Portland Marathon

Weird, wet and wonderful in the rain

When I daydream about marathons it’s always somewhere on the course in the high miles.  It’s when you have that moment of truth.  Where it hurts and you want to stop.  Your body and your brain want you to stop.  And you have to make a decision. You have to decide.  You have to decide not only to keep going but to push.  Knowing that every mile, every step and every foot fall is going to hurt just as much and probably more for the rest of the race.  In my fantasies I make that decision.  I flip that mental switch and revel in the glorious effort of closing that race, of beating the course of beating my demons and celebrating that sweet, sweet victory.

I had that moment in Portland at Mile 24.  I was hurting but my form was good and my legs were still turning.  I saw the mile mark out of the corner of my eye.  I shook the smoke of effort from my fogged head and chanced a look at my watch.  In quick, round numbers I had 20 minutes to get to the finish to break 3:40 and qualify for Boston 2018.  At first I thought “I’ve got it.  All I need is 2 10 minute miles” Then I remembered that pesky ¼ mile that no one likes to talk about.  That’s another 2 minutes.

And I knew there could be no relaxing, no slowing down, no letting off the gas.  I pushed my hips forward and ran scared.  Like my whole life was chasing me.  Like everything I have ever thought or said or believed was here, now in this moment.

And that’s why I love the marathon.  That’s why I keep coming back.  For that once in a while chance to look at my fear and run over it.  To leave those size 12D footprints on the face of mortality.

…

I had not trained specifically for this race.  I had not trained specifically for road marathons at all since Boston in April.  I had been running, racing and staying in general shape but I have not been focused on the marathon.

I was focused on having fun in trail races this summer.  I rolled out of a disastrous crash at Boston in April where I hit the wall so hard you probably heard it around the world.  I recycled that fitness to run the Grand Canyon with Teresa in May.

I struggled through an ugly training cycle in June and July that culminated in a slow, hot Indy trail marathon at the end of July.  I felt terrible.  My runs were sluggish.  My Heart rate was high.  Nothing was working.

August 1^st I decided to change.  I did something different.

I re-engineered my nutrition.  I quit drinking beer.  I went mostly vegan.  I ate probiotic.

I started to feel better.  My weight started to drop.  My runs started to feel good.

I ran the Wapack Trail race at the end of August and had a decent time of it.  It took me 4 hours to cross those 4 mountains of out and back technical trails.

I kept the nutrition plan going.  I dropped down under 170 pounds for the first time in 30 years.  I felt lean and strong.  My heart started performing like it used to in workouts.  With the lighter, healthier body and the cooler weather I started hitting my workouts and looking forward to the hard ones.

I turned around and ‘ran’ a 6-1/2 hour Spartan beast up in Killington and was quite happy with it.

Now I was in a strange position.  I had signed up for Portland with no intention of racing it or training for it specifically but here it was 3 weeks away and I was light and healthy.

I had enough time to get one long run in and a couple decent tempo workouts before the taper.  I ran the 3 hour training run in around a 3:50 marathon pace.  Now I was really in a pickle as to Portland.

Could the Marathon Miracle happen?  Before the weight loss I felt like I was in 4 hour marathon shape.  After that training run I thought ‘maybe I could be in 3:45 shape?  Maybe 3:40? Maybe 3:30?’

I age up for the 2018 Boston Marathon if they don’t change the standards.  That means a sub 3:40 is now a qualifying time for me.  Could I do that?

How would I do that? What could my strategy be?  I had the time on my feet.  I was healthy and fit.  But I had hardly any road volume and very little quality speed or tempo.  To summarize fitness- Check.  Race specific training – negative.  A conundrum.

…

This was a travel race for me.  I had to get from Boston out to Portland which anyone with a little geography knows is all the way across the country.  I am running low on frequent flyer miles so I decided to fly out early on Wednesday and come back Tuesday night on the redeye.  It’s an 8-hour flight for me.

