Spoiler alert: this was not my fastest marathon, but it was my best one. In control the whole race, an unbelievably constant pace, and after failing by 1 minute to BQ (that is, Qualify for the Boston Marathon) at New Jersey, the first of four prior marathons, in THIS race, I qualified.
After a week in Miami for the International Trademark Association (INTA) Leadership Conference (including a late night with The Opposition, a rock band of very talented lawyers from around the world), I flew into Philly on Friday before the Sunday race.
Other than rehearsing until midnight Monday and playing until midnight (rather than 1 a.m.!) Tuesday, the INTA conference had been a study in moderation – e.g., napping for an hour Thursday afternoon, because I was Doing a Marathon on Sunday.
Flew into Philly, registered late afternoon at the Convention Center, got a Beyond Burger instead of waiting until 8:30 pm for a table at the nicer Italian restaurant (crowded with the next day’s half marathoners). On Saturday, had lunch with our nephew Josh at a Korean hot pot restaurant which was AMAZING.
Leaving Chinatown, I saw a group of 6 African men, slight and mostly short, with one of them peering into his cell phone for directions to wherever they were going to eat — The Professionals! OMG, this was the closest I would ever get to such greatness. I said to the guy with the cell phone, “Good luck! I’ll be watching your backs…”.
Had to have a FaceTime call with Coach Steve to determine what to wear, because on race day the temperature was dropping to 26 degrees and 21 with the wind chill, so dressed on the warmer side: tights, long sleeve tech shirt, heavyweight tech shirt over that — and two more layers of old clothing I’d take off and leave by the roadside as the race began.
Saturday night pasta dinner with Hastings’ own Dan Fingleton (who ended up running an extraordinary 3:10, a 7-minute PR!) and his friend Elana.
Tried to get to the starting area by 6:00, pleased to get there at 6:09. But waited a dangerously long time for security, rushing to find the line of UPS trucks to store dry clothes for after the race, and getting through the portable toilet line (alas, I cheated, pretending to know someone near the head of the line for the toilets) — just in time to rush through the corrals to my assigned section a few minutes before the horn went off at 7:00 a.m. Tight, but sufficient!
I found myself next to two pacers shooting to finish in 3:50, and we could tag along if we wished. I struggled with a range of goals: I had trained to finish in 3 hours, 45 minutes, just to come within spitting distance of the 3:31 I had done in my first marathon. I wanted to look back and not feel that even though the next three races over the years — two in NYC, another in NJ — had been 40 minutes slower, and I had completed two Ironman triathlons, the Marathon was not going to be the distance that kicked my ass. But 3:50 was BQ time for 60-64, and I had backup goals: finishing without losing steam or walking would be achievements as well…
I stuck with those two pacers. My watch said we were doing 8:35-8:40 min/miles, suggesting they were much faster than the 8:50 we should be doing — but they kept saying we were on target, and as the ever patient and generous running buddy Zander knows, my watch can be wildly inaccurate. When the stick broke in half in the wind and the shorter guy carried it, they were hard to see, but the bigger guy talked a lot and loudly so I followed pretty closely. In the early miles, got acquainted with the group and settled in through Miles 1-7, with great, enthusiastic crowds on Walnut Street, wind at our back as we crossed the Schuykill (“SKOO-gill”) River, feeling ready for the first hill approaching Drexel (having visited Josh 4-5 weeks ago and run 18 miles of the course).
Felt solid but anxious that an old injury would flare up or I wouldn’t get past the 14-mile wall I had run into in the past; ready to back off the hubris of trying to reach my prime goals so I wouldn’t crash and burn like the Brazilian pro in the NYC Marathon, two weeks ago (who took a 2-minute lead but fell apart at Mile 20).
Failed nutrition was why I had bonked in 2016 and 2017, so I felt crazy but happy to wear a water belt throughout the race: taking 4 gulps of UCAN “superstarch” at 0:45, 1:45 and 2:45, giving it 35 minutes to kick in and last for an hour, with SALTSTICK tablets and HUMA gels on the hour to supplement (and caffeine to give me super powers at 3 hours); and Precision Hydration in the other 10 oz. bottle, sipping it for two hours before I had to fill it at an aid station and pop in another half-tablet (because plain water tasted dissatisfying). Miles 8-12 were the hills going into and around the Zoo’s park, and the pacers were great (“shorten your stride!”) so I picked up my cadence and felt solid but worried, wondering whether the pace was too fast.
Ted, retired from the military, talked too much around Mile 13 and made me anxious, so I pulled away as we crossed the bridge back to the east side of the river, and I could feel my heart rate was kicking up a the fateful Mile 14 (“feel” because Iwasn’t wearing my heart rate monitor, it had crapped out from a low battery on my last run on Friday in Miami; Miami was so, so long ago…) but I stayed calm (an achievement in itself) and got to Mile 16 feeling strong so I decided to kick it up a little and at Mile 18 thought I would leave the pacers.
We’re facing into the wind as I go up the hill towards Manatuck, a hip little street area where we’ll turnaround, and at Mile 20 I was in virgin territory (having only run as far as 18 when I trained) and still feeling solid but cautious. Whenever my attention wandered, I focused on keeping my cadence up as I got fatigued, and on Gratitude as my mantra.
In Manatuck I thought I was wearing sunglasses because it was a little dim and I realized my eyelashes had frozen, and approaching and rounding the turnaround there were cheering crowds, and a kid with a sign “To Pee or Not to Pee?” to which I said, “Put that sign away!” because I hadn’t thought about it until then, and folks offering cups of beer on the roadside, so close that I could SMELL it. The home stretch of the last 10K, I can handle 10K, wind is in our faces again and thought I was picking up the pace but annoyed to hear people cheering “3:50 Pacers!” Dammit, they were right behind me.
But this was my race, and I poured on what I had, 5k left, I had gas in the tank, tried to get faster and panting but not as badly as some folks grunting around me, needed to get ahead of them because their pain made me too aware of my own, passing folks who were walking and had obviously started much faster, I’m focusing on form and a mile to go and OMG the wind as we approach the boathouse and there’s the Museum and the finish line is surprisingly near and the crowds are screaming, and I MADE IT, arms raised, feeling blessed, eyes tearing up.
Bottom line: 3:48:21 and unbelievably consistent pace throughout the entire race: 8:42 min/mile at 10k, 8:43 at 13.1 miles, 8:43 at 30K, 8:43 at finish. Not the 8:36 pace I had wanted for a 3:45 finish, but still fast enough for the 3:50 that qualifies for Boston (in 2024, maybe, depending on the “discount” they impose to limit the race to 25,000). And the fastest since my first marathon in 2014, a vast 25-minute improvement over the last three marathons. 24/147 AG; 2,811/8,377 OA.
More importantly, I had been in control the whole race; I hadn’t bonked; I hadn’t walked; and my legs seized up AFTER the race, not during it. Everything hurts, nothing is injured. The pain cave wasn’t too dark, and I kind of enjoyed the whole race.
Coach Steve Redwood at www.TriEndeavors.com had been amazing and patient: after a season of triathlons, we focused on running and building mileage; did strength and cycling once a week, skipping the swims; and he helped me get through mild injuries and regroup with This Race as the goal. I was never more ready for a marathon.
I’m not sure why I do endurance races, but I know I found meaning in this one, and success, not just because of the numeric result and BQ’ing but also because I owned it. Big thanks to Rachel, my long-suffering wife, for being the most supportive person on the planet.
