Time: 3:57:29
Pace: 9:04
Bucket List Items Completed: 1 Big One!
Yesterday I ran the BMO Phoenix Marathon. Yes, I managed to get through an entire marathon training season without a single blog. Sorry about that. And thank you to the loyal readers who keep asking about Toe Shoe Tina and Mo Jo. I am thankful people enjoy reading about our running experiences. Toe Shoes Tina is a misnomer at this point. I haven't put on toe shoes in well over a year. I log too many miles to go without padding. But Newton Tina or Altra Tina just doesn't have the same ring.
In any event, when I started to take running seriously, I came up with two "bucket list" race goals: break 2 hours in a half marathon and 4 hours in a full marathon. At the time, both seemed to border on impossible. Well, I've now logged 4 half marathons in under 2 hours, with my latest PR at 1:45:59. The 4 hour marathon, however, has remained elusive. And with previous finishes of 4:27 and 4:50, I was not sure I could break that barrier. So I signed up for the BMO Phoenix Marathon. First, it required no travel. Second, it was not held in a city associated with drinking (New Orleans and Napa, anyone?). Third, the course elevation looks like this:
With the exception of one hill, it is a downhill course. If was ever going to break 4 hours, this was my course. I changed up my training, too. I (mostly) followed Hal Higdon's intermediate marathon training program. This meant I ran more than my normal 2-3 days per week. Because I stubbornly refused to give up boxing, this also meant I doubled up on a lot of workouts, boxing in the morning and doing shorter runs (3-5 miles) at night. I struggled with tendonitis in my foot and eventually backed off the running a bit. Once my long runs reached 18-20 miles, I gave up some of the shorter runs and simply did 3-4 runs per week. This eased the pain in my foot. I also trained faster, logging a 20 mile training run at a 9:26 pace and running many intermediate runs well into the 8:00s. Unlike prior training seasons, my hips did not hurt at all. My problems seemed confined to my feet and ankles: tendonitis on the left and a bunion developing on the right. As of this blog, I haven't worn high heels in months. On the plus side, I've lost about 5 pounds without really trying. Yippee!
I got to race day relatively unscathed. I felt lazy and bloated from tapering and carb-loading. I was ready to run. KO Kennedy and I caught the bus at 4:45 am and arrived at the race start about 45 minutes later. It was freezing up in the dark desert mountains (okay, foothills). Some people took advantage of the dark desert to avoid porta-potty lines. Some of those folks ended up with jumping cacti stuck to various parts of their skin. KO Kennedy and I wisely opted to stand in line for the bathrooms.
(TST and KO Kennedy, ready to kill this race!)
The race started and I flew down the first 4 miles, which was my plan. Normally it is not a good idea to start a race so fast, but it was the steepest decline and the sun was not up yet. With a forecasted high of 90, I knew I'd struggle once the sun came up (about 30 minutes after the race started). As I sped down the hill, I came across a group of 6 runners in bright orange shirts with some team name I could not read, but said "Mexico" at the bottom. They spanned the entire path, which annoyed me because it was hard to get around them. I eventually did and passed the 3:55 pacer, too. I hit the course's only real uphill feeling great, having averaged just over 8:30 for the first downhill miles. I backed off my pace on the hill, which lasted for about 1.5 miles. Lo and behold, here came the orange-shirted team, holding steady at an 8:35 pace. They passed me, but I caught them again on the next downhill. This time I stayed behind them because they were solid steady pacers. They seemed jovial, chatting with each other and waving to people in the crowd. People seemed to recognize them and cheer, so maybe I should know who they are? We hit the halfway point at 1:54:25, a respectable 8:44 pace.
