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FLRC Newsletter - July 2004 |
| Vermont City Marathon | |
Karen, myself, Melissa, Boris, and Imes left for Vermont early on Saturday morning. It was a beautiful day for a drive, and we took the scenic route through the Adirondacks. In the early afternoon, we arrived in Burlington and stopped at the expo to pick our race packets. There was bonding and hilarity in the meantime, but I think I'll fill some of those parts in later, which may not be appropriate for a family-friendly newsletter. They can wait to be shared on the roads and trails.
We finally found Terry's place, and we got ourselves settled. Before dinner, Melissa went for a run (she wasn't running the marathon the next day), while the rest of us went for a walk along the road. When we got back, Terry had finished the first of a series of culinary masterpieces, a delicious chicken and pasta dish, which we devoured eagerly.
We woke up at 6 am the next morning, and each took our own breakfasts. I decided on my usual PowerBar and banana, washed down with a bunch of Gatorade, the stuff I usually have before long runs. (Asst editor's note: So, Jay, do you receive remuneration for product placement? If so, where's the kickback for Diane and me?) At 7:15, we were on the road, traveling up to Burlington. We were at the start 20 minutes or so before the gun. I went to drop off our baggage at the check, and I found the lineup a couple minutes before the gun. I lined up with Terry and a couple of his buddies, one who was planning on running 2:58 or so, and the other a 2:56. I wanted to break three hours, so I thought I would go out with these guys. That would be my Big Mistake for the day. The race experience itself was incredible, though. This was the first time I had so many people cheering me on. There were drummers at different spots in the course, and I never went through a mile without someone giving support. The scenery was beautiful, ranging from nice downtown areas, to lakefront bike paths, to cosy residential areas. I also had a great number: triple 8's. Even more funny was that I spent a few miles running with number 999.
It's pretty clear what happened. I went out way too fast. I was almost 2 minutes under my intended pace after the first 4 miles. They were downhill, and I somehow convinced myself that this meant my pace was okay during the race. At mile 4, I was at 25:44, averaging a 6:26 pace when I should have been at 6:50 or so. My heart rate was above target, and I was 1:36 under my expected split. I slowed down to the pace I should have been at for the next 4 miles, but it was too little too late. I took a Goo packet at mile 10, and washed it down. I went through the half feeling great, at 1:27:44, but at mile 14, I started to feel a little bit of a warning sign in my legs. I slowed up a bit again, going up the one major hill in the course (which isn't really that major).
At mile 18, I took another Goo, and I had slowed down enough that I was exactly on target for a sub-3 finish, but this is also the time that I fell apart. Going into mile 19, my heart rate came close to its maximum, and I was hyperventilating. I had to stop just to catch my breath. It was interesting, since my legs weren't really hurting that much. I could move them just fine, but my breathing would get out of control. The rest of the race was stop and go. I would run for 5 minutes, and then have to take a breather again. After mile 22 my legs started cramping up, mainly my hamstrings and calves. Even this wasn't really what slowed me down (I actually 'ran' the last 4.2 miles at a faster pace than miles 18–22). It was just the breathing issue. It was odd to feel my legs twinge as I ran, but not really painful. I ran the last 1.2 miles without stopping, and as I came into the park, I ran by the finish line with about 0.3 miles left, and I watched 3:10 click to 3:11, my goal of qualifying for Boston disappearing. I managed a kick for the finish, the clock hitting 3:13:04 as I crossed; my chip time was right at 3:13:00. I tried, but I don't think I even remotely managed a smile across the finish line (not in depression, but just from exhaustion), although I did throw my hands up in a sort of victory gesture. I was draped with a finisher's medal and a blanket, and I was guided to a nice girl who took my chip off my shoe while I kept my head on my knees. I got a hug from Melissa, and from my parents, who had come up from Massachusetts to watch the race. I was pretty dazed, and I think I walked off in mid-sentence without saying where I was going.
I went to the med tent briefly, since my pupils seemed to be very dilated. The world looked like an overexposed photograph. A few minutes later, though, I seemed to be recovered. Terry finished just a little bit behind me, although I didn't see him come through. Terry and I watched and cheered Karen through the finish, but we then lost track of her as she visited the med tent (see Karen's account in the following article). After a couple of hours, we all finally met up, and made it back to Terry's in one piece.
That evening, we drank celebratory wine, consumed delicious grilled meat and salad with our host, and slept soundly. In the morning, Terry made us pancakes and bacon. Yummy. The weekend was wonderful in every way. I raced over three times farther than I ever have in my life, and I did it with a great group of friends. It is a memory I will cherish forever, my first, and definitely not my last, marathon.
Thanks to everyone for all the advice that I should have followed better, for company during workouts, and for all the well wishes before the race.
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