Dropping

Dropping, not to be confused with Lance Armstrong and "Doping", is similar to the feeling you get when walking down a flight of stairs and you think there is one more step but when you step down you bottom out and your stomach smashes against your spleen...

And you drop.

I took the phone call about two weeks ago.  It was my boss and one doesn't generally ignore calls from the boss if one desires to keep one's job.  "I need you to attend this conference in Austin.  You'll have to be there on Sunday, February 3rd at 1:00pm."

And I dropped.

To understand the significance of this, you must realize that my whole YEAR has been leading up to Saturday, February 2nd (Happy Birthday, Mom).  Rocky Raccoon was to be my first 100 mile race.  No small task in the undertaking; no small feat in the preparation.  To run 100 miles, I planned on spending at least 24 hours on the trail.  Although it was very likely and even probable that I would be out for more like 28-30 hours.  The race begins on Saturday, Feb. 2nd at 6 am.

What my boss told me essentially was that I would have to start running at 6AM on Saturday.  Run all night.  Finish (assuming I did) the race in 28 hours or so.  Shower and change clothes.  Then make the 3 hour drive to Austin in about an hour and a half to check into the conference and spend the rest of the day (on NO sleep) going over financial statements on loan compliance.

Impossible, you say. 
Maybe for others. 
But for me.............................................................Impossible.

And I dropped.

I contacted the race director, who happens to be a very understanding man, and despite the fact that the refund deadline had already passed, he allowed me to drop from the 100 mile race to the 50 mile race.

I will still run, I will still ache when it's over.  I will still hold my head high and proudly cross that finish line and display my finishers medal on my wall...but I will have to wait for my first 100 miler.

Failure's not Flattering

The day dawned bright and sunny.  There was a slight breeze and just a hint of a cloud cover.  62 degrees and PERFECT for running.  I never felt better.

I wish I could start my post this way.  I wish it was true.  But if you've come looking for an inspiring post about the perfect Marathon...you, my friend, will have to keep looking.  It is my sad but serious responsibility to record the truth, no matter how unpleasant.  And the unpleasant truth in this case is that the day was anything but bright and sunny.

Grey clouds hung low overhead, so thick that at times you felt as if you were walking through them.  You could be the optimist and say, "At least it didn't rain."  But you would be sadly mistaken.  For it did rain.  It rained for most of the day.  Not the pleasing "I love the smell of rain" rain, but the bitter "My wedding day is cursed" rain that Hollywood so aptly applies when the Hero dies.

The optimist may venture to say, "We need the rain, and as long as there is no wind the rain can be dealt with."  The optimist, in this case, is correct.  Unfortunately for the runners, there was wind.  Cold wind.  The kind of wind that cuts though your layers of technical clothing and pierces not only your skin but your very heart.

When all has failed my "the Glass is Still Half Full" friend may attempt the never failing, "Well, at least you have your health" line. 

WRONG AGAIN!

Sucking down my special prerace drink

This race was supposed to be a training run for my 100 miler next month.  It probably wasn't the perfect scenario anyways but it was what I wanted to do.  I was signed up for a marathon on New Years Eve and a second Marathon on New Years Day.  2 Marathons in 2 Day.  It was not the craziest race I've ever signed up for.  In fact, I hadn't really given it much thought.  I would show up, run, run some more, go home and keep running to get ready for the Big One.

The week before the race, I ran 26 miles to let my body feel what it was like.  Then all hell broke lose.  The flu ran through town and found it's way into our home.  Colds, allergies and bronchitis ran through town as if they were training for a Marathon also.  I worried about the minor aches and pains that I had dealt with for months.  Would they flare up in the middle of the race?  Had I over trained?  Had I trained enough?  Was I fit enough and mentally prepared for this?

I started coughing a couple days before the race.  No big deal, I thought, as I chewed on Vitamin C as if it were Skittles. 

I set two objectives going into this race: (1.) Finish a Marathon in under 4 hours and (2.) Finish two marathons in 2 days.

I accomplished neither.  (My head hangs in shame)

The 30 degree temperatures and rain made the day cold.  The wind made it miserable.  But with my first goal in mind, I took off from the starting line like there wasn't a care in the world.  I averaged an 8:30 min/mile for the first 6.6 mile loop.  If I kept it under 9, I would break 4 hours.  I did a quick systems check: I was not cold only because my body heat kept me warm, my hands were a little cold because the rain had soaked my cotton gloves, my legs were pretty tired considering I was only a quarter of the way into this beast, my pace was good.

In retrospect, I should have focused less on my pace and more on all the other issues.  I didn't.  I kept the pace.  By 13.1 miles (halfway) I was at 1:54.  I was pushing hard.  Judging by the tax on my body, I would have guessed that I had run a 1:45, maybe even a 1:40 half.  Or that I had covered 18-20 miles.  My heart rate was up and I couldn't keep my breathing steady.  This was a very bad state to be in at the halfway point.

I allowed my pace to slow for the next loop and began to walk through the aid stations as I drank Gatorade.  Without the extra effort, my breathing came under control and my heart began to slow...I also began to shiver.  My clothing was now soaked through and through and the wind cut like a chain saw.
I tried to focus on the music I had, it didn't help.  I tried to focus on the racers around me; it didn't help.  I looked for my cheering section...they were wisely back at the hotel.

I passed a sign that said 16 miles.  I thought I would be elated when I passed the sign but all I could think of was, "Please, not another 10 miles in this crap."  But there was nothing to do but grit your teeth and run.

By the start of my last loop, breaking 4 hours seemed impossible.  I was already at 3:10.  The chances of my running a 50 minute 10 K after running 20 miles in 30 degree weather with wind was not likely.  But I found some small comfort in knowing that it was the last loop.  I told myself, "It's the last time I take this corner.  Last time I'll hit this aid station, last time I'll jump over that snake (or stick that looks like a snake).

By mile 23 I picked up my pace again.  I began hunting the runners in front of me.  One by one I would pick them off and pass them.  Each time I passed one, I would look ahead and pick a new victim.  My legs were cramping pretty badly by this point, but I knew I could muscle through it.

Just passed mile 25, my cheer squad was waiting.  There wasn't a lot left in the tank but I tried to push anyways.

As I rounded the 2nd to last corner, there was one person between me and the finish line.  It didn't seem likely, but I decided to try and catch her anyways.

My official finishing time was 4:21:57.  Not even close to my goal of 4 hours.  What was worse...I knew I was now full fledged sick.

As I tried to walk the 10 yards from our car to the Hotel entrance, I began to shake so violently that I could hardly stand.  My skin was hot and dry and my legs wouldn't cooperate with me.  And I had less than 24 hours before I had to do it again.

I ate, rested, stretched, rested and ate some more.  My body felt like it had been run over by a freight train (I don't personally know what it's like to be hit by a train...but I imagine it was like this.)  By the next morning, I could hardly move.  I knew I was running a fever.

I tried to jog a little to warm up/loosen up.  The weather man claimed that the rain was over.  He obviously failed to look out the window because it was still falling.  I ran about 20 yards on legs that felt more like broom sticks.  If I tried to run 26 miles in this weather again, I was sure I'd be in serious trouble.

Some would call it quiting.  Some may call it self preservation.  I did what I had to do.  I dropped from the full marathon to the half.  It may sound crazy, but the thought of 26 miles seemed impossible.  13 miles, however, was just a walk in the park.  So that's what I did. 

By the time the race started, I knew I could muscle through 13 miles and while I wasn't happy about having to drop from the Marathon distance, I felt like it was the right thing to do.

I ran an easy half and finished in about 2 hours 5 minutes.