Heading into this season, I was just getting over a stress fracture and had no plans to train for a marathon. Thanks to you, dear teammates, that all changed by the middle of April. I was healthy and training well, and I was inspired by the great Dojo performances at Charlottesville and Boston. I was especially motivated by Geoff's great race report from Charlottesville, which captured, better than I can, the thrill of competing in a race. Then, after Brian and Christine ran big PRs at Boston, I was so excited that, when Dan proposed training for Grandma's on an accelerated (and absolutely ludicrous) schedule, I signed on for eight weeks of punishment.
Not long after that, Dan and I were on the starting line in Two Harbors, with temperatures in the low 50s and Pink's "Raise Your Glass" on the loudspeaker. (Not ideal, but better than "Cotton-eyed Joe" by Rednex, which was playing while I shivered in line for the porta-john). As we waited for the race to start, I tried to think of all the good workouts we'd had, and I realized that, for the first time, I was ready to race, not just survive, a marathon. So, when the moment of truth arrived, I gave Dan a fist-bump, wished him Godspeed, and we were off.
The early miles were nice and easy, which was fine with me, as my mantra for the first quarter of the race was "do no harm," or, translated into Dojo-ese, "don't F this up." Somewhere around mile 3, I stumbled across a pack of six to eight other runners, including two elite women. These fine gentlemen and ladies literally changed my race. Not only were they super-friendly -- the women were sharing their water bottles as we passed the elite fluid stations -- they also knew what they were doing. This was a bonus for me, particularly given my struggles with mental midgetry during previous marathons. It also enabled me to do what I always do during workouts -- draft off of smarter, more experienced runners and hope for the best.
As the miles went by, we managed to hold a steady 6:05 pace and stay mostly under control. The only exception was a 5:50 split on the downhill 11th mile, which, while probably not the best idea, was actually quite a nice confidence boost. We came through the half in 1:19:30; at that point, I thought sub-2:40, and maybe even a negative split, was possible. By mile 16, we'd dropped the pace to 6 flat and caught another group that had been lurking up ahead of us for most of the race. With our new friends in tow -- there were now more than 12 of us -- we cruised into suburban Duluth.
Things got interesting in the last 10K. I felt strong at the 20-mile mark, which we passed in 2:01 flat. Then, unfortunately, our pack started to break up. Three of the men and one of the women took off, and once that happened, everyone else spread out. At that point, I realized that I'd only taken two gels, the second of which barely went down, and I was starting to have trouble swallowing water. The reckoning was swift and unmerciful. I ran out of fuel about a mile and a half later, and, by the time I hit "Lemondrop Hill" at mile 22 (the only semi-legitimate hill on the course), old Highway 61 had gotten very cold, very dark, and very lonely.
The rest of the race wasn't pretty, but it definitely could have been worse. I struggled through a 6:30 mile after Lemondrop Hill, which, short as it was, felt like a punch in the gut. Then, just as I thought the wheels were falling off, I got one last lift of energy -- I wouldn't really call it a second wind -- from some college kids in Duluth who were shotgunning beers and playing "Like a Rolling Stone" on a boom box. This made me smile, which was all I needed to reverse my mental tailspin and pick up the pace. I was able to manage 6:15 miles for the rest of the race, which got me to the finish a few seconds over 2:40. Dan was waiting at the line, looking like he'd just finished an easy run. We stopped for a photo shoot (see above), hit the massage tent, and went straight to the hotel pub for cheeseburgers. All in all, an excellent ending to an excellent day in Duluth!
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