2012 ES20 Race regurgitation…
Dead in the water…
Frank, Brian and I have been running this race for 15 or more years. It’s springtime, pre-Boston ritual. I was quite looking forward to it.
Early in the race I caught up to Frank, which is unusual, and told him that next year I’d be in his age group and with his advancing decrepitude I might catch him. Age catches us all.
…
Soaking wet and shivering I asked the scoutmaster for a trash bag. A steady sea breeze was cutting through me now that I had stopped moving and I sensed approaching hypothermia. It was overcast and in the high 30’s with a spitting, briny, hint of rain bowing off the Atlantic on North Hampton Beach. I showed the boy scouts who were working the 15 mile water stop my trick by using my teeth to tear holes in the bag for my arms and head.
I had to wait politely for the woman who offered me a ride to the finish. Her husband hadn’t come by yet. He was having a rough day. He was a Dana Farber runner and was working hard for the Cancer team to earn his Boston. She told me he was West Point and had raised $2,000 more than the required $4,000.
I saw Eric, one of the guys who rode up with us, and he texted ahead to the finish that I was getting a ride.
…
I was racing well up to the 11 and a half mile mark. I had used all my pacing tricks. I was drafting and keeping it together but I was worried. Checking my heart rate as I checked my pace it was too high. Consistently too high. I was right on pace, relaxed and disciplined but every time I checked the pace my HR was in the 140’s.
For most of the world a HR in the 140’s would not be a sign of concern but for me that’s a zone 4. To shed some light for those of you uninitiated in the alchemy of heart rates, there are 5 zones. Therefore a zone four is above 80%, or to put it another way it’s an 8 out of ten effort. Which is fine for a 10k, but a bit concerning in the first 10 miles of a 20 miler.
I also noticed early on that I was sweating. A lot. At this temperature I should not be sweating that much. I took it as further evidence that the Heart Rate wasn’t lying. I was working too hard for that pace. But, what could I do?
I was mixing in a 30 second walk break at every water stop and my HR would come down. It was hard to start running again from those walks. Pushing back up into race pace was when I felt the hip and the foot.
Interestingly enough my hip didn’t hurt while I was racing. There’s something about being in the groove of race form that, at least temporarily, makes everything else ok. The metronome and focus of the race creates a physical trance that pulls everything into line.
I had not been able to put weight on my right leg after my long run the previous Sunday. I had been limping from it all week and had not run since. I’m not going to lie. I’m still limping today a couple days later, but it wasn’t the hip that knocked me out of the race. It was simple lack of conditioning. I wasn’t ready for the effort.
Somewhere around the 10 mile mark I felt a loss of energy. I was confused and looked at my watch. Then I laughed. About and hour and 20 minutes. It was the wall. It was my body running out of free glycogen and switching to fat. I laughed because it’s been years since I felt it. My body has gotten so good at making the transition I hadn’t felt the actual sensation in years.
At 11.5 miles I started losing my pace. I was running at the same effort but my pace had dropped by 20 seconds a mile. I recognized this too. My body was telling me it was done racing for today, thank you very much. I walked for a while and now I could feel the hip start to hurt full throttle.
I started running again but now was a full 1.5 to 2 minutes off of race pace. That’s an entirely different form. I limped along like this for awhile. My pace getting slower. My walk breaks getting longer and my limp getting more pronounced.
People kept passing me and asking if I was ok. I ensured them that I was decidedly not ok and wondered just what they planned to do about it – bless their souls.
I limped into the 15 mile aid station and asked loudly if there was a way I could get a ride to the finish. They all looked at me baffled, but Linda, who was there waiting on her husband said she could, as long as I wasn’t a serial killer.
I assured her I could barely stand so that would make it hard for me to accost her.
And so, bedraggled and diminished I rode the last 5 miles in style with Linda and her dogs. I limped to the finish line and told them I was out if they wanted my number, which is always a considerate thing to do. Some races will get stressed out if they can’t account for all the runners. But they were nonplussed.
…
What happened? Let’s step back. I was cleared to run again just over a month ago. I have not trained hard since last April, almost a year ago. I have not run since June. I have been fighting a cross-training retrograde action for 9 months due to the debilitation of Plantar Fasciitis.
I ran a couple times and it felt ok so I came up with a plan. If I assumed that I had retained my base endurance and strength I could lay some volume and intensity on top of that to race at Boston. This would give me 7ish weeks to train for a marathon. Coach, being my good and supportive co-dependent agreed to help me go for it.
What I learned on Sunday was that I have not retained my base endurance. You have to pay your dues to race the marathon. I have not paid my dues. I was trying to cheat and got what all cheaters deserve – I got caught. I got caught by the ass at the 11 mile mark. You can’t fake fitness.
Where’s this leave us? The next couple weeks I’ll try to heal enough to ‘participate’ in the 2012 Boston marathon. I’m leaving my Garmin at home. Maybe I’ll bring a camera instead and wear my flowered Hawaiian shirt like a good tourist.
My plans for the summer? I don’t know. I need to fall back in love with running. The abusive nature of our relationship over the last few weeks is not what I want.
Am I somehow upset or depressed about all this? Hell no! I learned what I needed to learn.
For 11 miles I was racing! I was knocking off those splits like clockwork. My feet were hitting the ground and chewing up the tar like a thoroughbred running machine. I was surrounded by my people in their Boston Marathon clothes and I was in my world. That was cool. No, for me it was more than cool…it was glorious.
I can’t wait to build my base back.