This was our first marathon here at Lactic and – considering the heat and an unexpected injury during our last long run – it probably couldn’t have gone any better. A questionable shin and record temperatures forced a very conservative start with an easy pace and plenty of hydration. Never hit the wall (or if that was the wall, it was relatively soft), just gradually slowed over the last 10 miles and cruised in at 4:54:24. Performance aside, we thought the race was very well-organized with plenty of support and, of course, an amazing group of spectators estimated at 1.2 million. Still sore, but would do another in a heartbeat as we figure we faced about as adverse conditions as could be expected and came out okay on the other side.
The Long Road Ahead for Olympic Marathoners
In the early miles of a recent half-marathon, I was sure something was wrong with my heart monitor. That or I was picking up the signal of a runner near me. How else to explain 180 BPM, a level I rarely reach even in the latter stages of speed workouts? Sure, the course had a few hills in its first half, but none steep enough to explain these readings. And the temperature was only in the upper-60s. I felt fine and wasn’t struggling at all in spite of the puzzling numbers. Then, halfway through the race, the course exited a park setting and took to the streets. And instantly, my heart rate came down. In hindsight, there could be only one cause: humidity. A pre-race rainstorm combined with the heavily wooded park created very high humidity. And if you’ve been reading any previews of the upcoming Olympic marathons, you know competitors will be facing even worse conditions. And we’re not talking about something remedied with a little extra hydration. Performance will suffer, period. Elite runners who’ve faced similar conditions as Beijing seem to have a universal refrain: I simply couldn’t run as fast as usual. Some think this may even the field. Some think it will only increase the East African advantage. But one thing is sure for Ryan Hall and Deena Kastor and everyone else toeing the start line. Running at this level is about managing pain. And this one promises a whole new level of hurt.
Race report #4: Chicago Distance Classic
How is it possible to enter this 13.1 mile race online just a few days before the event? There are plenty of similar half-marathons – with vastly inferior ambiance and scenery – that fill up instantly. Maybe it’s another Chicago half-marathon coming up next month. Or the Chicago marathon the month after that. Whatever the reason, it’s hard to fathom why anyone would miss this. Starting in Grant Park and running south along Lakeshore Boulevard before circling back along the lakefront path, the 2008 edition saw cool (for August) temps and very little humidity. The course can get slightly cramped at times, but organizers did their best to ease the congestion by breaking the start into staggered “waves”. And, if nothing else, this race is worth it for the stunning view of the Chicago skyline just after the turnaround.
Race report #3: New York City Half Marathon
Lactic hit the lottery a few months back and won entry to the NYC Half Marathon on Sunday, July 27. The course starts with a six-mile loop through Central Park before routing runners out of the south end of the park onto 7th Avenue for a jog right through the heart of Times Square, then west on 42nd Street before turning south on the highway adjacent to the Hudson all the way to the finish at Battery Park on the south tip of Manhattan (near a convenient subway station to zip you back uptown). A pre-race rain shower created almost sauna-like conditions in Central Park, but the streets brought a slight breeze, making for a much more comfortable second half. Needless to say, the entire course has its share of spectacular scenery, but it’s hard to top the surreal feeling of running through a shut-down Times Square. The race is very well organized, with the start corrals (and the start itself) easily the most comfortable we’ve ever experienced. Except for a cancelled Sunday night flight and a resulting 14-hour drive home on Monday, it was the perfect trip.
Don’t
Don’t. I know your big race is only a few days away and you want to be your best. So new shoes should do the trick, right? Don’t. A better kick might get you to a PR, so maybe you should squeeze in one last interval session? Don’t. A new pillow, a new pre-race meal, possibly use this race to try those gel packs for the very first time? Don’t and don’t and oh-my-goodness don’t. Remember, consistency got you this far. It’s been faithful and true. It’s consistency, that’s what it does. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to excel. But the finish line is reached by staying the course. Even in training. So push down all those doubts. Stick to the plan. And don’t.
Rosie and Barry and Frank
Frank Shorter, the 1972 Olympic marathon gold medalist, may never have met Rosie Ruiz and Barry Bonds. But, sadly, he knows the type. When Shorter won in Munich in ‘72, he was preceded into the stadium by an Ruiz-like impostor, a high school student who jumped onto the track and entered the stadium to a roar from the crowd. Shorter never saw the young man and had no concern about his own win, but was admittedly puzzled when the crowd was silent as the American ran onto the track for his final meters. Much more troublesome was the impostor who stole the roar from Shorter at the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. Waldemar Cierpinski, an East German, took the gold medal (Shorter won the silver) and followed up with another gold in the 1980 Olympics. But before there was a BALCO and a Barry Bonds, there was the East German athletics system now known to have supplied performance enhancing drugs to thousands of their best athletes. And evidence strongly suggests Cierpinski was one of them. So, once more, Shorter entered a stadium in silence. But, to his credit, he is philosophical about the twin experiences. He claims it helped him understand what he was running for: Not the attention or acclaim, but for something both deeper and higher. Something never attained by the two who preceded him – literally, but never figuratively – into the arena.
A line erased
Chip timing has made race management a much easier task. And, in races with heavy participation, everyone appreciates their finishing time reflecting actual running time without the added minutes spent waiting to cross the starting line. But those chips didn’t just replace the old scoring tear-offs on the bottom of race number bibs. For the non-seeded runner, gone too is the truly competitive sprint to the finish line. You see, in the old days when you were neck and neck with someone as the two of you approached the finish line, it really was a race. First one to the line was truly beating the other and the proof would show up in the final results. Today, depending on the length of the race, there could be 10 to 15 minutes difference between two runners finishing side-by-side. Sure, you’ll still see people race each other to the line, but – whether they know it or not – it’s almost never for place. Of course, we always have been (and always will be) racing the clock. I just miss the days when we raced the stranger beside us, too.
Counting all 5,280
A couple of years ago, Joan Benoit Samuelson helped pace Lance Armstrong as he ran his first marathon. She commented afterward that Lance was (paraphrasing) “obsessed with the mile markers.” Well, at least I have something in common with Lance. But Joan further explained she wanted Lance to focus more on rhythm and pace and let the miles take care of themselves. Much easier said than done. The very races we run are measured in miles or kilometers. So naturally we want to track ourselves against those increments. But we’ve also all had the experience of forgetting our mile marker fixation –– and the happy surprise when it appears seemingly out of nowhere. I should probably try to take Joanie’s advice. Because the watched mile marker never arrives. But, to be honest, I just glanced down for about the 40th time while writing this to check my word count. So I don’t have high hopes.
Striding out.
Finger poised over Return button, I stopped. Do I really want to do this? It wasn’t the money. Not the entry fee, the hotel reservations, or any other expenses. I’m not worried about the training, not concerned about my age, don’t think I’ll hurt myself. None of that. It’s the embarrassment. Straight up fear of failure. Don’t want to quit and don’t want to hobble the last four miles and let ‘em put a medal around my neck. And so I paused. Do I want this? Am I ready to lay it all out there? Do I really want to run my first marathon? Yes. Tap. Yes I do.
