A Tale of Two Runs

First a caveat. The moral of this story isn’t work hard and succeed. That is utter nonsense, simple propaganda to persuade workers there is something noble in working 60 hours a week for paltry wages. What I learned from experiences such as the ones I will recount here is that skill and luck and perseverance and discipline are all necessary to succeed at a given task.

So this is the story of the last marathon I ever ran, both of them.

I never really had the time to train properly for marathons. With jobs, family, and various interests - none of which I wished to sacrifice - I was lucky if I averaged 30-40 miles week in training. You need about twice that training mileage to run your best in the 26.2 mile epic race. So in 2014 I decided to run my 13th and final marathon, and then save my limited time and energy for shorter races. For this last hurrah I choose a small race (about 250 runners) on a beautiful lakeshore course in Charlevoix, MI.

I decided to squeeze everything out of my 30-40 miles a week by doing almost all medium to fast paced running, even the “long slow runs” which are the staple of marathon training. The timing of the race helped, it was June, meaning my peak training would be in the mild weather months of March-May. The training went superbly. I wanted my last race to go well, so I stuck to my schedule and rarely missed a workout. I had no injuries or significant illnesses along the way.

By race day I was ready, and conditions were perfect. The weather was cool with minimal wind. It was a lovely scenic course to enjoy while running, and there were just enough runners to have company but no jostling crowd.

Running a race is an art. You have to judge the pace exactly for your talent, fitness, and the conditions. Too cautious and you ease in with a mediocre time and effort, too aggressive and you blow-up and barely finish at all. This race I got it right. I avoided rushing at the start, found my pace at 2 miles (about 7:50 per mile), and cruised. It’s impossible to describe to the non distance runner what running the first 20+ miles in a marathon feels like. If things go right you get into a zone, like meditating, and just go. You’re locked into the right pace, and just cruise like a machine.

I never hit the wall. I didn’t slow down at any point in the last 6 miles. I just kept going. The only near disaster was 10 yards from the finish line as I was “sprinting” to the finish. You see they had a half-marathon also in progress, and a heavy-set jogger at the tail-end of that race was lumbering to the finish. There was no way at this point in the race that my tired legs would let me suddenly swerve to avoid him. A nasty collision yards from the line seemed inevitable. With a huge final effort I managed to lean a yard to the right, brush past him, and finish. Time: 3:24:14, 48th place overall, 6th in my age group (“old farts”). I had qualified for the Boston marathon by more than five minutes in my last ever marathon.

I had never before qualified for Boston. My low training mileage never gave me the endurance to hold the pace I needed. Now, perchance, I had. Boston is the grail of marathoning, it’s what every marathoner dreams to qualify for. Now I had. There was no way I was not going to run it. So now Boston was to be my last ever marathon.

Boston is in April, meaning most of my peak training was in winter (Jan-March). The weather in the winter of 2015 was awful most of the time. I did put in the training, but missed the coldest days, shortened some workouts, didn’t push the pace on others. I was “phoning it in.”

The experience at Boston is fantastic. It’s a great urban course with wonderful spectator support. And it’s Boston. You sense the aura of participating in something special every minute you are there. I loved it. On race day the weather was dismal. A 15-20 MPH wind in our faces the entire way, with frequent rain, and a high temperature of 42 degrees. I didn’t dress properly, having no rain or wind proof top, just my regular t-shirt.

Every mile I ran into that cold rain and wind felt like hard work, there was no mental zone to be found, and no pace that felt right. However, I passed the half way point only a couple of minutes off pace, and kept plugging away into the wind and rain. I was soaked and freezing. My body was burning a lot of precious energy reserves just keeping warm. By 18 miles I had slowed, but my calculations still predicted me finishing in about 3:40:00. Meh, OK. By mile 20 I had slowed again, and was thinking that finishing in about 3:45:00 isn’t too bad considering. By mile 22 I was walking. I was shivering, freezing, wet, miserable, and out of energy. I jogged-walked the next three miles. The spectators were wonderful – encouraging me, cheering me on, telling me I was going to make it – they kept me going.

Then at the mile 25 marker I realized if somehow I could run, not jog but run, the last mile (plus .2) I could salvage something out of the race and still finish under 4 hours. So I ran. I ran the last mile of my last marathon. I was freezing, wet, with absolutely nothing left in the tank, but I ran the last mile of my last marathon. It’s the mile of which I am most proud of all the miles I’ve ran.

Time: 3:58:27, who cares what finishing place.

My friends Spence and Lex found me at the finish area weeping with cold. They took me to their home, warmed me up, and then celebrated with me.

That was my last marathon, both of them.