Trying to write this while it's still fresh and my quads are still burning. Sidenote: It might get graphic here. My sister, Audrey, who hates oversharing out here in the World Wide Web should maybe avert her eyes now. And anyone else who doesn't like to hear talk of bodily functions.
I love Utah clouds.
First of all, this full marathon, running 26.2 miles stuff is serious business. Doing this full marathon just solidified in my mind that half marathons are my favorite distance. But it doesn't mean I'm never doing another full marathon again. Not at all. I am hooked now. The challenge is too awesome.
After a three-and-a-half hour delay Thursday night in Houston due to thunderstorms, I finally arrived into Salt Lake City at 2:15 a.m. early Friday morning. I tried to sleep in a bit, but I was wired and ready to race. And since having kids, I am never able to sleep past 8 a.m. anymore. I stayed with my brother, Jason, and his new wife Mackenzie. They also came down to watch me race. I've loved being with these newlyweds all weekend. And honestly, I'm pretty sure I would still be lying and decaying out by the clothing bag pick-up at the end of the race if they hadn't been there. My brother practically had to carry me to the car afterward. (Love you, guys!)
Newlyweds. :)
On Friday, I drove down to St. George with my friend, Lisa, and we met up with two of our other friends, Suzanne (who also ran the marathon with us) and Angie (who came down with her kids to cheer us on!). Love, love, love these ladies with all my heart.
We wandered around the expo at the Dixie Convention Center and bought all kinds of junk we didn't need. From pink compression socks to running skirts to extra Gu gels. Suz did a body fat percentage test at some booth, but I wasn't going to go anywhere near that thing. I didn't need to find out how much fat I'd have to be carting down the course for 26.2 miles the next day and have that messing with my head. I was already feeling the bloated, weighty effects of water retention after some heavy hydrating in the past few weeks leading up to the race.
That evening we met up for the "All You Can Eat Pasta" dinner at the expo and I made sure to steer clear of the salad. I don't do any kind of roughage the day before a long run and
definitely not before a race. Unfortunately, this tactic wasn't going to help me any the next day. Or maybe it did and things could have been worse...
And despite my friend Suz's anxieties about the race - mainly about how her insides were going to hold up - I was surprisingly calm about the whole event. Maybe a little too calm. I was like,
Yeah, I never have a problem with that. And I went to bed around 9:30-ish that night and had a lovely, dreamless sleep. Totally calm about
my ability to take care of my business on demand.
My alarm went off at 3:33 a.m., I rolled over to pray and then jumped up to get ready (incidentally, I haven't jumped up to do anything since finishing the race). I grabbed my banana and packet of Instant Oatmeal and headed downstairs to eat breakfast and meet up with the girls.
Race day morning.
While riding the bus up to the starting line, my friend Lisa pointed out the beautiful stars in the dark sky. That's when I finally started to get the nervous feeling in my belly, but repeated in my head:
I can do hard things, I can do hard things, I can do hard things. This was going to be my mantra that day. When we arrived, there were scores of people huddled around multiple bonfires.
After a few pics in front of the St. George Marathon banner, we headed to the port-a-potties.
Now this is where it starts to get a little delicate and TMI, friends. But if you're a runner and racer, you know that getting a little toilet business (the opposite of number one) out of the way is ideally done
before the race. And if that gets done, every one can do a happy dance, because that is your first victory of the day. I very rarely ever have a problem with this. Some might call it a gift. But that morning, I don't know what it was - maybe Suz vocalizing all her anxieties prompted some negative nay-saying thoughts of my own - but when it was my turn... stage fright. And a small part of me started to panic.
But soon it was time to line up, so I tried to forget my troubles and headed to the starting line. It was time for Plan B. As in,
if I'm feeling it, forget the port-a-potties and head for the bushes. I figured it might even be more sanitary, so whatever.
The gun went off and the herd of humans began to move out like crowded cattle emerging from the pen. I don't like that claustrophobic feeling, and it's why I'll never do a triathlon. My fear of drowning in a crowd like that in open water is too great. Also, I'm a terrible swimmer, but I digress.
