The marathon started fairly early as far as marathons go. 6:15am. Debbie lives 45 minutes from the start so we ended up leaving at 4am. It was drizzling pretty hard and all I planned to wear was a tank top and shorts. Debbie and I poked a head and arm holes in trash bags and put them on.
I always start out too fast at the beginning of the marathon due to excitement and adrenaline and the large crowd. I planned to be around 3:45 for the finish so I started out following a pacer that was toting a small sign that read 3:40. I was wearing my Garmin GPS watch and it told me I was running way too fast for a 3:40. I wondered if our official pacer was wearing a gps. He was doing terrible at pacing. Around the second mile he turned to the group and informed us we were a bit ahead and then started making excuses about satellite reception and this and that. Irritated, I decided to pass the group and do my own thing.
Only a mile or so later, I found myself approaching another pace group. I noticed most people would slow down quite a bit going uphill, so I was pretty thankful for all the training I had done on the mountain road behind the station. As I neared the group, I read the sign: 3:30. I told myself I was going too fast and it would only be a matter of time before I just bonked and would probably either end up walking to the finish line or not finishing at all. I hung back, maybe a hundred feet behind the group... as if that changed the fact that I was way too fast.
After I caught up with them again on the next hill I decided I'd hang with them for awhile and see what happened. The spectators lining the street cheered for us as we passed and shouted that we were the largest pace group they had seen and to stick together, we were doing awesome. Yeah, awesome but I was going too fast and was going to suffer from this before long.
A pace group is made up of a couple people who are trained to run at a certain pace and they carry a little sign that reads when they plan to pass the finish line. Mind you, I was in a pace group 15 minutes faster than where I should've been.
I started to picture myself going a 3:30. My last marathon was a 3:53 and it just so happened that the Boston Marathon qualifying time for my age group is 3:35. I was not planning on running Boston and really didn't have any reason to try to qualify. It just didn't appeal to me.
It wasn't long before I became obsessed with trying to keep up with the group. It was such a change from the isolated runs I had been doing. The cheers from the crowds lining the street, the cowbells they were ringing, the view of the brightly colored sneakers pounding the pavement in front of me. It felt like I was in a race...which technically I was. But when running a marathon, there's a large spread of finishing times. It's one of the few sports where you can combine elite athletes with more mortal athletes. The first place male went a 2:19, the first place female went a 2:30 or something. So in reality, I was not in the race. But it felt like it anyway.
Coming down a large hill, my pace group that was supposed to be running an 8 min mile, was running a 7 minute mile. Despite the fact that I was now going a whole minute and a half faster per mile than I should be, I continued with my obsession of keeping up. I consider this a personality flaw but I'm not going to get into analyzing that.
As we got to the bottom of the hill, I ran into Debbie on her way up the hill. We slapped a high five and exchanged words of encouragement.
At the halfway point, we were at a 1:45 which is quite a bit faster than I've ever run for a half marathon. I thought, "Wow, that's really fast!" Then I did the math in my head. Half a marathon at 1:45 plus another half at 1:45 would have me finishing at a 3:30. So in order to finish at 3:30 I was going to have to run another 1:45. Why didn't I think about this 10 miles ago? Terrible move.
Of course by this point I had totally committed to the group. My body was starting to hurt. My hips and upper butt muscles were feeling a lot of impact. All the packages of sugary gel were hurting my stomach. I had already sloshed a recovery beverage into my right eye and water into my left. I was getting quite a bit of rub on the bottom of my left foot. The group continued on...so I followed. My gps quit receiving satellites.
We got back on the ocean front road and I tried to "sight see" and looked over at the waves watching for dolphins. I was in too much discomfort to watch for long and I focused again on the flourescent sneakers in front of me. The ladies leading the group promised us that we were about to turn around and head back and it would be downhill with a tail wind the rest of the way back. I believed them.