Travel races of course have some challenges.  You never know quite what to bring and you have to deal with jet lag and live off the land so to speak.  I’m a good traveler.  I put this race on the calendar early in the year because Coach – who has the prostate cancer – said it was his last marathon.  After all he’s done training me I needed to support him on this.

My plan was to hang out and work in coffee shops during the days.   By taking the cheap flights I needed to find a place to stay for a week and I executed my first AirBNB transaction.  If you’re going to have an adventure why not go all the way, right?

I’m a flexible traveler.  I found a room with a friendly Pitt Bull and a futon 3 blocks from Coach’s store.  It was weird but nice and I had a warm dog to cuddle with which is always a plus.

I established my routine of getting up early for east coast calls, hitting the coffee shop for a few hours of work, then the organic market for an early lunch – the vegan and whole food choices in Woodstock are awesome- Wander over to the Starbucks in Safeway for a few more hours of wifi then close the day by hanging out at Coach’s store Pace Setter Athletics.

Just another hipster or, more accurately, a homeless guy wandering around Portland.

…

Now as the race was approaching and teammates were flooding in.  What should my strategy be?  I knew one thing for sure.  I did not want to race 20 miles of the race and death shuffle the last 10k again.  I needed a less aggressive strategy.  I needed a negative split strategy but one that gave me a chance to race if I felt good.  I needed a strategy to let the race come to me and see what happened.

Looking at the course the profile seemed good for me.  It was a slight uphill out with a big hill at 16-1/2 miles cresting on top of a bridge over the river at 17 then mostly downhill into the finish.  That bridge was a good milestone.  Seemed like at the top of that bridge at 17 miles I’d know whether it was my day or not.  If I could hold off from going too fast until then I could choose to close it on the downhills and see what I had.

The most I’ve ever negative splitted a race is around 7 minutes 2009 in Boston.  That was accelerating in from 17 miles as well.  But I wasn’t in that kind of shape.  I hadn’t done that training.

I set my A++, wet dream goal to be a 3:30, my A goal to be 3:40 and my B goal for 3:45 and my overall goal to not die.  My day would have to go very poorly to not be able to deliver a 4 hour marathon.

The key would be what I could go out at and still have that gas to accelerate into the finish and not come up short.  It was a tricky bit of game theory.

As the race approached the weather changed radically.  What had been predicted as a nice sunny fall day, a break in the rain, changed to partly cloudy to slight drizzle to heavy rain and 50 degrees over the course of the 48 hours leading up to the race.

Frankly I found this oddly comforting.  I like the rawness of inclement weather in a race.  I find it focuses me on the challenge at hand and clears the mind.  I went to bed early with a good plan and slept like a log.

The race had an early start time 7:00AM – which I like.  I woke up before my 4:30 alarm to the sound of torrential rain and water sluicing off the roof of my BNB.  I had a banana and sipped a cup of coffee I had procured the night before.

I kitted up and rubbed some FlexAll on my legs.

I put on those same old Hoka Clifton’s I’ve been racing in all summer with a pair of Asics NYC marathon tech socks. Because of the cold weather I decided to wear my Zensa Calf sleeves still blood stained from the Spartan race. I had my well-worn Brooks baggie shorts with the bike shorts liner to prevent chaffing. I wore a PRSFit team tech tee shirt for Coach and my prostate cancer race cap.  (get yourself checked or force your man to get himself checked) and running gloves to keep my hands warm in the cold rain.

I stashed 8 Endurolytes in a small baggie in the key pocket.  I carried 4 Glukos Energy gels, one in each side pocket one in the back of each glove.  These are oversized gels – more fluid than gel and they are fairly bulky but I needed to bring my own fuel.  On course support was this disgusting zero calorie Ultima drink and bargain, bulk gummi bears.  Bizarre and useless marathon racing provisions.

I carried my bike bottle of regular strength Ucan in one hand to sip.  I mixed up another bottle of Ucan and drank it in the corral waiting for the race to start.

Coach and a bunch of Team PRSFit athletes picked me up at 5:00 and we drove downtown for the race.