I promised myself before this race that I was going to train smart and race smart. I want to be able to run and race for a long, long time. Also, I knew I'd be back to teaching classes on Tuesday, so I wanted to have a race that would give me as quick a recovery as possible (as quick as it can get after running 26.2 miles). Having never raced a full marathon before, I had no idea what to expect of myself. So I decided to keep an easy pace of 9:30 to 9:50 min/mile. It's so easy to go out too fast and get caught up in the euphoria of race day at the beginning, but I kept checking my Garmin every 10 seconds to make sure I was keeping it slow. It was agonizing at first watching so many people pass me, but I reminded myself that these would be the people bonking at mile 18 and I would be passing their behinds (inner fist pump).
I loved all the signs along the race and the spectators were awesome throughout. In mile 2, I saw a sign that said, "You're my hero, Mom! Love, Luke" and I pretended it was meant just for me.
The first 7 miles were a gradual downhill. Gradual is good. Gradual I can handle. And I just cruised along. At mile 8, we reached something people call Veyo hill. It looks big and steep and nasty, but I didn't think it was so bad. Hills are actually my strong suit. So while people were walking up it, I powered straight up. I remember smiling to myself in that moment and feeling gratitude for these strong, muscular legs that I inherited from my dad. I've always hated my legs, but on this day, I was grateful for them.
The hills continued through miles 9, 10, 11 and 12. All throughout the first part of the race, there was a general euphoria in the air emanating from my fellow runners. People were laughing and chatting and commenting on the beautiful sunrise. It was still slightly cool and there was a bit of cloud cover. Then after mile 13, the energy level of my fellow racers was starting to decline. People started walking and limping. People started asking for ibuprofen. People started stopping for Icy Hot at the aid stations. By this time, the sun had come up and the clouds had disappeared. It was starting to get hot out there in that Utah desert. Luckily for me, however, I'd been training through 110-degree humid heat in Houston, so this 80 degree dry heat was nothing to me. I kept trucking through, still maintaining my 9:30/9:50 pace and I started to get excited about finishing this race in 4:20.
Then it straightened out until about mile 19 with one more hill before it all went downhill (literally
and figuratively). Meanwhile, I alternated chewing down Clif Shot blocs and Jelly Belly sport beans while walking through every aid station. I can't drink Gatorade on the run, because all that sugar makes me ill. (So do the Clif Shot blocs and sport beans, I would learn later). So at every aid station I only took water.
Now... remember how I still hadn't taken care of number two? I'm sorry to remind you of it, but around mile 6, I started thinking this might be the time. I didn't want to wait for a port-a-pottie, so I snuck off the course to a tree and dropped my skirt. I may have gotten stuck in the bum by some dry branches, so I started to rethink my strategy. But there was still nothing. Surprisingly I lasted all the way until mile 20. At mile 20, something happened. And that something happened so fast that it was
imperative I get to a bush or a port-a-pottie
immediately. And when I looked to my right, miracle of all miracles, there stood a cluster of port-a-potties. With nary a crowd of people waiting to get in! This whole time, every cluster of port-a-potties I had passed during the race had long-ish lines. There was even toilet paper inside!
Someone loves me, I thought. And I was immediately grateful I had remembered to pray that morning.
But sadly, the time I had to spend in that nasty outhouse stopped and immoveable was just long enough to cause my muscles to completely seize up. I stumbled out and tried to lift my legs. It was a-g-o-n-y.
Oh no! I thought.
