|
Results
| Name |
Time |
Pace |
Placing |
Div |
| Jason Grose |
4:07:11 |
9:26 |
71/164 |
14 (Men 30-39) |
(For
an account of the ride to Pennsylvania, read this)
Like
every single marathon I've run, it started with an alarm. It's
always early, too early. But I had an extra little bonus to
contend with on this auspicious day: I had all of about 4 ½
hours of sleep.
For
those of you that know me, you will understand. Go ahead, get
the gasps out of the way.
Yes,
folks, I like sleep like Oprah likes applause. I just can't
ever seem to get enough so 4 ½ hours to me is like a
catnap before a marathon. After driving for too many hours last
night. I know, not ideal.
Further
along the miracle trolley, I shouldn't have even woke up then.
I set two alarms just in case, one being the hotel clock and
one being my watch. I SET the motel clock but I didn't exactly
TURN ON the hotel clock alarm. Yes, I went through the trouble
of setting the hour and minute of the alarm, made sure it was
on AM and that (by this time) the current time was correctly
AM, and then brilliantly set it down without the least bit of
thought to actually turn the alarm on.
THIS
is why you go for two alarms: to head off wholesale assheadedness.
Somewhere
in the recesses of my mind was a beeping... far off... almost
dreamily.
"Why
is something beeping? Oh, if it's my watch, why didn't the
motel alarm go off? SHIT!"
First
thoughts complete.
I
had taken the time to get everything ready like I always do
so all I had to do was stumble toward the shower, fall into
my clothes, and get out the door. All this was accomplished
with minimal effort, culminating in my eating the last slice
of cold pizza for a good luck gluttony-fest. Hey, I needed the
carbs!!!
Normally,
I despise "Continental Breakfasts." Why? Now this
is really silly but it is because it's free. For some reason
I think that it has to cost something to be worth something.
Irrational, I know, but nevertheless, that's the way I'm wired.
But
today, it was OK because I could down a little cup of yogurt
(didn't HAVE to mix it becaue it was pre-mixed), a banana, and
a small cup of coffee for the hopefully, uh, evacuation effects
before the race. Remember, people, I downed an entire medium
pizza in the last 8 hours and in some state, it was still in
me.
I
drove to the high school where they were bussing us to the start
line. This way, we would be "running back" to where
we started, or ended. You know what I mean.
I
got on the bus and it was obviously for little kids so my knees
were crammed into the seat in front of me. The only thing that
interrupted my normal standoffishness of having my headphones
on was a volunteer coming on the bus and welcoming us to the
race. He also warned us to keep all arms, legs, and other body
parts inside the bus at all times and that last year, someone
had thrown out a water bottle. This caused the local police
to pull the bus over and the race was delayed by a half hour.
Can
you imagine how embarrassing that would be for the offender?
And how much of an ass do you have to be to pull a school bus
over, especially knowing that this marathon was the biggest
thing that happens in the place all year. It's not like the
cop didn't know. Yeah, yeah, public safety, yadda yadda. I don't
want to hear it, Chris.
We
got to another school in Galeton where we offloaded and headed
to the bathrooms. Grown men waiting not-so-patiently in line
for the crapper. It was quite a sight and more than a little
pressure when you occupied one of the two stalls. Never had
my natural functions been under such scrutiny because it was
a regular stall. Something about actually being able to see
the person's feet and knowing when he sat, stood up, etc. caused
the kind of pressure you didn't want and that didn't exist with
the normal run-of-the-mill port-a-potties.
The
great thing about this race was that they had a lot of Gu. I
am a Gu guy and train with the stuff without fail. So when they
announced that there would be Gu at miles 5, 10, 15, and 20,
I was thrilled. Five mile increments was exactly what I trained
with so it was ideal. Plus, they had water stations every mile.
Let me restate that: EVERY MILE!!!! Oh, this was just plain
being spoiled.
I
milled around trying not to be nervous and trying to shut off
the voice that was telling me I had not trained enough for this
race. The weather was overcast and cool. All signs pointed toward
a good race and I was more relaxed that I had been at the start
line in a long time. The Voice was turned off and I was ready
to race.
