My left calf
is burning and there is no end in sight. This West Coast hill in front of us
just keeps climbing and then at its peak levels into a just a slight incline
before revealing yet another steep section. One year of training has led up to
this point, and neither my mind nor body remember this pain when ascending this
harsh vertical trail (365 days prior). And it will continue for at least 5
miles. After what felt like 7 miles but was really just about two and a half (best
estimate with no watch) my right calf began to buckle as well. It was in this very
moment I made the conscious decision to walk every challenging ascent (from
this point forward). No matter how strong/fresh I felt, patience was the exercised
protocol. “You are here to finish this race, that’s it, not to compete, not to
run as much as possible, not to discover a new pain tolerance, just to finish
it.”
I downed my
first gel at about 5.5 miles, drank a little bit of water at each of the stops
provided and poured some over my head as well to keep cooling the core. Even
though this dry heat and mid 60s temps were a welcome relief from the East
Coast humidity, I wasn’t going to take any chances, again reminding myself, “You
traveled over 3000 miles to just finish this race.” Also with that reminder, I spent
most of the running as far to the left on the trail as possible, the right foot
had no chance of slipping off the edge this time. This year there will be no
twisted ankles.
My second
gel was consumed at the halfway point at the base of this mountain, before beginning
the climb again. This marathon course is up a mountain and down a mountain, two
times. Jane kindly volunteered at this station for the duration of my time in
the race and then shared (with me) later giving credence to the difficulty of
the course, “There were some ‘intended’ full marathoners who opted to cross the
finish line at the halfway point.” And the race director allowed you to make
that choice mid-race as there were four different competitions on the same
course occurring at the same time; half marathon, 30K, marathon, and 50k. So
continuing in the marathon/50k was not only a physical test but also a mental
one.
The steep
ascents in the second loop were actually more of a relief. Some areas in the first
descent were so punishing on the quads that I was awkwardly now looking forward
to more uphill sections. In the thick of the moment, thoughts of this pain provoking
a desire to be more vertical caused random bursts of seemingly maniacal laughter
echoing into a naturally silent single track bordered by thick high grasses. You
know, the kind of laughter that concordantly represents hope and despair.
Even though my
legs were crawling uphill, I spent all of my reserve energy cruising on every
level and almost level surface, and even attacked the downhills on the second loop.
When moving through the final turn and first seeing the finish line, I began to
hear footsteps behind me. Exhilarated that this one goal to finish just one
race was really coming to fruition and not wanting it to end by being
out-kicked at the finish line, I shortened my stride, turned up the pace, and
successfully held off a younger fellow behind me by what I found out later to
be by only 9 seconds. But wait, it gets better. With four different races going
on at the same time on a trail with no group visibility, you really can’t tell
where you are relative to the others. For the first time ever, in 39 full
marathons (including this one), I placed third overall (not third in my age
group, third overall). Focusing and Training for One Year with One Goal to
finish One Race has unexpectedly developed a new kind of running confidence I am
still processing, hence the reason I waited two weeks to post again. The picture
above is with the same race director who I asked to throw away my number last
year after twisting my ankle. This year, in this picture, he is awarding me a
medal for a place I never thought I would be.
