From Marathon to Couch Potato (And Back)

 

Coming Soon!

My 13-year-saga to complete a marathon. If you read this blog—perhaps one person does regularly—then you know my story.  But for the benefit of distance runners and the general public I am chronicling my fall and rise from a man training to qualify for the Boston Marathon to a broken specimen informed that he will never run again to man in his late-60s training for 26.2.

Out by Christmas in non-fiction ebook form? We shall see. I'll know more after I finish collating years worth of notes. 

The question arises: who cares? Could be most people. But I'm hoping anyone facing long odds will find hope in this brief tale. 

Surfers Point Marathon Retrospective

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 Hindsight is 20/20, Fella

Yes, yes, but it's invaluable when assessing a race. First off, I'm jazzed to have:

A. Finished.

B. Finished ahead of my goal time. (5:30 or five hours and thirty minutes.)

C. Finished eight minutes ahead of my goal time. (5:22:49)

A set time helped me focus and not just in training. Without one I'd have settled for "just finish the wretched thing." (In the later miles, that temptation paced in the back of my mind, then settled in by the fire for miles 21 to 24.) Or else the more diabolically commercial "just finish the wretched thing and write a little book."

Loop Courses Have Issues 

Which is saying I have issues with loop courses. I didn't before. But then I'd never run one for a marathon. Every pleasing downhill grade must be run uphill twice. In the case of Surfers Point, the longest uphill grades were on the return trip. It was psychological. I kept thinking, 'I've got to do this again."

For slower runners such as myself, everyone passes you more than once. With multiple races and a wave start, runners from the half-marathon zipped by. Fast 10kers showed me their heels. Fortunately, zero 5kers left me in the dust. This constant passing triggers a hurry-up gene often experienced while driving. You must concentrate to suppress it and remain on pace.

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On the Subject of Pace

 I went out too fast. I knew I went out too fast. Prior marathon experience taught me I couldn't "bankroll" fast miles early for slow miles later. I'd risk bonking, missing my goal time, shuffling across the finish line, an abject example for the young. Yet I did it anyway. My half-marathon time was 2:33 instead of 2:45. During the latter miles of the race I felt myself grinding to a halt like a car running out of fuel. The virtue of patience should be exercised in the marathon's first half, then assess. 

Training Woes 

All self-inflicted. I didn't run enough days during the week. My cross-training fell away. My chi running form decayed at longer miles and I addressed the matter haphazardly. I didn't include enough pace miles in my long runs. And I neglected to generate enough faster miles in the form of tempo runs or track sessions. 

Nothing above detracts from my warm feelings. But should I attempt another marathon—unclear today—all these points would be addressed.

And I am writing a little book on my 13-year quest to complete 26.2. 

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I Finish a Marathon After 13 Years

My Finishing Time

As Winston Churchill once said: "If you're going through Hell, keep going." Achieved my goal of finishing in a certain time. That helped keep me going several times. Training is over for awhile. What ever shall I do now with all my extra time?
 

Obligatory Pre-Marathon Gear-on-the-Bed Shot

Not Really His Bed—A Fold-Out in a Back Room

Well, now it's serious. We leave tomorrow morning for our drive to the coast. Then its pick-up my gear pack including race number, check into our hotel, off to evening Mass, then a fine pasta meal. The end of Daylight Savings allows me a spare hour of sleep, but I won't. The pre-dawn hours bring with them a complicated dance wherein my wife drops me off at a shuttle bus location then goes back to sleep, then finds a parking space and walks to the finish line for my arrival around 5 hours and 30 minutes later. 

So that's it. Thirteen years have passed since I prepared to run a marathon. Pain, operations, depression, quitting running for good, stupid injuries when I didn't quit running for good, learning a complex way of covering ground that didn't stress my bad knee. It seems surreal, big. Part of me wants to stay in bed Sunday morning and not race.

But I've come this far. I want to see how it all ends.