I stayed with the orange-shirted Mexican team through mile 17. I ate some salted potatoes at mile 5 and then had Gu (rootbeer . . . yum!) at miles 10 and 15. By mile 17, my pacers had slowed to 8:45ish miles, but I was struggling and had to slow down more. The sun was hot, there was no shade or breeze, and the course no longer felt downhill -- the elevation map says we were on a slight decline, but it felt completely flat. Shortly thereafter, the 3:55 pacer caught me. I kept at my (much slower) pace and counted down the miles until I would spot my family on the sidelines at mile 20. ("Three more miles until you see your family!" "Two and a half more miles until you see your family!") For all of you who show up on the sidelines to cheer on your friends and family: I know it is a lot of waiting around for about 5 seconds of cheering, but it makes all the difference to a struggling runner. I found them just before the 21 mile mark and it took everything I had not to just stop and go home with them. Instead, I gave my kids hugs and ran on.
(I may or may not be whispering to Daughter #2 "Please just put me out of my misery")
(Refreshed by seeing my family, I lurch off to finish the last 5.2 miles. I'm clearly heel striking here, which is neither normal nor good.)
I don't remember much of the last 5.2 miles. My legs felt like cement and I allowed myself walk breaks, always on the lookout to make sure the 4:00 pacer wasn't coming up behind me. I ate more potatoes at mile 22.5, but it didn't really help. When I hit 26 miles, I tried to sprint to the finish and managed to bring my pace back into the 8:00s, but nothing close to my normal finisher's kick. I crossed the finish line, gulped down a bottle of water in about 3 seconds and then the pain hit. My legs wobbled, I felt like Bambi walking across ice. My feet hurt, my skin hurt, my legs refused to obey my brain. Everything seemed to be happening so fast around me while I was in slow motion. I shuffled to medical tent for some vaseline to slather on my numerous chafed areas and then followed the crowd toward the exit. I called Husband #1 and he was ecstatic about my time: 3:57:29. But I just wanted to go home. He asked where he should pick me up and I had no idea. We were in a big outdoor mall complex and I couldn't tell where I was. He told me to go out to the main road so he could pick me up and I just cried. I didn't know which direction the main road was and couldn't bear the thought of being on my feet any longer. The pain was overwhelming and I wanted to just give up and lie down in the middle of the parking lot. Surely Husband #1 could find me and carry me out? I realized the mapping function on my phone could orient me, which allowed me to limp to the main road. Along the way, some very well-meaning spectator asked me where the finish line was and tried to engage me in conversation. I mumbled some response, but was irrationally mad at her because, did I LOOK like somebody who wanted to stop and chat?????
Husband #1 found me wandering down the main road. I collapsed into his car and sobbed like a baby. Not out of happiness. I felt awful. More awful than I can recall ever feeling. That feeling persisted all day. Every little thing seemed impossible: "I cannot possibly go all the way across the bedroom and put on my flip flops. They are SO. FAR. AWAY." "But the Advil is ALL THE WAY IN THE KITCHEN!" It was very frustrating. I should have been sore, but elated about my time. All I felt was pain, sadness, and lethargy. To make matters worse, I had a hard time relaxing after the race because my legs felt crampy and restless. Every time I stood up it took several seconds to steady myself and then my gait was slow and wobbly when I finally got going. It was nothing like I'd ever experienced. After my two prior marathons, I actually felt pretty okay. This was a whole other beast.
I've now had about 12 hours of sleep and feel much better. My legs are sore, but they are obeying my brain's commands. My feet hurt, but I can bear weight on them and walk like a normal adult human instead of a drunk toddler. Finally, I am enjoying the fact that I BROKE FOUR HOURS IN A MARATHON!!!! I will never do that again. I'm not sure what happened to my body and brain, but it is not something I'm anxious to do again. Sure, I'll run more long races (I have a 50K in 5 weeks and then another marathon in June). But no more pushing for goals that hurt so bad. I keep wondering if maybe I shouldn't have started out so fast. I truly felt comfortable during those early downhill miles. I was not breathing heavily and was hardly sweating, so I don't think I put myself into a deficit. I think I would have struggled those last few miles in the sun regardless of my starting pace -- perhaps even more because I would have had to keep a faster pace in the later miles if I'd started slower. But I guess it will remain an open question because I do not intend to find out!
I would also be remiss if I did not give a HUGE congrats to KO Kennedy. She managed to rock her first full marathon, finishing with a respectable time without worrying about all that pesky training that most of us do. She's a stud.
