There are things in life that you either love or you hate and occasionally, there are a few things that you both love AND hate. I don’t have a lot of those things but there is one race that I can say I both love and hate, the Marine Corps Marathon. It’s not so much that I hate it – it’s a marathon and it’s local and it’s scenic and it’s filled with wonderful people and well, it honors our great military servicemen so I can’t say I hate it but rather, I dislike running it. Or did until this past weekend.

Like I have done for the past 2 years I signed up for the race. I actually waited for several days, convincing myself that I didn’t really want to do it again. After all, the previous two years results proved that I could not run the race well, at all. Two of my worst times were both at MCM (4:06 and 4:09, respectively) and I felt as if the race in general, was frustrating. It’s always crowded, it’s partially on a course that I love when it’s only 10 miles (the Army Ten-Miler) but the Haines Point area and Crystal City and the final run down 110 is just not my cup of tea. So I told myself that if it was still open come end of the signup week, I’d do it. And sure enough, it was.

The weekend started badly – I felt awful Friday night before the race and didn’t sleep a wink. Saturday I woke up feeling just as bad and nothing stayed in. How could I possibly get in any calories and fluids when the race was less than 24 hours and I was constantly shoving things in only to have them come back out? Towards late afternoon I pulled myself together enough to go to a friend’s apartment for one of those Tupperware-esque jewelry parties. Thankfully she had really good brownies and no surprise, those stuck with me. I then decided to trudge out in the pouring rain and pick up my “winner dinner” of turkey sandwich and french toast bagel from Panera. Both times I’ve had these two things, I have gotten my 2 best marathon times. Call it what you will but voodoo magic works. At least for me.

Sunday morning I woke up and felt surprisingly well. The weather was a tad bit cool but otherwise the temps were forecasted to be perfect and I slipped out into the morning calm, albeit a bit nervous but otherwise, optimistic. I arrived at the Pentagon with the usual thousands and thousands of other runners and we dropped off our gear and started towards the start line which, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, can be a long ways away. I skipped the port-o-john knowing that last year, that cost me a good starting position as I fell in to the walking group and had a hard time getting out of it. I thought I’d give the 3:40 group a try – I only needed 3:45 for Boston and my foot seemed to be doing well so I figured if I jumped into 3:40, I’d have 5 minutes to spare when I started sliding off that pace. I knew I could probably hit it – after all, for once I had done “all the right stuff”. I had tapered in the previous two weeks running 70% of my weekly 70-80 mile average, then cutting back to 30% the week leading up to the race. I had slept a lot and generally just did what I always preach, but rarely practice. I crammed into the 3:40-3:59 corral and shortly thereafter, the gun went off and we were on our way.

For those who don’t run large races (or any races for that matter) there is this silly moment where the gun goes off, everyone surges forward and then BOOM, dead stop. And then everyone starts running, and then BOOM, dead stop. It’s comical. We did that twice before finally crossing the start mat.
As usual, the first couple of miles are the hardest. I do not stretch beforehand and my body is usually cold. So it’s always those first 20 or so minutes where I question my decision. Add to that the throng of people around you, pushing, shoving and generally just sort of elbowing and you’ve got a recipe for crabbiness. And the first few miles of MCM are pretty hilly. I made sure not to bring my Garmin – I didn’t want the distraction of knowing how slow I was running. It was me, a pace band and my “kleiner Freund” (“little Friend” aka my Casio watch from World Cup)

I couldn’t find the pace group – it was so crowded at the start that there was no way that even if I saw the guy I’d be able to get near him so I had to employ my inner pacer and watch the mile markers and compare to the paper wrapped around my wrist. We ran through Rosslyn, then through Georgetown. On M street I glanced right and saw my coaching instructor, Mike Broderick. I gave him a high five and he in return, gave me a boost of self-confidence. He’s an amazing guy – die hard ultra-runner and running coach for some of my ultra-friends. In short, good guy to see yelling your name.

At about the halfway point I realized that I was getting “hot”, meaning my pace was faster than it should be. I had about 2 minutes in the bank which would normally be bad but I felt ok and told myself that I’d need those later. So I stayed with it. We went around Haines Point, which I’ve never liked – it’s a loop and can be dull as very few spectators are there but on that day it was a welcome reprieve from the hills we had earlier in the race. We then wound around the mall area and I noticed that my pace was picking up. I had 8 miles to go and 7 minutes in the bank. I wasn’t thrilled but I still felt really good so again, I promised myself that I’d use those later, when I needed them.

