2013 running season came to an unsatisfactory end. I looked for any long run to reduce wasted preparation. I found a tiny race 6 days after cancelled Dallas Marathon.
_goal
3:30.
Logistical details weren't readily available; I had the race time and address but not much else. "Whatever happens happens."
I didn't know how much fitness a runner was expected to lose 6 days after taper. My dance card was filled that week. "I can eat anything after December marathon," I'd been promising friends and family. It was unfair to ask others to change plans for my ruined "A" race.
Icy roads made training impractical, and I had no easy access to treadmill. I estimate 2 additional lb of dead weight. "Just carb load and show up. Dress warm. "
_turn of events
The email from race director 4 days before race:
1. The race registration was closed due to last minute sign ups. Head count = 100.
2. There ain't enough parking spaces, T shirts, and food. But the organizer was working on it.
3. This was a Boston qualifying course.
After 5 days of inactivity, the road cleared enough to run. It would be the only training run before the race: warm up, 1 mile at 6:30 pace, cool down. I felt sick during warm up and came close to puking. Sodium phosphate loading was the prime suspect. I had difficulty getting to 6:30 pace, in contrast to 6 days ago I had to reduce effort to bleed off speed.
The sick feeling came 2 more times that week. I ignored the issue but adjusted race expectation accordingly. I was puzzled by my lack of speed—6:30 mile were never an issue, even during off season.
New goal: finish safely & pukelessly. But make effort for 3:19:59.
_course
8.3 laps around Bachman Lake (next to Love Field Airport). Concrete pedestrian trail. No motor vehicle. 4 climbs per lap. The final stretch was in reverse direction.
Forecast: 43F ~ 40F, 92% humidity, 14 mph wind, cloudy.
_race
I found myself in the lead pack with another runner. He pointed out hazards and asked what I needed to qualify. "I'll take you through the first lap." Half lap later a tough looking dude wearing a hooded shirt passed us. He ran with some sinus issue and started to build a lead after a downhill. My guide stuck with me and left the course after the lap.
I sweated and threw away the T-shirt.
I saw no other participants before lapping the walkers. We encouraged each other. It was a 43F cloudy day; I dressed correctly for 7:33 pace. I didn't feel light and fast as previous week but was hopeful about holding the pace. I was aware half way of a marathon was at mile 20.
The lead guy was out of sight. I didn't care. I focused on each downhill. A girl caught up to me during lap 3. I stayed with her. She ran each mile slightly faster to win the half marathon. I was on pace by mile 14, but hamstrings started to tighten. It was Irving Marathon all over again except this time I didn’t have a 100k run to blame.
_no excuse
My strides fell apart. I wasn’t in form for 3:20 finish. I didn’t experience runner’s high—the data slapped me in the face.
I had a slow quarter-mile splits as I caught up to the distinct hooded shirt and red calf sleeves at a climb. We acknowledged each other but exchanged few words due to my limited Spanish vocabulary. It's nice to have someone to share the suffering.
Runners talked behind our backs, unaware how far their voices carried. We were referred to as “black and red socks,” “triathlete and the other,” or “Mexican and Asian.” Apparently I looked better than I felt.
Wind speed increased. Air temperature dropped. My pace slowed. I wish I had that T-shirt back.
Boston qualifying time was out of reach. I focused on winning. I surged at a climb and heard snot rocket struggling behind me. Mile 22 of a marathon was easier when being pursued. He caught back up during next 5k. My legs were so stiff; I climb the hills rocking side to side.
2 of us completed lap 8 shoulder to shoulder—an amateur Iron War. He paused at the final water stop. “Really!?” I surged up the hill. I held the image of Macca running away from Raeler in 2010. I made the U-turn. I saw my chaser with no fight in his eyes. I high-fived everyone and smiled to phone cameras at finish line. I was 15 minutes behind a goal that felt realistic just an hour ago.
_post race
Volunteers and half marathoners congratulated me. A few knew what I was after, "sorry you didn't qualify." I felt lots of things; mostly I felt cold. I hugged the course volunteers for warmth and emotional support. I did not cry.
The hooded shirt guy and I exchanged a smile and a few words. I didn't understand his words. He wasn’t even Latino.
I attempted to work the water station after putting on ski jacket. A volunteer suggested that I eat a sandwich instead. I walked the course to encourage runners. I accidentally dropped the Subway plastic bag. I stepped on it before the wind carried it away. I spent the next 20 seconds attempting to pick it up. A volunteer finally came to help.
My left calf cramped as I got in the car. I was glad I didn’t buy that stick shift in 2006. My mood improved as the car warmed up. Completing a marathon was always worthy of celebrations.
I won a race!
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