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had to come out and run strong from start to finish. I figured that I had to run
at least under 3:30 to feel good. Beating my best time of 3:22 from three years earlier would
have me feeling real good, but that not necessarily the point of this exercise.
I signed up for the race only ten days before it was to be run. I had trained for it, but it was more winter training then hardcore training. I tried to run more and I tried to get in some long runs, but I was ready to bag the idea if it just seemed to “hard”. As it turned out, trail running in Boulder is amazing and getting in my runs wasn’t hard at all. I was a little concerned that lots of trail running might not translate well into road running, but I simply could not pull myself off trails. My training leading up the race was pretty good, but not pretty great. My last big training week fell squarely over the Christmas holidays so when I should I have been doing my last long runs, I was driving across the country. I also didn’t have quite as much training time as I wanted in between my last race of 2005 (October) and this race in January. But other than that, I had no complaints about my build up. In the few minutes before the race began, I got “the buzz”. As the last notes of the National Anthem trailed off, I noticed the three helicopters humming above. Former US Marathoner, Frank Shorter was there to offer some words of encouragement and I found myself swept up in the simplicity of it all. Being a “triathlete” I found the marathon to be a logistical relief. I wasn’t standing there worried about my bike tires or what kind of goggles to wear. I was just standing there in running shoes ready to go for a run. Life was simple again, and I was ready to get it on. The Arizona Marathon course is flat and winds its way from the starting line in Phoenix, through Scottsdale and ends in Tempe at the ASU football stadium. The weather on this day was in the 50s, with highs reaching the mid 60s. At the starting line, there were just over 10,000 marathoners spread out over twelve corrals. My predicted finishing time of 3:20 landed me in corral one immediately behind the elite corral where a pack of Kenyans danced around doing high knees, butt kicks and a variety of other leg shaky things that seemed all official. Melanie positioned herself about 100 yards into the run course on the left hand side. I placed myself on the left hand side of the corral to increase my chances of seeing her (and getting a great photo from her digital). The race kicked off at 7:40 with the mayor firing a pistol shot into the air. I started off running at a pace that felt comfortable. It turned out to be about a 7:10 minute/mile. Melanie flew by and I torqued my body around in the hopes of a solid photo. Early body signs showed that all systems were go, and the opening miles flew by. I got to mile six at 42:50 and still feeling good. I was just over 2 minutes ahead of my benchmark pace. While I was slightly alarmed to be running this much faster than my target, I was equally as excited. I decided to go ahead and bank my gains and settle back into something around a 7:20 pace for as long as that felt comfortable. The views on the course, while not breathtaking, were definitely worth the run. In between neighborhood streets, I would catch a glimpse of a distant mountain or a nearby rock formation. Crowds lined about 75% of the course, clustered around one of the 60 bands that served as mile markers on the marathon and half marathon courses. I had a spell somewhere along the way where I got a little choked up a few times. I’m not sure what brought it on, but I think it was just really being in the moment…the huge crowd….the camaraderie of the other racers….the helicopters, the great weather and just feeling like I deserved to be in the middle of it. I was wearing my high school cross country running shirt. Although I only ran one year and never really took it seriously, I thought there was a chance it would bring me good luck. The name across the front read “Huss”, but I was repeatedly referred to as “bus” on the course. I’d hear someone shout, “Come on Bus!!” I was thinking….”am I really that big?” Later realized my race name kept covering up part of the letters in the name. I was pretty anxious to reach my next main check point at mile twelve. I figured that by the time I got to mile twelve I would have a pretty accurate idea of a number of factors: feeling good or not so good….good weather or not good weather…..ahead of schedule or behind schedule…and most importantly, do I have realistic shot at hitting some of my goals. Mile twelve isn’t quite halfway, but it’s far enough to along to start making predictions about your finish. I was digging the simplicity of the marathon and I appreciated the “everyman” feel of the race. There was a different breed on the course….more normal looking. In triathlon, most people seem to have a body that screams elite athlete. If they don’t have the body, they fake it with elite looking gear. You can’t help but feel that you are racing with 1% of 1% of the population. In a marathon, people are just much more normal. It’s like racing with your neighbor or the guy from the hotdog stand. Average Joes albeit with slightly above average quads. With all the bands on the course, one mile I’d be