Marathon, Take 2

After the disappointment of getting the flu right before the Denver marathon, I decided to give it another try at the California International Marathon in Sacramento, CA. Now I normally wouldn't go through so much trouble to run a marathon, but I'd been challenged my friend Tim to qualify for the Boston Marathon in April so that I could run it with him. So of course I had to try. After over six months of training, I was READY to do this. Unfortunately, the Boston Marathon reached its entry quota about a week before I traveled to Sacramento, but I knew that if I qualified I could run Boston in 2011. Rather than retell the story, I've re-posted an account that I wrote shortly after the race here:

Race day started well. I actually slept the night before, which I was not expecting. Up at 4:15 to eat the first of two bagels w/ peanut butter that would hopefully fuel me for the majority of the race. Had a really hard time eating due to nerves, but I choked 'em down with a lot of water and a little coffee.

Out the door of the hotel to catch the bus to the start. This was a point-to-point race, so we had to ride the whole 26+ miles to a little town outside of Sacramento called Folsom. You may recognize it from the Johnny Cash song. When I stepped out off the bus, it was COLD. Below freezing with a touch of fog and some breeze to top it off. I'd been acting all hard the past couple of days because I was "from Colorado," but this cold had me somewhat worried. I'd worn a couple of layers, along with pants and gloves, thinking that I'd throw them all in the gear bag before the race, but I only took off the pants in the end because it was so chilly.

Race time. I warmed up really well and literally ran up to the start line just as the gun was going off. I'd decided to run with a pace group to take away the stress of having to keep my own pace via my GPS watch, which turned out to be an excellent move. When I started, I was running with the 3:30 pace group but needed to catch up to the 3:10 by the finish. They guarantee that if you stick with them, you finish at the designated time. The guys and gals leading those pace groups were rock stars - our guy held a steady pace the whole way without fail. Anyway, I started a little slow and had to keep reminding myself that I had 26 miles to catch the guy. I chatted it up with a couple people over the first few miles and was feeling really good. I made sure to keep the 3:10 guy in site (they were carrying red signs on long sticks) the whole time.

Around mile 10 or 12, I caught up to the 3:15 guy and ran with them for a little bit. I'd heard that the course was deceptively hilly in the first half but a downhill cruise in the second, so I was trying to hold back. I cruised through the halfway point at about a 7:18 pace - I needed a 7:15 to qualify, so this was a good sign. My legs were feeling great, I was grabbing water and gatorade at the aid stations, and generally staying calm and collected. I talked to a couple of people looking to qualify as well, which was fun and connecting and energizing. I had the 3:10 pacer within fifty yards by mile 14 and actually started having thoughts that I was going to make it.

Miles 14-19 were tough. We turned into a 10-15 mph headwind and struggled up and down the rolling hills. People tucked in and were trying to draft one another, but I couldn't seem to find a good place. The pace group got tighter, but I was still about 20 yards behind most of the time. I noticed that my stomach was slowly emptying, which for me is a BAD sign. I had packed four energy gels to eat along the way (basically 100 calorie packs of sugar goo w/ caffeine) and dipped into them ahead of schedule, which worried me. My legs were starting to feel the hills, but I tried to stay positive and keep calm.

Everyone talks about miles 20-26 as "the wall." This is where I melted down in my first marathon, to the point where I was almost literally crawling down the Denver streets. People around me were starting to show fatigue, but I kicked through 20-22 with no problem. I'm feeling good at this point - fantasies about crossing the finish line and how I'll accept congratulations (confidently yet humbly) are floating through my head. Then things gets rough. My legs bottomed out around 23, and I had exhausted my store of gels with little benefit. I was really struggling to stay on pace and the group started to pull away. Then a few things happened - 1) I went through an aid station that was giving out energy gels and grabbed one. This gave me a little extra kick. 2) There were 3 or 4 separate spectators giving out orange slices along the course, and I was able to grab probably 10-15 total and just pound them. Stomach is feeling better at this point as the carbs and sugar are getting into the blood and solid food is taking up some space. 3) I run past a speaker system playing Alabama's "Roll On." You might wonder why that matters, but this just happens to be one of those songs that we used to listen to CONSTANTLY as little kids with my parents. So I get this surge of emotion and adrenaline around mile 24.5 and decide that I am going to do this. I started kicking a little harder and passing some of the people who were struggling. Gradually that pacer came closer and closer, and I just felt that energy building as the crowd got louder and the oranges kicked in. The last couple of miles of the race go down the same street with number avenues marking the blocks, so I was just counting down from 59 to 8 and praying that there was enough time to catch up.

I finally caught the pace guy at mile 26 even. The streets were packed with people cheering us on, which felt awesome. Here it's important to note a detail that I forgot earlier - my dad had surprised me by flying in the day before to watch the race. He called from outside my hotel and asked if I wanted some company for dinner, totally nonchalantly. So we'd spent the evening watching football and eating pasta. This was huge because I'd traveled to Sacramento mainly out of frustration after missing the Denver race and insisted that Carrie not come so that we could save money. So having him there was a big motivation. He used to be a runner, a really good one, and I had all sorts of fantasies about making him proud.

Back to the race. I pulled up next to the pace guy and said, "I've been chasing you the whole race - it feels awesome to be finally running beside you." He just smiled real big and said, "Nice work, man" and laughed. He was a great guy - one of those people who emanates positive energy even at mile 26 of a marathon. So I pass him and look up to see my dad, yelling and just looking SO pumped. He's normally a pretty reserved guy, but he's going all out, screaming my name with his fists in the air - seeing him all excited just sent this huge surge of adrenaline through me. It's choking me up to think about it again. So I run over and give him a solid high five as I run past, just feeling like I was the king of the world.

From there it was only another 300 yards or so to the finish - I took a couple of left turns to the finish chute and was pumping my fist the whole way, trying to get the crowd crunk. Whether they actually cheered louder or I just imagined it, it felt great. Then it was done - 3:09:45, one minute and fifteen seconds faster than I needed to qualify.