As we waited in the corral it was a steady cold drizzly rain.  I had a trash bag as a rain coat.  I was in Corral D.  I seeded myself towards the center of the corral as I usually do but realizing that I was in far better shape than the people in the Corral I moved up to the front to get better running lanes.  I guess the D corral was 4 hours or slower.  I must have given a 4 hour estimated finish when I registered.  The 4:00 hour pace group was right at the front of the corral.

They played the National anthem and encouraged us to sing along.  I choked up as I usually do being a bit overwhelmed by the emotion of standing yet again fit and ready at the start of another adventure in the drizzling dawn.

Sean Astin the Hobbit actor said a few words of encouragement and they started releasing the corrals.

Out of the chute I was running free.  I was wearing 2 watches. My Garmin with no heart strap and my old ironman.  Wasn’t sure the Garmin battery would last and I trusted the old ironman Timex to survive anything Portland could throw at it.

I configured my Garmin to show just distance and time.  I wasn’t going to try to watch my pace neurotically like I did at Boston.  I’d just run by feel and try to hold back enough to be able to race at the end.

…

I quickly left my starting tranche and caught back of next wave. I was weaving through the dark, wet city streets trying to find some open running.  Knew I was exerting too much effort but I like to burn off a little energy in the first mile or so to warm up.  I quickly caught and passed the 3:55 pace group.

I missed the first mile mark.  I saw mile 2 and checked my Garmin.  I was a bit shocked when it was 24 minutes.  Another little shock was that my Garmin had decided not to connect to the satellites so all I had was time, no distance, no pace, no elevation, nada.  Which I was frankly perfectly ok with.  No distractions and I could focus on racing.

I kept passing people and finally caught up to the 3:45 pace group.  I pulled into the 3:45 pace group and introduced myself to the pacer. Frank was a veteran runner with over 150 marathoners and 24 Bostons.  I had found a home.

I calculated that this 3:45 pace group had at least a 2-minute head start on my corral.  3:45 was a good pace for me to hang at until the bridge then I’d be within 2-3 minutes of my A goal if things worked out.

As we ran the middle miles all the mile marks were off by ½ mile. I’m not sure why in a 45 year old race the mile marks would be so far off.  People were concerned but I said. Mostly for my own benefit, “The only mile mark that matters is the last one.”

As we cruised the early miles there were lots of bands and drummers along the course.  They were a bit muted and driven dismal by the driving rain.  We had the road mostly to ourselves. The road was closed, or at least half closed and the course was wide enough to avoid the puddles. It was mostly tar, with several out and backs before we headed out, up the river towards the bridge.  There were some rough bits in the city but all in all the course was a decent surface for racing.

I spent the middle miles locked with the 3:45 pace group.  Helping Frank and the other pacer coach the runners.  I felt pretty good at that pace and was working to hold back.  My Ucan bottle lasted well into the half. I took a couple Endurolytes every 10k or so.  I Got a Glukos down every 10k or so as well, I lost one on the road somewhere but I had enough fuel and it didn’t worry me.

There were plenty of water stops and I was taking a cup of water when it was convenient.  Had a funny incident at one of the middle mile aid stations.  I cruised in yelling “Water!” Someone handed me a cup and I took a gulp and spat it out spluttering.  It was that disgusting Ultima crap.  I looked for another cup, yelling “water?” Someone hands me another cup.  It’s gummi bears.  I say “F’ing gummi bears!” and throw it in the air in frustration. The runners around me were cracking up.

When we passed though the half and into mile 14 we turned into headwind.  Cold and rainy with a head wind.  It got pretty chilly.  I was glad for my gloves.  We pulled the pace group together into a drafting peloton.

I was feeling pretty strong and a big guy went by so I pulled into his envelop and drafted through to the base of the hill at 16-ish miles up to the bridge.

I hit the hill and everyone was walking so I pushed using my mountain training.  I attacked it and ground up it passing lots of people.

I crested the bridge and used the momentum to slingshot and just keep passing.  Ironically, the guy who won finished while I was on the bridge at 17.5 miles.  I felt strong.  My form was good.  My energy was good.  Now it was time to race.

