who stiffened, winced, and slowed.
A voice in the crowd at mile 20 informed that it was all downhill from there. Except he forgot to mention Heartbreak Hill at mile 21. I knew about that. Except it's really Heartbreak "Hill" and I like going up. They should hype Brookline Hill, which is the cruel descent at mile 22. I had already been working over splits for miles now. I had 7:15 to 7:40 depending on the terrain. Here I finally worked out that flat 8's would get me to mile 26 at just before 3:10:00. Then I'd need all of the seconds and all of the starting differential to get the qualifying standard.
At mile 23, I almost cried. To come so far, to be already committed to the succeeding days of pain, and possibly miss the goal!
At mile 24, I saw the split near 7:30. I was off the descent. I had overcome all the ramps wracking my muscles. I took two Gatorades and decided to ignore the drink at mile 25. There would be no time for that to help anyway. It helps that from 23.5, I can see the Citgo sign which overlooks the mile 25 marker. There is a red marker at one mile to go. I did a pickup there. I know there's an underpass, and then a run toward the barracade, and then the turn where it's pointless to fight for the inside, because the next turn is opposite.
Mile 26, 7:17 split. Mile 27: seems like about 5 minutes to go less than once around the track. won't that digital counter please slow down. The split was 1:32 for 385 yards.
Past the finished, I was wobbly and misty. I poured down 20 oz. of water and another 20 of Gatorade. When a race volunteer went to collect my timing chip, my left gastrocnemius seized.
As I protested that it would just pass, she fetched some medical folks with a wheelchair. Then my forearm cramped. They got me over to the medial tent. That's the place to get massage. The regular postrace massage is down a flight of stairs; how cruel! I had 6 PT students working on me. As I tried to point where it hurt, my left pectoralis major cramped. The right instep spasmed. The PTs weren't buying my plea that my lips were spasming as well. My core temperature was depressed. They sent a volunteer to fetch my clothes from the baggage bus. Conservative treatment got me good to go. By 4:15, I was wandering around the finish area toward the meeting point with my friends.
I learned more about my response to training and stress. I also learned that I can endure a higher level of... suffering than I realized.
The end, except for the job interview from 9am to 5:30pm the next day.
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