I am sure the first question a non-runner would have for me is what would possess me to want to do such a thing in the first place, and furthermore why did I go through with it? I can't give you a definitive answer to either question without recounting the process I went through to accomplish this dubious feat.
My wife has run several marathons and my son has run one as well, so you might think they were my inspiration, and that is true to an extent. But you don't run 26 miles just to impress someone else, you must do it for yourself if you want to succeed. And this was the case for me, I was not coaxed into doing this, I did it for myself.
The race was in late December, so I started training in September. I would venture out before sun up and run three miles three days a week, then run an extra mile every Wednesday or Thursday. My strategy was simple, run an additional mile or two each week until I reached twenty three miles, then I could make it the extra three plus miles during the event.
In case you don't know, it is hot and humid in Florida in September. Midway into my long runs my feet would make a squishing sound, sorta of like when you were a kid and wore galoshes on your way to school, for those of you old enough to remember. Not only that, but my inner thighs would rub together and form what could be best described as a severe diaper rash. I could go on further, but you get the idea of what I was up against.
I would typically run a rectangular loop from my house, first heading west, then north, then east, then south, then west again, about six miles in total. I started at six miles in my training, so at the three week mark I attempted eight miles and it practically took everything I had to complete the distance. After I was done, I was faced with the daunting task of convincing myself that even though I could barely complete eight miles, I still had over twice that far to train for!
I don't know how I found the motivation, but I stuck to the one additional mile per week regimen and little by little I was up to ten miles, then thirteen and so on.You'd be surprised at how your body remembers how far you went the previous week, because as soon as you reached last week's distance mark, your body would plead for you to stop.
My body would play little tricks on me while I ran to try to convince me to stop. First my right calf would cramp up, then as soon as the cramp stopped, by ankle would start hurting. The ankle thing would go on for a few miles, then as soon as it went away, my knee would start to hurt. After awhile, I realized that there was nothing wrong with any part of my muscle-archer, and if I just didn't give into these things they would simply go away down the road.
My wife is retired from distance running now, but she was an above-average marathoner in her time. Although very supportive in her own way, she was a little more fond of giving advice than I would have preferred. She thought my training regimen was just a little short of suicidal, and scoffed at my insistence that drinking beer was a holistic means of hydrating myself. She would beg me to stretch after my longs runs, to which I would respond by sprawling out on a lounge chair.
I suppose it would have been wise to consult with her before I started training, but that wasn't my style. I figured I had done countless 5K runs, a hand full of half marathons, over ten triathlons, more century rides than I can remember, not to mention the fact that I was once duathlon champion of Florida in my age group. I figured I knew how to train for a race. Well, seems I might have been wrong about that, but more about that later.
My six mile loop soon turned into two six miles loops, then three loops and so on. I seemed to be able to handle the longer miles OK, but my time was painfully slow. So slow in fact, that with just a month left before the race, I was genuinely concerned that I would not be able to finish within the six hour time limit allowed, and I was running out of time to fix it.
It was my expressed plan to keep training hard, adding miles on right up until a week or so before the event. My son and wife did an intervention on me, however, and convinced me to do my longest run of 23 miles three weeks before the event and to then taper down after that. I struggled on home after the four and a half hour 23 mile marathon prep run, feeling confident that I could shlep on in from 23 miles to complete the marathon distance on event day.
December 16th started out dark and foggy, but unseasonable warm even for North Florida. I got to the Bolles school on San Jose Blvd. in Jacksonville an hour and a half before dawn. I fought my way through the throngs of athletes searching for the row of portable johns. I passed a young woman who was dressed up like a Christmas tree, complete with glowing lights, tinsel and ornaments.
Feeling unusually confident, I started in the back as the gun went off and made a conscious effort to start out slow. The sun crept up over the horizon like a harvest moon whose outline could be barely discerned through the misty fog. The PA system blasted out some Springsteen as we doubled back across the start/finish line where the 5k runners were finishing up.
My first inkling that something may be wrong was when I saw the human Christmas tree pass me at the four mile mark. A little while further up the road a gentlemen that was speed walking passed me as well. He had a sign on his back that said he had completed 150 marathons. That was when it dawned on me that I was seriously over matched in this competition.
