Well, not only since my last post to Positively Split (the name of the blog speaks volumes) (and if you're not familiar with the idea of what a "split" is, it refers to the way that you split a run/race into segments. So if you're gaining speed as you progress the split times become negative, i.e. the times it takes you to finish a later part of the run, say, mile 5, is less than an earlier part, say, mile 2. If you start slowing down as your run progresses your splits become longer, or "positive" - that's me), but also since my last 26.2 miler, which was last March's 2011 LA Marathon, a race that I remember quite fondly - not only was it my first crack at this thing, it was quite dramatical. Besides, I always love seeing my hometown in the rain, so despite the bout of clinical hypothermia I had a terrific time.
Now, I'm not a bucket-lister type (and I don't think young Jack Nicholson would have ever imagined that he would someday be in that style of "old guys rule!" buddy comedy with Morgan Freeman later in life), and my plan has always been to move on to the longer distances, the ultras, but I had something to prove - I had to prove to myself that last year wasn't just a fluke, a one-off, but that I could do this distance thing. So in the fall of last year I started looking for another marathon. I'd originally considered running Long Beach but didn't feel up to snuff and just ran the half. It was then that I discovered that a marathon was held in one of my favorite places, the Napa Valley. Wine, rich food, and strenuous physical exertion - what could possibly go wrong?
Two of my friends, part of a circle of friends who'd pleasantly vacationed in Napa before, also signed up for the run and our little group of 8 made a holiday out of the event with fond memories of previous trips in mind, arriving two days ahead of time.
The Napa Valley Marathon's considered a destination race, and come marathon morning I figured that meant that the participants were by and large serious runners, or at least that they were serious about their sneakers, which were by and large the more exotic, expensive kinds purchased by people who are essentially running nerds. Mizunos, New Balance Minimi, Brooks, etc. etc. There were a few "natural" runners, either shod in Vibrams or entirely barefoot. I was surprised by the number of runners sporting Newtons, which are quite pricey, especially the "Distance" model, a pair of which I'd recently bought:
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| "Natural running" in form, not style - those colors aren't found in nature. |
The company, which was recently featured in this month's Runners World, espouses a "natural running style" in that they minimize the heel-to-toe drop or "pitch" (that is, the height difference between the back heel of the shoe and the front toes. If you're standing barefoot your pitch is zero; many shoes have a pitch of 10 to 15 mm, and these have a heel-to-toe drop of 3 mm) and try to encourage landing on your midfoot - here's a link to an earlier post that provides some exposition. They also have these curious, potentially gimmicky but also possibly helpful midfoot lugs that are designed to give you a little spring back when you land on them correctly, i.e. with a midfoot strike:
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| See the 4 orange bars in the midfoot? Those are the lugs. |
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The original Nike Free Run+ was my go-to shoe and the one in which I ran the LA Marathon, and the updated 2 was also quite good, enough so that I'd put about 750 miles in them before the Napa Valley race.
Getting back to the marathon: it's a straight-shot point-to-point course that starts in Calistoga and runs down Silverado Trail on the east side of the valley, terminating at Vintage High School in the city of Napa. Buses collect the runners at the high school at 5 am, and a longish bus ride in the pre-dawn darkness does nothing to ease the anticipation one feels about the distance that's going to have to be covered, each passing minute in the bus leading to worsening feelings of, holy crap, I'm gonna have to run back all this way...
The lines for the port-a-potties at the starting line were deep but not too terribly bad. The race only fields 2,500 runners, which may have been one of the reasons Napa seemed to cater to more serious folks; waiting for the race to begin we could overhear other people chatting about the number of marathon's they'd been in, their goal finishing times, how neon yellow their shoes were, etc. As usual, I ended up somewhere in the middle of the pack at the starting line when the gun fired, and after a glance back and a little wave at my friends, off we went.
It was still pretty frosty at 7am so running a bit was a welcome way to ward off the toe-biting chill. A fog was still lifting from the trees during the first quarter of the race. The sun finally started coming up over the eastern hills of the valley, so there were warm patches of light in between the shade of trees. The course's elevation is net-negative, meaning that the route is, ultimately, downwards, but the first half is comprised of some rolling hills which I charged up, feeling spry. Perhaps it's because this run was a bit rural and there was less stuff to pass than in LA, but mile after mile just seemed to reel on by at a nice pace and everything was beautiful until mile 14, which was when I fell apart.