I came over the bridge and saw several more VHTRC friends including Bobby who snapped this shot of me at mile 21:

​Yes, I was feeling THAT good. I knew then that I would definitely make my time. I had 8 minutes still (from the 3:45 required time) and only about 5 miles to go. I could do nice and slow miles and still qualify. Did I? No.

I came through Crystal City (another area I typically don’t like) and still felt good – it’s flat there and again, I’ve done so much flat speed work that it paid off in a big way. I picked up another 2 minutes somewhere between there and mile 25. I now had 10 minutes extra – I could WALK the entire last mile and still qualify. But walking the last mile is silly if you don’t have (I’ve walked enough of those in the past few races with injuries) so I continued to run. Suddenly I was at Iwo Jima, charging the hill and hitting the end mat. I was astonished – 3:35. I blew away my old PR which, incidentally was set on the flattest course in the country, set when I was healthy and completely injury-free.
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I didn’t stay to enjoy the festivities. I realized that the upside to finishing MCM around 3:30 or so is the easy ability to hop on the metro before it becomes an insane sea of spectators and other runners. Last year it took an hour or so just to make it through the line to get ON the train. So I gathered my things, trucked down the escalator (note – the big advantage to doing a lot of running is the relative ease at which you recover after such an event) and boarded the train home. And as we pulled out of the station, I happily waved goodbye to the little monkey looking at me from the tracks. Mission accomplished.

Ok, so I suck. I haven’t blogged about several races. I promise to get better about it. I think the problem is that I’m so wound up about this lingering ankle issue that actually putting the act of running into writing scares me, as if I am inviting some bad karma into my life. Just to bitch for two seconds, I am in the prime shape of my life. My resting heart rate is in the low 40s. I work out, on average, 3 hours a day. So how is it one teensy tendon wreaks so much GD havoc on my life?!?!? I could run 100 miles IF I had one new ankle. And yet, so many people have perfect posterior tiabilii and they waste them. I’m willing to pay the black market price for a brand new one. That’s got to be at least worth 5k, right? The only solace I garner is knowing that Amy Sproston, one of the fiercest ultra-runners I know and respect, also has the same issue. But it’s not fair for two awesome, hot chick-a-dees to be out of a sport where there are so few of us to begin with…

Ok, so onto this race. Way back when my foot was in a happier place, I carefully selected the race that would be my 2010 Boston Qualifier. This coming year I get an extra 5 minutes because I am now on the “downside of my 30s” and when Boston is held next year, I will be (sob) 35. And every 5 years you get an extra 5 to 10 minutes. The good news is that my average marathon pace is in the low 3:50s but I need 3:45. So I picked this little race because a) I wanted a new state (Wisconsin), b) I didn’t want to chance Erie being 90 degrees again and c) it was ranked as a flat and low attended race. Just my cup of tea. So I bought the entry, bought my flight and hotel and then bought myself a sweet, major injury.

Now I know a good deal when I see one and this gem came at a mere 300$ TOTAL. I had already amassed well over that in rehab and MRI costs so who am I to turn down a bargain when I’m mostly out of the cast and can hobble about, right? I decided, much to chagrin of my physical therapist, that I would do this race. After all, IT’S GOOD MONEY AND IN THIS ECONOMY…!! She shook her head and moaned. With that, I felt I was granted carte blanche access to the 26.2 ahead of me. She didn’t say I couldn’t do it. She merely said I shouldn’t.

Don’t get me wrong. I flew out scared shitless. I had no idea what to expect. As usual, I also gave myself 6 hours and 50 minutes from the start of the race to the moment my plane flight home commenced. You can see the potential problem here, yes..? Anyway, I arrived and hit my hotel first to settle in before heading to the expo. The hotel and the surrounding area were pretty bland however, I found this little gem just across the street:

Not only THE Appleton Curling Club location but one hell of a nice logo. Anyway, suffice it to say, that was about the extent of the excitement in this little place. It’s full of overweight people and Applebee’s. So it was early and I decided to strap on my walking cast and make my way to the the expo. I stood in a short line and then said that I’d like my number for the race. They looked down, and said “um is this for YOU!?!?!” and my heart sunk. Up to this point, I had still managed to log 50+ miles a week but mostly walking and any running was all flat on the high school track. I ran 10 miles for my long run the week before and ended up giving myself some of the worst blisters I’ve ever had. So I knew I had to go this one alone – just me and the shoe and the ankle. Frankly, I was really in a bad place. So I did what every good marathoner does – followed all of my voodoo magic and got the dinner I ate when I BQed last year, wore the same clothes (even the SAME PAIR OF SHOES) and bought my dry bagel for the morning.