Everything
was going fine for the first 8 miles. I was clocking some good
speeds and nothing was bothering me when I came up to another
runner. The field was pretty spread out, not because of my speed
but because of the number of people running it so coming up
to another runner was a mini-event.
She
said something to me and I felt obligated to take out my earphones
to see what she said and I was really glad I did.
"Only
9 miles to go!"
Nine
miles? Was this lady crazy?
"Nine
miles until what?"
"Then
it goes downhill."
(Needle
scratches record and then silence.)
"You
mean to tell me that this road goes uphill for 17 miles?"
"Yeah,
but then the last 8 are downhill."
Great,
like a full body massage 10 minutes after the time of death.
I
guess this is what they meant by "Conquer the Mountain."
I gotta start reading the fine print before I sign up for these
damn things!!!!
As
she scooted ahead of me when I ducked into the bathroom at mile
10, I was glad that she had told me the layout of the course.
She also gave me a little nugget of intel that I was very grateful
for: the last mile of the 17 mile ascent was very steep. OK,
I had my mental map and now all I had to do was execute. (Maybe
I should use a different term there.)
Knowing
that the course would go uphill up to mile 17 somehow made it
better. I can't imagine what would be going through my mind
if I hadn't known. Probably something both vulgar and nearly
unintelligible, I'm sure. But this didn't mean it wasn't devoid
of challenge.
I
hit the halfway point at 1:53 which was way faster than a sub-4
hour finish time. That got me excited because I started thinking
that yeah, I'd slow down due to the distance but at the same
time, it would be downhill and if I could clock that kind of
pace going uphill, then going downhill I should at least be
able to match that. It was one of the few moments I let myself
think about time and pace. The rest of the time was just concentrating
on keeping a rhythm, relaxing, and trying not to crap my running
shorts.
The
17th mile was no joke. What I didn't know is that at the top,
there was a ski resort so you do the mental image. I felt like
I was a cripple walking up a flight of stairs. It was just pitiful.
I
got to the top and if I would have had anything left to celebrate
with, I would have hooped and hollered. As it was, I kind of
just grunted and whimpered.
As
promised, the road snaked downhill and my legs suddenly came
back to life. In fact, they got really excited about the whole
situation and I found myself falling down the mountain at an
incredible pace. With my toes slamming to the front of my shoes,
I must have been doing 7 minute miles. It was just so easy and
after 17 miles of uphill drudgery, the body just kind of took
over and said "You know what? We're going to run for awhile."
For
the second time, I started doing math. I didn't say I was doing
it well, but I was doing it. After a few attempts (a fact that
I find depressing) I came up with the calculation that I would
only have to do 9-minute miles to crack 4 hours.
Then
I put it out of my mind. Just run, Jason, for God's sake, JUST
RUN!!
The
memories run together but at some point I felt like pushing
it to stay up with the pace. At another point I told myself
to just run and let the time take care of itself, I'd make it.
Then it would turn to a conviction that I would not make it,
that I would burn out. Then it would start over.
The
turning point came when it leveled out and I hit a small (now
HUGE) uphill. Breaking my rule for the third time, I calculated
that I would have to clock 8 minute miles for the last hour.
I think that's what did it.
Suddenly,
I was engulfed by the Wall. I slowed way down and started taking
unscheduled walking breaks. Dammit!!!
I
know what caused this and how to fix it. I always said that
the first 20 miles are run with your legs and the last 6 are
with your heart but let me update that assessment: the last
6 miles also have a lot to do with brute strength. I think the
first 20 miles have a lot to do with long training runs but
the last 6 have to do with weight training; the raw strength
in the muscle that it takes to push through those last 6 miles.
Combined with the heart to extract that strength is the "heart"
it takes but if you didn't make the investment (as I didn't)
to get into the gym and boost up that raw strength, well, you'd
end up where I was at.
It
only got better when I accepted that I was not going to break
4 hours. Like all marathons, I found myself in the company of
others that were fighting similar battles. We urged each other
to get to the finish line and that it was almost over but your
concentration swayed between their plight and your internal
battles.
The
last mile was... the last mile. I've put it many ways but usually
fall into the category of "I can die at the end" and
"this shit has got to get over like real quick."