After mile 18, I had to poo. Sorry folks, gotta be blunt. I pulled over to one of the porta potties and had a few minute stop. When I came out, I looked up the hill (that's right, UP the hill) at my 3:30 group and wondered if I'd ever catch them again. I told myself to take my time, I had about 8 miles to catch up.
I ran too hard and caught up within a mile. It was another bad move. Once I got in with the group again, I took a mental inventory of how my body felt. It was pretty bad. But there I was, committed again.
We went over several more hills and I was starting to fade. By mile 20 I didn't want to run any more. I wanted to walk but I knew if I did I wouldn't start running again. It would be over.
By mile 22 I got pretty agitated and couldn't handle the sight of the shoes in front of me anymore so I moved up and ran next to the pacers.
At mile 24 I had had enough and just wanted to be done. So I pulled ahead of the pacers and took off running. By that point the marathon runners had merged with the half marathon runners and there were plenty of half marathon runners running much slower than the marathoners at that point. I felt like the large blister on the bottom of my foot was going to split wide open. I struggled to get around the slower runners and began to get angry.
I ran faster. As I hit mile 25 I realized I had pushed too hard. My hamstring was on the verge of a major spasm and I was on the verge of collapsing. I didn't know what else to do so I ran even faster. I had to get to the finish line before I fell over and needed an ambulance.
It seemed like I would never make it to the finish line. I passed a bunch of people, dodging around them. I just wanted to get there so I could stop.
I rounded the corner and saw the finish line. The clock read 3:31 (so my pace group didn't make it) as I finished. I was corralled through to get my finishers medal, a mylar blanket (kinda like aluminum foil to hold in the heat), water and a bag of food. I hobbled to get out of the corral area and almost fell over in front of a lady. I regained my balance and hobbled out of the gate to find a corner to collapse in. I was in so much pain I wanted to cry. But there was too many people and I didn't want to attract attention. I could hardly walk.
I found a corner of fence to camp out in and tried to stretch/cool down. It wasn't going to happen. I sat down on the ground. My face must've said it all because I was approached by a lady who asked if I was ok. I kinda chuckled and said yes.
I was going to have to find a medical tent and get tylenol. It was clear across the parking lot. I decided I would get my bag from the gear check table first. I hobbled over and gave the guy my check tag number. He was having a hard time finding it and I was having a hard time standing. I almost told him I'd be back for it later. I crouched down by the table and attempted to remain standing. I switched between standing and crouching a few times. I was going down. Pretty quickly. I had to get to the medical tent. There were so many people.
Finally the guy found my bag and I consolidated the bags I had accumulated and hobbled towards the medical tent. As I got there, two people sat down to be iced so the lady turned from me to handle them. I was going to fall over. I leaned on the table and focused on breathing. I crouched down again on the ground and tried to be patient. A line started to form behind the icers. I was going to be passed over again. Oh my god.
I moved over to where the line was forming and tried to stand patiently. The two icers got up and another lady sat down. I couldn't do this. I wasn't going to make it. I wanted to cry.
I made eye contact with the medical lady and must have looked pretty desperate. I told her I just needed some tylenol or advil or something. She handed me the tylenol and I hobbled off toward the car.
I dropped my stuff off and took the tylenol and grabbed my camera to go wait for Debbie at the finish line. I found a spot to sit down and change into dry clothes.
Debbie finally finished and we hobbled to the car, discussing our races.
"You went a 3:31?" Debbie asked.
"Yeah."
"That's awesome!" She said.
"Yeah."
"Wait, what's Boston?"
"3:35."
"Carrie, you just qualified for Boston!" She said.
"Um, yeah."
"You're going to Boston!!"
"Uhhh.... I don't know."
"You have to go! You can't qualify and not go!" She told me.
I can't make these sort of decisions until I no longer hurt. Every which way I turned last night everything hurt. This morning I can hardly walk and even my back and shoulders hurt. I don't know why people do this.
So my official time was 3:31.08. The race photos aren't up yet but when they are I'll post the link. It'll be interesting to see how my face changes throughout the race. Until then, this is Debbie and I posing after the race.
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