jamming to blue grass…the next mile country rock….another mile, a pimply teenage band squealing to some hideous original song that made me run faster if only to get out of ear shot of the speakers. At mile twelve I found more good news waiting for me, not only did I hold the line (my 2:10 minutes ahead of schedule) but I actually added another 50 seconds to it. I started to feel like good things may be in store for me in 14.2 more miles. My next check point was at 18 miles, but first—the mid point. I crossed the mats in 1:35. If you double that, that’s a 3:10 marathon. It’s not realistic to think that I won’t slow down, but at least this starts to set the table. I start doing the math about how much time I might drop over the second half and still be able to have a seat waiting for me at the table of Marathon Pummelers. Before I can even fully process what Frank Shorter will say when he sees me finish in 3:15 I notice a 3:10 pace group behind me. I felt like I was under attack. I didn’t expect to finish in under 3:10…or really even close to that, but up to this point I was waaaay ahead and it felt good. Now (to steal a phrase from cycling commentator Phil Ligget) "the heads of state were coming to the fore" (http://www.liggettfan.com/main.htm). I decided to try to keep them at bay for as long as I could as long as my effort wasn’t suicidal, and then I would hang on as long as I could. My trip lasted just over two miles, somewhere beyond the fifteen mile mark. So here I am…mile 15, just losing touch with the 3:10 pace group…11 miles left. I start doing the math and predict a mid teen finish. I still feel good. It’s amazing how fast things can change. I very quickly started feeling not so good and rapidly entered survival mode. I wasn’t shocked to be suffering by mile 18, but I was shocked that just three miles early I was running 3:10 pace (correlation?). I wasn’t walking, or even shuffling, but I knew that now, that era of making deposits to the time bank was over—I was going to start making withdrawals. I was still in good spirits though, as I hit the 18 mile mark in 2:12 which was still three minutes ahead of benchmark pace. The last six mile block was exactly 7:30 pace. I had held the line and so I still felt like I was competing. The mile markers started to come slowly and I stopped using 7:30 minute increments to predict when the next mile marker would come. I was using eight minutes. Mile twenty did not bring the euphoria I thought it would and I started to want desperately for the race to be over. But this is where you earn it. This is what you think about when you picture taking on a marathon. As bad as it hurt, I didn’t want it any other way and I didn’t want to be doing anything else at that moment except suffering through the streets of Tempe. As I passed mile twenty two my legs were numb, literally, but I began to feel just a twinge of excitement again. Although I sensed some of the lofty goals that suddenly “appeared” at mile twelve were now beginning to seem unreachable, some of my original pre race goals were starting to seem like a reality. The last miles hurt pretty bad but I never felt like I wasn’t going to be able to run or that I was going to have to run at an insanely slow pace. As always seems to be the case, I am almost certain that they stretched the last 1.2 miles out too far. It seemed to take forever to reach the 26 mile sign and even longer to see the finish line. I glanced at my watch just as it ticked over to 3:22. I was slightly disappointed, but was immediately distracted by a frantic pacer carrying a sign that read “3:20” as he sprinted to the finish line. He was late and I noticed a thin stream of folks trailing him who were now obviously suffering from this pacer’s last minute attempt to make up for lost time. I decided to finish with this guy and posed for my finishing shot right beside him as I crossed the line, pointing at his sign with a face that meant to say “oh yeah, I would have made 3:20 if it wasn’t for THIS bozo!”. As I crossed the line, my legs gave out worse than they have after any IM in recent memory. I was really crushed from the waist down.
As I sat on the curb by the finish line, I thought back on my race and realized I was probably running 7:10s when I should have been running 7:20s. I was running 7:20s when I probably should have been running 7:30s. I could have done better, not a lot better, but I probably could have eeked out about another five minutes if I could have paced a little better and evened out the two halves of my race. Does this mean I need to run another marathon next month? That’s a question for another time. Now, is get back to the hotel room time. Melanie and I made the 1 mile walk back to the hotel and some Gatorade, Aleve and shower had me feeling much better. Within a couple hours, I was stiff, but I was ok. As soon as I could, I fired up the laptop and pulled my only other stand alone marathon in the past three years. I knew I was within about a minute of my time from that race, but I really want to know if I set a new personal best time or just missed one by only a few seconds. I scanned my race report and found my finishing time in Charlotte as 3:22:35. I quickly glanced at my watch that was wrapped around my dried salty arm….3:22:35. Well I’ll be darned.
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