The only chip timer on the route was at the halfway mark where a young woman sat with a clipboard noting the passing runners, but by that point I was starting to feel the beginnings of doubt. I'd gone out way too fast; my early splits were low-8 minute miles, my watch marked mid to low 7 minute paces at points, and I began to entertain fantasies of mid, even low three hour finishes. By the time I reached the midway point I began to feel the strain of the pace, and by mile 14 things there were problems.
It seemed to begin at the aid station; miles 14 and 18 of the Napa Valley Marathon have GU packets (GU, for the uninitiated, is a brand of gel, which is a kind of sugary goop that's supposed to be an easy way to take in and metabolize energy whilst engaged in endurance sports. They taste weird and feel weird and are unlike real foods, but since they're semi-liquid they're supposed to be ready sources of carbohydrates for feats of sportsmanshipping), and when we arrived I saw a volunteer with one and swooped in, totally cutting off another runner who'd been there first and was going for the same thing. I have no idea why the hell I did that; I'd been running with two CLIF bars in my hands which I'd planned on using for nutrition during the run but that I ended up just kinda squishing around, but when I saw the GU girl I just bee-lined it for the gel and basically just GU-blocked a fellow runner.
My conscience was riddled with guilt, and for the next three-quarters of a mile or so I tried to find the runner I'd dicked over to apologize. Another guy, who wasn't the one I'd treated so rudely, said that he'd absolve me in the place of the offended party, but it didn't matter. And it was around this time I also began to realize that I had been totally and utterly unprepared for this marathon.
I don't mean necessarily and only physically, since I'd run farther and faster this past year than I had in preparation for LA. And the days preceding had been spent with careful attention to rest and diet. Okay, by diet I just mean that I ate extra french fries whenever they were around, but I had started carb-loading well in advance and had hydrated to the point that I had to pee all the time. But I was totally unprepared for the mental part of this run. I mean, the longest run I'd had in preparation was a 20 miler, which may seem crazy-long, but 6.2 miles whether in isolation or on top of a previous 20 is still a lot. But already somewhere in the space between miles 14 and 15 I began to doubt whether I'd be able to finish.
It wouldn't be so bad if I just stopped, just right there. The Napa Valley race was small enough that a bus trailed the course to pick up runners who couldn't finish. I could go back to the rental house, call it a day and have some cheese, and after all I'd already gone the half-marathon distance, so why not? I'd gone out way too hard and was feeling it, feeling the impossibly optimistic pace I'd set earlier catch up with me, and I knew the rest of my splits would be positive. I think it's over.
I tried to think of motivators. At the finish of this race they have hot showers, if you're so inclined, soup, bread, massages even. I could have a beer later. Some writers I'd read made mention of being motivated by the idea of sex - just follow the shapely butt of the tall runner with long hair in front of me, just focus on it and chase it. Oh, wait - that's a guy. Dangit! Why does that keep happening to me? Nothing worked. I had spent months getting ready, I'd been running so much, all of the 5am mornings awake and preparing for long runs, but I hadn't been ready mentally. Although I'd been getting ready in fine detail in some ways, planning on the taper and rest, on the carb-load, I hadn't been thinking about what it'd be like on the run itself, my head wasn't in the game. In some ways my first marathon had been a bit charmed by ignorance, while the miles progressed I just thought, wow, it's raining like crazy, we're really far, when this sumbitch goin' end? But this time I'd spent the days leading up just thinking about eating more carbs and not about what the race itself was going to be like, what running all of those miles was going to be like, what I was going to be thinking just after mile 20 and while I'd stopped at that point during training that I'd now have to keep going.
Somehow I made it to mile 19. I'd heard some other runners, middle-aged women in tu-tus who'd left me behind miles ago, talking about the hill that began at 19 and progressed in a slog for two more miles. An impossibly fit-looking couple to my left kept slowing down to a walk, and then every time I'd catch up, maddeningly, they'd speed back up to a run, over and over again. The sun had come up miles ago, and while the start of the race had been chilly the sun was now bright and there was no shade anywhere on the course, salt drying on my shirt, thoughts of quitting, quitting, quitting.
