This past weekend, among other adventures, I completed my 10th marathon in Burlington, Vermont. The race did NOT go well at all. While I feel like a failure for not getting a good time at all, and for running in over four hours (which I haven't done in years), I also know that from fails come learning lessons and from learning lessons come wins. It was an extremely humbling experience and is causing me to pause and evaluate. I really don't think that adjustments to training are needed at this point. I think that the weather was the major culprit, honestly. The temperatures were around 80 degrees and the humidity was around a brutal 82% or so. It was very difficult to breathe and at times I felt as if I were drowning and suffocating simultaneously.
The start was a little stressful. The marathon had an entire shuttle bus system running, so I was able to not have to deal with parking which was nice, and ended up taking the bus with a friend to the start, so there was a plethora of nervous pre-race chatter. Once at the start, I waited to do my usual pee-ritual and then the sky opened up and it started pouring. Not only was it hot, sticky and difficult to breathe, it was also raining. Lovely. Once the worst race announcer in the world finished his entire diatribe (seriously, where do they get these guys?!) we were off. The course was interesting and was a clover-leaf pattern, so it was great for spectators and good for looking for other runners during the race, which is exactly what I did. The first 13 miles were wonderful and FAST. In looking at my watch, I was on-pace to do a 3:40 marathon!
However, the humidity caught up to me and when it did, everything fell apart almost instantly. Mile 15 was a very, very long hill which I think was the nail in the coffin. My legs ached. My lungs burned. There were points on that hill where my eyes were rolling into the back of my skull. It was not good and I was worried. Once over the hill and at the 16 mile marker, I did something that I've never done before during a marathon: walked. When I realized what I was doing, I had a total meltdown. I wanted to cry and I felt like I was trying to cry, but tears couldn't come out, and then I started hyperventilating. I actually stopped, bent at the waist and grabbed my knees. My mind was racing. Three letters were flashing across my brain in bright, red and yellow letters: DNF! DNF! DNF! When I straightened and continued walking, all I could think about was dropping out and calling it my first ever DNF. This made me extremely upset and angry at myself. I could drop out and be done with this thing. I could drop out and know that I wouldn't be taxing my already taxed system in ridiculous conditions. I could drop out and...
...someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I glanced to my right and there walking with me was a tall, blond guy of similar age wearing a yellow singlet and black shorts. He had piercing blue eyes and freckles and was looking flushed as well. "C'Mon. You and me. Let's do this. Let's finish this thing together." I nodded, took a breath and we started running. Very slowly, but we were running. We didn't say much, but once I calmed down, I thanked him for pulling me out of my own head. He told me that he was battling the same DNF-demons and that we should push each other to cross that finish line. For the next 3 miles we see-sawed; he would run while I was walking, then I would run, catch up to him and he would break out of his walk and run with me. Then vice versa. I somehow lost him around mile 19 when he needed to stop for more vasoline. I didn't even catch his name or bib number, but I am so grateful for him. Marathon ghosts, I call them.
Things then took a very severe turn for the worse. At this point, the sun was coming out which was not helping the running conditions. I started seeing runners literally collapsing and it was scary. I counted 17 runners between miles 19 and 25 that collapsed and needed medical attention and oxygen masks. The spectators were amazing - every house in the neighborhood in which we were running had their hoses and sprinklers turned on, and the cool spray of the water kept me grounded in reality and out of my head. I tried so hard not to get caught up in the drama because I was totally exhausted and my feet hurt badly. I alternated running and walking until mile 25, and when I saw that mile marker I said out loud: "Ok legs. Let's do this." And so I did. I ran all the way to the finish line and mile 26.2 appeared at 4:10.
I'm really disappointed and upset at that time, but what can I do? I cannot control the weather. I received my 10th medal, but more importantly, some powerful images burned into my memory. Images of runners collapsing. Images of me in my own breakdown, almost calling it quits, but getting through it nonetheless. Between miles 19 and 25, everyone was suffering together. It was this point in the race where everyone seemed to have cast their goals aside and were simply running to survive the race and finish. Everyone was cheering everyone else on - it was rather surreal. Sometimes runners tend to get so locked into their own routines during a race that we're not running together, however, on Sunday, we were all running as one team. Maybe we didn't get our best times, but we won by simply being there and accomplishing completion.
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