Instead of running hard the last half of the Wisconsin marathon Saturday, I focused instead on what I might write in this space about the experience. I had a lot of time to think. I spent a long time out there on the course. Despite my personal disappointment over what can only be described as a bad day, I thought the race was wonderful, and I would recommend it to anyone looking for a fun, small, scenic marathon in the midwest.
We got to the race early Saturday morning, earlier than we planned, because there was no traffic, and no problem parking. So we walked around, stretching a little before before getting in the starting area. My friend Greg and I walked right up to our anticipated pace area and immediately found a large group of friends from my local running group who were there.
The last couple marathons I've run were the gargantuan kind where there are tens of thousands of runners, and it takes a half hour before they all cross the start line. This one took me about ten seconds. Once we started we wound through downtown Kenosha for a couple miles. It was quiet and quaint, except for the music blaring from the open door to the storefront aerobics studio that we passed. They were looking at us, while we looked at them, both thinking we would rather be doing what we were doing than the other, I'm sure.
As we left downtown and headed north for the first half of the race, we ran along the lake shore for much of the way. It was beautiful. As we got closer to the turn the leaders passed us going the other direction, and we were able to cheer them on, while realizing we were going to be out there a lot longer than them!
At this point in the race, through at least 8-10 miles, Greg and I were running together, along with my friend Dan, and a couple of other friends who were running the same pace. They are pictured at right. Unfortunately, it fell apart soon after that.
I noticed from about mile ten to eleven that our pace slowed a bit. I started feeling a little bit of cramping in my stomach, and other issues with my hips and piriformis. I told myself to just slow down a little, and it should get better. By about mile 12 I realized it wasn't getting any better and started getting concerned. By 13, I told Greg to go on ahead so he could try to make his goal time. I told him it wasn't in the cards for me that day. After another mile of struggling, and plodding along, I considered dropping out. But, what the heck, I was already out there.
I knew it would be a long second half, but I figured I might as well see the course, and finish it. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
I entered this race after what might have been the best marathon training I have done. I got serious about hitting the track for speed-work. I did three 20 milers at a pretty good pace, and got plenty of hill running in. The half marathon I did in early March was a good ten minutes ahead of my goal pace for the full marathon. My weight was even down a good ten pounds from normal.
In the days before the race I was already planning on my post race celebration for running a Boston qualifying time, and thinking that if everything went really well, a p.r was not out of the question. None of that mattered on this day though. I can't say I really know for sure what it was, but it was the hand I was dealt on this day.
As I alternated between walking and running for the rest of the way, thinking in my head that I could still salvage decent times as I went through several mile markers. At 22 miles I realized with just a little effort I could finish under 4 hours. I was so absorbed in disappointment at that point, however, that I dismissed the idea. By the finish, in 4:06, I learned a new term from my friend Dan: 'P.W'. Yup, personal worst. Thanks Dan.
I did meet Rick from Glenview about a half mile from the finish and we encouraged each other to at least run through the finish line. It was fun, but it also reminded me that I was running pretty easily at that point, and that's not how you're supposed to feel at the end of a marathon when you have given a good effort.
Driving home, I tried to think about what lesson I might come away with from this experience. I felt indebted to so many people who had helped me prepare for the race, and I felt like I let them down. Dr. John Jevitz did treatment on my piriformis every morning for two weeks before the race to try to get it feeling better. My friend Rick Staback studied the course, checked the weather and wind conditions and helped me develop a race strategy going in. My friend Henry Hamilton came down from Milwaukee to run the half marathon and take many of these pictures. My wife, Christine, and our kids endured my being gone for long training runs and offered all the moral support they could.
And in the end, I failed to reach my goal. But that's the lesson. It was my goal. And really, the only one who it really meant that much to, was me. I had a bad day, but I also have enjoyed lots of good days. It all balances out in the end. I'm really grateful for the support my family and friends offered, and, no doubt, I will call on them again before the next big race.
And there will be others. One thought went through my mind in the days before the race, that I try to remember before every marathon. The journey is more important than the destination. In this race, the destination was not what I wanted it to be, but the journey was terrific. And that lasted months, as opposed to a race which lasted a few (or 4) hours!
I guess the best thing to do is what the Bears do after a really bad game. They don't even look at the film from that game, and instead just focus on the next. There's really nothing to learn from the bad experience. Just forget it and move on.
So when's the next race?
See you on the roads.
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