Before calling it an early night, I made sure to document the awesomeness that is the runner’s schwag bag from this race:

​That’s right – it contained tissues, notepaper, toilet paper and baby wipes. You see, this part of Wisconsin specializes in paper mills. Side note… find a race in Hershey, PA next time. Side side note – my co-worker Scott lives on the route. I was expecting to see him poke his head out and at least root me on at mile 5 or so. This XL roll of TP was the closest “Scott” got to my run. Boo, Scott Lacey, Booo!

This was a point-to-point meaning you want to park at the end so you don’t have to make your way back to the start to get your vehicle. So while I drove to the finish I made damn sure to be careful with the foot on the brake pedal. HA. 26 miles of pounding and all I could think about was “don’t push too hard when braking!” From there, we were bused to the start and I found myself lined up rather early in the queue. This race is fun – there’s a full, half and relay for it. Next to me is some small creature in the form of a 8 year old boy. He’s got a chip on his shoe and a number pinned to his shirt. I am floored – I say “hello – um, what are YOU running??” thinking that I’m packing my shit up and leaving if this kid is doing the full. He tells me in a squeaky, matter-of-fact voice that he will be doing the first leg of the relay. I ask how long his longest training run has been and he says “4.5 miles” in a way that sounds as if he’s permanently attached to a helium tank. I am in love. Not with him, mind you, but with the fact that this small child is everything I wish every little fat munchkin in America would be. Devoted, determined and destined to grow up as a marathoner or at the very least, trying to be one on an early Sunday morning. God bless him.

Boom, we’re off. It’s pretty uneventful – and why not? It’s flat as a pancake, ugly and generally just, well, like a bunch of people running. At mile 3 I have to stop for almost 3 minutes to adjust my homegrown “double” ankle brace because my foot is swelling and turning purple (note: do not layer ankle braces) I thought two together would work well. Around mile 12 I stop and chit chat with an aid-station person because she’s very nice and smiley and askes about my brace, which is now partly around my hand since I removed one. Mile 18 my ankle gets achey but I forge on. Mile 23 my foot is screaming but not in the “bad area” It’s on the outside and I’m afraid I’m potentially injuring something else now so I walk a while. Suddenly, it dawns on me. I am on target to get my BQ time. How did this happen? I stopped for minutes at a time, I’d been walking and now somehow, I was pretty close to exactly what I needed. Yet my foot HURT. And this was the first race of the season. I could push it but for what? An injury to an injury? For some race that I didn’t like back in April that was over-priced and over-hyped and one which I would have other chances to qualify for? No, it was not going to be today. And I was ok with that. Sometimes things just change, in a matter of seconds or minutes and today I changed my goal with one swift decision. It was now to just finish well, and be happy that I had made it that far.

I finished in 3:49, my second best time ever. In looking back I lost those minutes adjusting an ankle brace, talking to a nice person and hobbling along for a bit. Then again, in those minutes that ticked by, I was allowed to remember why I run these in the first place. Not to win. Not to place. Not to even show. But just to run. So that day, I was born to run. Mostly.

I realize I have been remiss in posting my race recaps. For that, I apologize. Perhaps I’ll work on some of the missing ones later this evening. For now, I am compelled to write about one of my most favorite marathons, The Baltimore Under Armour marathon.

As a backstory, I’m coming off of a pretty severe ankle injury which happened at _______ (yet to be blogged about, ultra-marathon) This puppy has been plaguing me for months so to finally be back on my feet and actually running has been a welcoming experience for me. Truth be told, I didn’t really “recover” so much as I “tuned back my mileage and ran in my boot” And by “tuned back” I mean went to a normal weekly number (somewhere in the 40s and 50s) So having proven myself at _______ (another unblogged about marathon.. I swear, they’re coming) I felt confident that this fall would not have me down in the dumps missing all my road races. There are no trails in my future anytime soon, but I can swing the pavement. So I did.

