Success – 3:28:53! I broke the 3:30:00 mark on a chilly, fall Maine morning, on a hilly course, while sick. Goal solidly accomplished. I don’t ever have to run another marathon again. Of course this performance does qualify me for Boston 2015 by more than 5 minutes…
The Weather: 45 degrees and cloudy at the start, climbing into the low 50s near the finish. The race day weather forecast was a roller coast this past week: high of 60, then 70, then 55; rain, no rain, showers later in the day. Happy with where it settled.
The Course: Pure out-and-back, over rolling hills. My home turf.
The Strategy: Start out nice and easy, settle into a comfortable pace for the first half (ideally around goal pace of 8:00), and hope I have enough left to get me through the second half and pick up any slack from the beginning.
Saturday – the Expo. This feels anticlimactic. Not because it is a small event (expected in Maine with only 3500 combined marathon and half-marathon entrants), but because I’m sick. I’m questioning my chances of running under 3:30, and what’s the point in being here if I can’t do that? I know I might as well try and see what happens. I try on my race shirt and it fits perfectly. Four marathons, three red race shirts. Good thing I like the color red!
I feel better being outside in the fresh air, so I spend the afternoon in the hammock looking through my marathon goody bag followed by raspberry picking and apple picking in my yard. My parents arrive and we prepare a big pot of soup with pasta and roasted vegetables from my garden, garlic bread on the side. Hydration and carbs all-in-one. Finally my mom and I bake an apple pie together, because I know what I will be craving post-marathon on a crisp fall afternoon!
As I lay out my marathon outfit for the next morning, my runny nose is turning into a cough. I pack cold medicine, cough drops, and Breath Right strips alongside my GU. Then I turn to NyQuil for a good nights sleep.
Marathon Sunday – 5:50 am. I wake up and know immediately that my cold has gone from bad to worse. You can work around a stuffy nose, but chest congestion and a cough really start to infringe on breathing capabilities. I’m on the verge of tears as I eat my ritual pre-race bowl of oatmeal. A steamy shower offers little relief.
At 7:10 I’m virtually the only one in the start area bundled in sweatpants, sweatshirt, hat and mittens. But I am also the only one sitting comfortably on the ground while everyone else is jumping up and down blowing on their hands trying to stay warm for the next half hour. 15 minutes before the start I pull on my arm warmers, stuff my pockets with GU, take a dose of cough medicine, and stick a Breath Right strip on my nose. I have an extra strap-on pouch for some tissues, cough drops and extra Breath Right strips. Time to peel off those layers for the clothing check.
The Start – 7:45 am. I don’t think I’m nervous at all. The only warm-up I do is a few high knees and butt kicks. It’s just another long run. I’m tucked into the small crowd between the 8:00 and 9:00 pace signs. A few seconds after the start horn sounds, we’re trotting across the start line.
Mile 1 – 8:22. The first mile feels okay. I can breathe. The pace feels comfortable. I’m relieved passing the mile marker to see I didn’t go out too fast. With the adrenaline, you never know how fast you’re running during the first mile.
Mile 2 – 8:21. I can tell that my pouch of tissues and cough drops is going to be a nuisance. I don’t usually wear it when I have something in my back shorts pocket, which is currently stuffed with two GU. The pouch is sitting too high and is bouncing. I could fuss with the strap to get it tighter, but it’s not worth it. I toss it to my mini fan club just past the 2-mile mark and ask them to keep it handy. If all works out, I’ll be seeing them three more times before the finish.
Mile 3 – 8:19. My GU! One fell out of the pocket in the back of my shirt! I don’t know when it happened, but now I only have three GU. I keep checking on the Jet Blackberry GU in my other shirt pocket. Can’t lose that one – it has double caffeine!
Mile 4 – 7:44. Woh, too fast. After a gentle climb the last 1.5mi, there is a quick drop. I let the hill carry me. This is the spot I dread on the return trip. Let the rolling hills begin.
Mile 5 to 6 – 7:58 & 7:47. The water stops are unpredictable. They were never shown on a map, the only information being, “approximately every 1.5 to 2 miles.” There is a crowd through the center of Falmouth, and my family is welcome sight at mile 5.5. The first of the half-marathoners go flying by in the opposite direction. I’m settling into a groove and running comfortably. I seem to be matching pace with a fellow marathoner. Meet John from Seattle, although I wouldn’t learn his name for several miles.
Look at me – I’m running a marathon!
Mile 7 – 8:07. The pack thins considerably after the half-marathon turn around point. We come to the second dreaded point on the course: a big dip at a river crossing. Begin a 3-mile gentle but steady climb to the high point on the course.
Mile 8 to 10 – 8:06, 7:53, & 8:02. I take my first GU once a water stop comes into sight around 1 hour. I’m feeling good. Sure there’s the periodic cough, but the medicine is keeping it under control. The Breath Right strip is amazingly still intact. The miles slip by in familiar territory with John from Seattle chatting away beside me. He ran the New Hampshire Marathon YESTERDAY!!! How do you do that?! He’s run about 100 marathons and gives me confidence that I can beat 3:30, running how I’m running, cough and all. The hill leading up to mile 10 doesn’t look as bad as it has on some runs home during the summer. Somehow I hardly feel the uphill.
Mile 11 & 12 – 7:33 & 7:50. I’m only a mile from my house. Just over the crest of the hill, my neighbors have joined my family among a good-sized crowd. I wave and pump my fits. I am amazed at how good I feel, but I know I’m not even half way there. I cruise down the other side of the hill – the third dreaded point at mile 16 on the return trip. I start to pull away from John from Seattle. After running 3:33 yesterday, he’s well ahead of today’s goal for a 3:40.