Not to be outdone, I picked up the pace and by mile six I had managed to drop the walker and the Christmas tree for good, or so I thought. After all, surely they must be doing just the half marathon, only a fool would walk a full marathon or run a full marathon adorned in a Christmas tree outfit.
At the eight mile mark the half-marathoners exited stage left, while the marathoners kept straight. With the majority of the runners gone now, the race took on a more serious tone. The road was less crowded now and I began to notice the first signs of carnage. By mile twelve I saw several runners walking with hands on their hips, and even a couple stopped by the road side.
I decided to stop at the mid-way point and walk just long enough to consume the snack bar I had hidden in my running shorts. My time for the half was about two hours and ten minutes which would put me in at about four hours and twenty minutes if I kept that pace. That would mean I'd beat the six hour limit by well over two hours, I was elated!
Around mile fourteen I was accosted by a small group of runners doing the "Galloway Method" of running, or what I like to refer to as the "Get in Everybody's Way" method. They run for about two minutes at a faster than normal pace, just long enough to pass you, then they stop and walk just long enough to get in your way when you catch back up to them. As soon as you manage to pass them back, they pass you back and get in your way again.
I decided to sprint with them and then keep on sprinting when they stopped in order to drop them. This was a bad idea from the start, I should have just stopped for a few minutes to let them get far enough ahead so I would not catch up to them again. The result of this is that I wasted precious energy and by mile sixteen I was starting to notice some serious problems developing.
Because there were fewer runners now, I had to keep to the side of the road in order to avoid traffic, and as the road had a serious crown to it, my left foot kept landing on an angle and that was putting a serious strain on it. It was starting to ache very bad, and it was not one of those aches that easily goes away. To remedy the situation, I decided to run on the sidewalk.
Running on the sidewalk entailed lifting my feet up higher to avoid tripping on the uneven surface, which cost me more precious energy. Soon, my right knee started to ache, and not in a way that was going to go away soon either.
By mile seventeen I decided to ditch the sidewalk and go back to the road. As luck would have it, I was greeted by the stupid Galloway group that had managed to reel me in. I had just three miles to go to the twenty mile mark, but my body was starting to waste away fast. By now everything hurt but I figured if I could just make it to the twenty mile mark I would be OK, so I decided to just turn myself inside out and do whatever it took to make it to the twenty mile post without walking.
I made it to the mark and was greeted their by my son on his mountain bike. He brought some much needed refreshments and encouraged me to walk for a little bit. He said I was on pace to come in at a little over four hours. That meant I had two and a half hours to do six miles, a distance that would normally not take more than an hour.
He asked me how I was doing and I told him everything hurt. He reassured me that that was normal and that I was doing fine. I walked for a few minutes and then my jaw dropped as I saw the human Christmas tree blow by me. I told Mark to get back on his bike, we need to reel her in; no way in Hell I am getting beat by a Christmas tree!
I caught up to her OK, but only to see her sprint away again as I slowed down to recover. I got beat by Elvis once in the River Run, but I never got beat by a cartoon character like SpungeBob SquarePants or by a fireman in full uniform complete with oxygen tank. But a woman wearing a Christmas Tree?
At the twenty third mile I was still running when I saw the walker blow by me, and I do mean blow by me, just like I was standing still. I pointed him out to Mark, and we had a comic moment. What else can you do but laugh?
They had a refreshment stand just shy of the twenty four mile mark. I grabbed some water and proceeded to walk for awhile. Mark told me if I run the last two miles or so I can get in under five hours. That's when it occurred to me it had taken me an hour and a half to go just four miles. I was fading fast.
I tried to run, but I just didn't have anything left to draw on. I was totally spent. As I casually strolled on, I saw all of the runners I had passed earlier sprint on by me towards the finish line. My wife greeted me with a half mile to go and her words of encouragement were so precious at that moment.
When I reached the track at Bolles High School, I mustered just enough strength to jog around the track and even sprint past a senior citizen as I crossed the finish line. The clock read five hours and fifteen minutes. It wasn't the finish I had anticipated, but it was official and however ignominious, it was a victory. I was officially a marathon runner!
So, what possessed me to run the marathon? As you see from my essay, it was a once in a life time experience. I pushed myself to do something that was seemingly impossible. In the process, I gained strength, wisdom, and in the end I experienced a lot of humility. What more could one ask for?
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