For this race, I was lucky enough to have scored myself a spot on the official GEICO pace team that I coveted back in Frederick. It’s run by a couple named Ann and Bob who basically kick all kinds of pace team organizational ass. They’re in tight with UA and this being the official UA race meant very good things besides the race itself. We were treated to a fabulous pre-race dinner at the Marriott followed by goody packages of specially printed UA gear just for this race (pics coming soon) so needless to say, I looked pretty sweet come race day, which is good. Half the joy of running is maintaining a bad-ass style – there are enough sorry looking runners out there, slumped over in ill-fitting cotton and chafing in places I’d rather not picture. I wanted to look FIERCE! I wanted to look CUTE! And I wanted to look like part of the team! Which, coincidentally, was the first all-women’s pace group. Yes, I got to be a part of a little sliver of history known as “The 4 hour group is full of chicks” This was fun – it meant that any man coming in behind our group was beaten by a bunch of women.

So the race itself was delightful – Charm City really IS charming. Sadly, they took out the most scenic part – the loop around the Fort McHenry due to construction which was about the only part I remembered from the previous year. As a pacer you get a lot of questions from people about the course itself and I’ve always been terrible about looking at the actual course ahead of time so that I may better answer these inquiries. Things like “Where is Key Bridge in the mileage?” to which I said “Oh no, that’s in DC. We’re in Baltimore – you must be from out of town…” and “I see they’ve replaced the Fort McHenry miles with a loop up near the zoo” to which I replied “oh, Baltimore has a zoo? Who knew??” Race guide I am not.

I was a tad nervous because the day before it was 84 degrees and sunny which is heavenly to me to run in but hell for about 99.9999% of all other marathoners. On Saturday, though, it was a cool 60ish degrees with little sun and a fine drizzle that wasn’t enough to soak anything but just enough to keep us cool. The race started without a hitch – my group of 3 other women and I set forth up Paca St., happy to be on our way and confident of our abilities as pacing ninjas.

As I have previously mentioned, there’s always *something* interesting that occurs in a race. Sometimes I’m lucky and get to experience it firsthand, other times, I just hear about it. Today did not disappoint. At mile 1, I heard a very loud THUD, then a crack and an “OH SHIT!!!” The cracking sound had faint notes of human bones breaking and if you’ve ever heard a bone break, you know that sound well. I remember in third grade when Stephen fell off a fisher-price table at my babysitter’s house and broke his arm clear through, so much so, that it was sagging in the middle – he snapped both bones as if they were thin twigs. This was the same sound. I looked over and saw one of my pace group runners had run into a parked car. At mile 1. Clearly someone upstairs did NOT want this guy to run because he went down and we never saw him again. I got to witness this falling several more times and was reminded of the trail portion of JFK. The difference was that these falls were precipitated by the emergence of bright orange cones on the yellow lines of the road for the entire 26 mile course. I’m not sure why they were there but when you’re in heavy crowds and you are running, it’s really hard to see things on the ground, and subsequently, avoid them. So we had a lot of downed runners as a result of these cautionary accoutrements.

The remainder of the race was fairly uneventful – we had the largest pace group with about 200 to start and maybe half who held on the whole way. My teammates included Laveta, Juda and team captain Marci. They were all spunky and fun, petite and pretty and I’d like to think we had the cutest team in the grouping. We were definitely one of the loudest and enthusiastic and with each mile, we took turns regaling stories and laughing and getting to know the various runners who wanted a shot at 4 hours.

With a team captain, my job was very easy – I ran whatever pace Marci ran, so really, I was there for support but I didn’t have to watch my garmin which is always a welcome reprieve. I’ve been going far more old school lately and, as a result, am a lot happier and even better at tuning into my inner-pace clock. I knew someday that my need to always know what time it was would come in handy. Now I see why. We stayed mainly on pace, although we were a tad fast until the end. This was fortuitous, though – when you’re running that last mile, and you start passing people, there is no greater feeling. With us slowing, the other runners in our group were able to get ahead of us, thereby ensuring they would finish under 4. I think Marci was stressed but as a coach, it’s the little mental things that make a huge difference and this proved no different.
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I hung around the pace tent a while and enjoyed the nice spread of food and drinks provided by Ann and Bob. I was feeling a bit sad, though (mom, foot doctor and physical therapist please stop reading now). Last year I ran Steamtown the next day and I had toyed with doing another double but procrastinated to the point that I could no longer find a hotel room in Scranton. I even tried emailing the RD to ask for a last minute slot as the registration closed Thursday at midnight but he said no. As I slid in my car, feeling that I accomplished a lot (3:59:53) I couldn’t help but long to have the other have of my favorite marathon weekend. But then I remembered that I was lucky to have this one day and that somewhere, some poor schmo ran into a parked car at mile 1, his experience fully proving to be less charming than mine.