Cruising down the hill with John from Seattle.
Mile 13 – 7:51. As I approach the turn around, I begin counting the woman already heading back toward Portland. I count 15 female marathoners by the time I make the turn, but the various bib colors are confusing (I later learn that in addition to relay runners, first-time marathoners also had different bibs).
Mile 14 – 8:16. I pass by John from Seattle still heading to the turn around. The enormity of the task ahead suddenly hits me: I’m only half-finished. A bit of weariness creeps into my legs. I need to find someone else to keep pace with. I need GU. I need to focus. I need to go to the bathroom. I’ve had the nagging feeling for a while, but right now I need to clear my mind of everything besides getting to the finish line. I know I’m on pace to break 3:30, but I’m going to need every second with the hills to come. I see a portable toilet and dash in and out in what must be record-breaking speed.
Mile 15 & 16 – 8:05 & 7:55. My hands are completely numb, I discover as I peel off my gloves and fumble with my second GU. The water stop is quickly approaching so I tear the GU open with my teeth. I struggle to pull my gloves back on, hoping it warms up enough for me to manage the final GU. I focus on keeping pace with two guys I’ve settled in between. I didn’t put Body Glide on my underarms and they are chaffing against my tank top. The hill looms before me.
It was a lot easier running down this thing…
Mile 17 – 8:00. My family is spread up the hill. My husband and sister-in-law run alongside me for a bit. Only 10 miles to go. I can do this. It’s just like every other run into work in the past year. Forget the last 16 miles. The hill is over before I know it, and I look forward to a 3 mile gentle downhill.
Mile 18 & 19 – 8:03 & 8:00. I don’t even notice the downhill. There’s nothing easy about this stretch of road today. My legs are tired. 9 miles to go still sounds like too many miles to offer any real motivation. I have no time in the bank. 8:00 pace makes for simple running math, and I come through 19 miles with an average of 8:01 – on pace for 3:30:00 flat.
Mile 20 – 8:07. I need that Jet Blackberry GU with its double shot of caffeine. I hardly remember coming back through the big dip (dreaded point number two). 6 miles to go. Less than an hour of running left.
Mile 21 – 8:12. It’s warmed up, sort of. I peel off my gloves and tuck them in my waistband. GU, work your magic! I reach for water and somehow don’t connect. Volunteers see this and are thrusting Gatorade at me, but I need water to wash down the GU. I grind to a halt, spin around, and take a couple of steps back to grab a water cup. Who puts water first, Gatorade second!? I’m a bit flustered, but quickly forget. I see my co-worker cheering me on from the curb. Suffering late season injury, he has decided to sit this one out, his would-be first marathon.
Mile 22 – 8:06. The seconds above 8:00 pace are adding up quickly. I still feel like I have it in me to pick it up the last 2 miles. Sure my legs are tired and I want more than anything to walk, but I haven’t hit the wall. I just need to maintain until that awful hill at mile 23.5. I’m just biding my time, right?
Mile 23 – 8:15. I walked a few seconds too long at that water stop and it took a lot of effort to get moving again. That’s it. I’ve only walked at a handful of water stops, but I can’t afford to any more. Less than 4 miles to go. 30 minutes of running. I’m keeping pace with a couple that looks strong. They’re chatting their way over the rolling hills.
Mile 24 – 7:51. 3:05:02 at mile 23. This is not good. I panic. I’m a whole minute off 8:00 pace. Sure 8:01 will get me 3:30:00, but I’m 35 seconds behind that too! I have not come this far to miss the mark by a few seconds. If I get it done today, I’ll have achieved all my marathoning goals and never have to do this again! 3:31:00 would still qualify me for Boston…but that would be silly when I know I could break 3:30:00 and get that precious BQ-minus 5. I acknowledge and accept the conflicting nature of my internal motivational monologue. Someone near me calls out, “5K to go!” There’s no time to wait until the final 2 miles or even after the hill. I need to pick it up now. I WILL break 3:30:00 today.
Mile 25 – 7:15. I briefly pulled ahead of the no-longer-chatting couple. The woman breaks away and pulls up beside me. “Keep up the good pace,” she says before pulling away. She makes this look easy. 15 minutes of running left. It’s like my progressive long runs, with the fast finish mile. I’ve done this countless times. I can’t quite keep up with the woman, but I keep her in my sights.
Mile 26 – 7:17. I mark my spit at 25 miles but it doesn’t even register with me. All I see that I have 10 minutes to run 1.2 miles. I can do that. 10 minutes and I can stop running. I try not to look across the cove at the finish line which still seems so distant. Only 5 more minutes of running. Each ¼ mile marker I pass on the cove bike path feels like huge accomplishment. Before I know it I see it: 26 miles. I’m ecstatic. I can definitely run 0.2 miles!
The finish: I can’t see the finish line yet, but I know it’s just around the corner. The 13 mile marker from the half-marathon! I see a few women ahead of me and I give it all I have left to pass one before crossing the line. The clock reads 3:29:15. Stopping isn’t as glorious as I had imagined. I feel terrible. I’m winded and light-headed. There’s no sweeping emotion or satisfaction for breaking 3:30:00. My family gathers around as I stagger through the crowd looking for something other than water. At last, chocolate milk. Why do I put myself through this? I never want to do this again, but I’m afraid I will…
Flying toward the finish – so excited to stop running!
3:28:53 (7:59 pace)
8/65 age division
22/412 female
124/925 overall
Eat Run & Be Merry 