So I pulled my bootstraps up and started clocking a pace that
was not only acceptable anywhere in the race but rather impressive
at this point. I passed about 3 people in that last mile because
I was almost at a dead sprint, not exactly knowing where the
end was because they wound the end around the downtown area
and I didn't know if the next corner was the final stretch or
not. I only had to deal with two false finish lines until I
saw the real one and sprinted across in 4:07:11, the second
best marathon finishing out of now 12 attempts. Like all finishes,
I felt a combination of emotion and relief. I did it. Again.
Finishing what only 1/10 of 1% of humans ever accomplish.
Stumbling
around like Bambi on ice, I got my tiny medal and went over
to the snack table. Downing another water, some fruit, a Gatorade,
and one bite of bagel (which was like bubble gum in my dehydrated
mouth) I hung around the area for a little bit waiting for them
to post the times. Knowing I wasn't going to be getting any
kind of award other than the one I got, I decided to make my
way back to the hotel room.
I
know that completing a marathon is its own reward but there
is something inherently depressing about not having anyone there
for you when you finish. I returned to the room where I had
left a few hours before and the only differences was that I
was shredded and the bed was made. Other than that...
I
took a shower and decided that sleep was in order. For three
hours, I tossed, turned, sweat, and repeated. At least I didn't
cramp but I woke up soaking wet and decided another shower was
in order before I went to dinner.
Here
was my thought process: I would be too tired and worn out to
attempt an 8 hour drive after the marathon so I will stay in
town that night and maybe meet up with other marathoners and
we could all tell our stories over a celebration dinner somewhere.
I
had blown the whole "making plans" with anyone
because of my pre-marathon stodginess and post-marathon haste
to get back to the room and sleep. "Oh well"
I thought "Maybe I'll run into someone out in town."
Here
is where I had seriously miscalculated on two points. First,
that the other marathoners would be staying in town after the
marathon. Second, that there would be a place for marathoners
to gather, eat, share, celebrate, etc. In my idealized view,
I would find a place replete with happy post-marathoners celebrating
the day's events, welcoming me with open arms and eager to hear
my revelry.
OK,
everyone left. And by "everyone" I mean EVERYONE.
I think some of the locals were not even around and by my estimates,
there likely wasn't more than a few hundred of those on their
best day. I might have been the only marathoner still in the
area and that's no exaggeration.
On
top of that, the place was seriously lacking in any restaurants.
I went up and down the only road in town and other than McDonalds
(which represented the ONLY major chain), everything else was
taverns.
Well,
maybe Galeton, 26 miles away, has something plus this would
give me the chance to see the course I ran today. So I drove
all the way back and much like Coudersport, there was no restaurants.
Criminy!
So
I headed back and finally settled on a tavern about ¼
mile from my hotel. I was so hungry by this point that I was
willing to eat a horse steak. With worm fries.
Walking
into the "café" I realized it was really just
a bar and in fact, a bar that had been created by knocking down
the walls of 3 or 4 hotel rooms. There was only one table full
of people who not only had NOT run the marathon, but were the
kind of people who would ask how long the marathon was. And
why I'd want to run it.
I
bellied up to the bar and after a minute, the one waitress/bartender
who was smoking a cigarette with the cook at the other end of
the bar when I entered, came over and asked me what I would
like.
"A
room full of lactic-acid suffering post-marathoners, please."
Actually,
I ordered a beer and a T-bone steak and she told me that it
would be awhile because the big table had already ordered. Great,
I'd just sit there and read the book I brought, sipped my beer,
and waited to be fed. Moo.
After
I was done I got on the deserted street once again and headed
back to my room where I continued to read my book until I had
the brilliant idea that a McFlurry would be the greatest thing
in the entire world.
Once
again, I got on the deserted streets and headed toward the Golden
Arches. I couldn't decide between M&Ms or Oreo but my conundrum
was solved when the high school kid informed me that all they
had was small so that enabled me to get both. I know, but I
was in a celebratory mood with all the craziness going on around
me, I just kind of lost my sense.
Is
there any more pitiful sight than me sitting in a hotel room
alone with two McFlurrys reading a book and trying to ignore
the fact that my body was severely pissed off at me?
Yeah,
that's the thought that was racing through my head, too.
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