After being passed by the walk-run couple again I found myself pacing a gentlemen in a blue shirt and shorts, a little heavier set like me, taller though, but with the same pace. Neither of us seemed to pull forward or fall back. If you only have one day left to live, spend it running up a slow, low grade hill miles into a marathon 'cause it'll feel like an eternity. I just wanted to be in my own thoughts, but he began talking. I don't remember what it was that he first said, probably something about the hill, and me grunting in return, can't be rude, now, and then we just kept talking, he was from San Antonio, he'd planned on losing 15 pounds before this race but hadn't, the course was hilly, he'd been on a number of marathons and just wanted to break the four hour mark 'cause then he could cross it off his bucket list, all stuff related not only to running but this particular run we were on, and somehow we made it to the top of the hill. "I woulda stopped running back there," he said as we started the descent, "only I woulda been ashamed quittin' in front of y'all." Somehow, me too, and as we rolled into the aid station at mile 21 we took comfort in that the rest of the course was flat. I wished him good luck on making a sub-4 time and we lost each other then, but he'd gotten me over the hill at mile 19 and then disappeared, a marathon angel.
At mile 21 I began to cramp, the heat and the lack of conditioning getting to me, my left quads and my right calf aching. I took slow, deep breaths in and tried to hyperventilate the lactic acid out which left my hands tingling. I tried taking more vigorous strides and nothing seized up, so I kept shuffling along. Thinking about things gives me some perspective. It's not like I'm out there curing cancer or making peace in the Middle East, no one's life is being saved, we're just running because our loved ones put up with us running, so lighten up, you're supposed to be having fun, and despite the aches, despite the fact that the sun is merciless, I lighten up, this is just for fun.
Runners kept passing me, and all I could think of was to remind myself, "just run your own race," don't compare yourself to the people around you, just run to what you think you can do right now, just run your own race at your own pace.
The problem with these road marathons is that there are parts of the course that are big, long, flat straightaways without any variation, so you see, way off in the distance, the orange mile marker which never seems to get any closer, and then you turn a corner and you have to keep going to the next one. At mile 24 I tried to tell myself that there were just 2.2 miles left, but that part of the course was just straight and painful, stretching off into the distance. The last bits of the marathon went through a residential area and the course kept going onto the grounds of the high school but it was finally over. A volunteer singles you out, guides you over to a kid who puts a medal around your neck, you stagger through the finishing area and then onto the pavilion. A concerned volunteer came over, you look like you're a bit wobbly, but then again you just ran 26 miles, I don't bother to correct her that it was 26.2, but thank her and move on, trying to find something to drink, and eventually my wife finds me and we buy Girl Scout cookies and I have some of the vegetable soup and learn that there are no more massages available but I don't care anymore, we find a spot of shade in which to sit and wait for our friends and it's done.
I don't know what happened to the guy from San Antonio, if he broke the four hour mark or not, but he certainly helped me finish. It wasn't just the "you and me too, brother," type of encouragement, we didn't spend the time cheerleading each other, we just trudged up the same hill and learned what feels like a surprising lot about each other in a couple of miles. I wise-cracked that he was a marathon angel, as though he were Della Reese in running clothes and Nikes, but I guess the idea I'm having is more that we, meaning people, were meant to run together. Some of the best parts about preparing for and running these races has been getting to hang out with people I may not have gotten to know as well if we hadn't spent hours alongside each other. I love it.
I spend the next few days walking funny and involuntarily whimpering in a pitiable way. Reading and talking about running is a lot easier than actually doing it, but another marathon down, and now I've gotta think about the next run.
I don't know what happened to the guy from San Antonio, if he broke the four hour mark or not, but he certainly helped me finish. It wasn't just the "you and me too, brother," type of encouragement, we didn't spend the time cheerleading each other, we just trudged up the same hill and learned what feels like a surprising lot about each other in a couple of miles. I wise-cracked that he was a marathon angel, as though he were Della Reese in running clothes and Nikes, but I guess the idea I'm having is more that we, meaning people, were meant to run together. Some of the best parts about preparing for and running these races has been getting to hang out with people I may not have gotten to know as well if we hadn't spent hours alongside each other. I love it.
I spend the next few days walking funny and involuntarily whimpering in a pitiable way. Reading and talking about running is a lot easier than actually doing it, but another marathon down, and now I've gotta think about the next run.
Napa Valley Marathon
26.37 mi. 4hr:3min:27sec. 9:14 pace. 3.231 calories. 698 overall place. 72nd percentile.