On the other side of the bridge coming back down the river there were lots of shallow down hills.  I was racing.  I was pushing and working hard.

I was running scared and hunting the next pace group.  Would it be 3:40? 3:35? I wondered if I could hold the pace and push through the end.  I Knew I was close to my A goal with the 3:45 pace group behind me and the 2 minute buffer.

I shot my last gel at mile 20.  My head was clear.  I was tiring but my form was good.  No cramps.

Some little hills around22 to 23 miles and it started to suck.  Not enough to knock me out but enough to tell me my mechanics were tenuous.  The question was when would that other shoe drop.  Did I have 26.2?  Or 22?  Or 24? Doing the math I knew I wasn’t catch that 3:30 but knew I was right on the 3:40 and had to keep pushing.

I stopped thinking about the finish and tried to run in the now.  I focused on form.  Hips.  Hips.  Hips.   I worked the tangents.  Use the road.  Stretch it out and use the downhills to pick up seconds and feet.

I was locked in and racing.  I was running scared.  My mantra was “hips, tangents”.

I passed mile 24 and saw how close I was and flipped that switch.

Things started to blur a bit.  Hips.  Tangents.  Effort.  Passing people walking.  Passing people limping from calf cramps.  Knocking them out of the way to get to the tangents.  Taking water at the water stops.  Pushing.  Pushing.  Hips.  Tangents.  Push.

By the last mile I was emitting a little moaning sigh with each breath as my systems were failing and my form was getting jerky.  Checking my watch I had a ¼ mile to go and it was too close to call.

I never saw 26.  Passing walkers and ½ marathoners.  Two hard 90 degree turns with less than 200 meters to go.  Push. Push. Hips. Drive the arms and the knees.  Hammer the puddles, work the tangent.

Through the chute.  Cross both mats.  Doubled over in exhaustion.

Stopped my Garmin at 3:38:51.  Even with any difference in the timing system that should get me under 3:40.  It started to dawn on me that I had most probably just qualified for Boston for the first time in 5 years.  5 years of injuries and bombs and training and heart problems and racing.

I persevered.  I figured it out and made it work.  I did the work.  I found myself.

As I got my medal and stumbled through the finish chute the marathon photo guy stepped in front of me.  I spread my arms leaned back and smiled in glorious joy Like the Jesus on the mountain in Rio. That picture, that moment, is now another treasure in my great, grateful well of treasures that can’t be taken away.

They gave me a one of those throw-away post-race hoodie things.  It was still pissing could rain.  I was soaked.

I was a bit stunned now, looking around for someone to celebrate with. I grabbed some apples – they have great apples in Portland this time of year.

They gave us memorial coins and our finisher shirt. I tried to tuck these under the hoodie to keep them dry to no avail.  And then someone handed me a tree sapling, because, you know, Portland.

Having stopped racing I was now soaking wet, freezing cold with numb prune hands.  I spent some time asking people how to get back to the hotel where some teammates had rooms so I could get in a hot shower and get some feeling back in my hands.

I was surprised to have very little chaffing, not too much damage in general.  I thought for sure with the rain I’d lose more skin.  I wasn’t that sore from the effort either.  When you keep your form you don’t get beat up as badly.

We had a good night celebrating with the team, having some local IPAs and a nice big cheeseburger.

…

At the end of the day this race went my way.  I got as much out of myself as I was able to given my training and the conditions.

I walk into every race expecting to achieve my A goal.  I don’t assume I deserve it.  I do the training.  I’m patient and I try to give myself the best chance to succeed on any given day.  Your race doesn’t happen on the course, it happens in your training, in your consistency and in your attitude.  You earn the right to have a special day like I had in Portland this week.

It’s hard.  You have to keep showing up.  You have to be willing to take a beating.  You have to be willing to get knocked down over and over again and keep showing up.

It took me 5 years. It wasn’t always pretty.  I had plenty of self-doubt and detours.  I had to age into it.

I’m qualified for the 2018 Boston marathon.