I'm not going to be able to finish! I could barely put one foot in the front of the other, how in the world was I going to go 6 more miles?!? But if I have anything going for me, it is that I have a lot of pride and sheer will power. I willed my legs to move again and somehow they did, though I never found my rhythm again and my 9:30 pace was no longer possible. We winded our way down into the city of St. George, and the last four miles were
the. hardest. It seemed like years until I finally spotted the arch of white and red balloons at the finish. Or were they black and red? I was no longer lucid at that point. All of my brain capacity was focused on putting one foot in front of the other and looking straight ahead to the finish. So I ran and I ran and I ran. I turned a corner and those last few yards felt like years away. All of a sudden, I heard my name and looked to my left to see my friend, Angie, and her kids yelling and cheering for me. I was so happy to see a familiar face, I probably looked manic and I think I might have lifted my arms to wave, but I can't even remember now. And then I looked ahead again to the finish.
Almost there...
And then I crossed. A lady threw a medal over my head and I headed straight for the misters. I wanted to lie there in the misters, but other marathoners behind me were pushing to get in. So I forced myself out and tried to keep walking. All I could think was,
I need to find my bag. I need to get my phone. I need to call Jason. After wandering around for who knows how long in my disoriented state, I finally found the bag pickup. Some kind lady saw me in my sad and lost state and retrieved my bag for me. Then she helped me to the ground and I laid there until I could find the strength to reach over and pull out my phone. I dialed Jason and said,
Come find me. But it was my friend, Lisa, and her husband, Bob, who found me first and then helped me up over into the shade. Then Jason came running over. I think he might have chuckled when he saw me. I was glazed over. I couldn't move. There were flies all over me. They could smell death on me.
My gun time was 4:36 and my actual net time ended up being 4:34. Not the easy 4:20 I was hoping for. But that's okay. I'm not fast, and I'll never be fast but I am just fine with it. Now I am no longer a marathon virgin. It's kinda awesome. And even though my race report sounds ghastly and I'm walking like a 95-year-old woman today, I cannot wait to do my next one! Actually, I can wait. But you know what I mean.
So a few of my thoughts:
- I need to do more hill training. It's not so much the uphill part as it is the downhill part of races. It rips up my quads and I just brace myself in uncomfortable ways. I'm sensitive to downhills, because it's how I kept hurting myself and worsening my hamstring tendonitis earlier this year while running in Mexico and running the Sedona half back in February. I tried to lean forward and shorten my stride and glide down, but I couldn't find a good rhythm. I also felt like the St. George marathon course banked funny on the hills - not like Sedona that had smooth uphill/downhill transitions.
- Taking all those Clif Shot blocs and sport beans for four hours messes with a person's belly. Like eating fruit snacks for four hours. So gross. My friend Suz says sometimes people take Pepto Bismol to line their belly before the race and before ingesting all that energy stuff and Gu gels. I'm going to have to try that next time. Anyone have any thoughts on this? I want to know. This kind of stuff can make or break a race. Same with muscle cramping. Thoughts on how to prevent??
- All those horror stories people share about the finish line at full marathons? They're true. In the last few miles, I kept seeing people taking in oxygen at the aid station, getting wheeled away on gurneys, throwing up on the side and collapsing at the finish. I remember somewhere around mile 22 or so, an ambulance came speeding down the course to someone behind me, and all I could think was, Keep it together, Noe. You've got this. I was not going to be one of those people hurling at the finish. My friend, Suz, says she saw some guy throwing up in the mulch next to a tree and his wife was throwing woodchips over his vomit... this is a sick sport.
- I feel really good about my strategy to keep a slow, easy pace. And especially about starting out so slow. I think it's what saved me at the end. Because I didn't push myself, I still had something left in me to get me through those last painful six miles of muscle cramping and seizing.
This thing is still not coming off in the shower. These fake tats have some staying power. And my hair is horrible here after several hours of lying around in my jammies. Forgive.
But am I done with the fulls? No way! It's just fueled my fire. Lisa and Suz were amazing!! Lisa finished in 3:52 and Suz finished in 3:57. So while I was busy surviving the race, they were busy ripping up the course.
And of course, there was a moment in the race where I thought,
I'm grateful for my body. I'm grateful I can do this. I'm grateful for two arms, two legs and a healthy heart. Running reminds me that I am grateful to be alive.
