Lessons Learned

A little over a month ago, I began my second official marathon with one huge goal in mind--qualifying for the Boston Marathon. Everything on race morning was perfect; it was about 50 degrees and overcast, and somehow the local Portland weather system had worked its usual race day magic and managed to keep the rain at bay for the Marathon. I felt calm and confident because of the training I had knocked out. By the time the buildup for the race was over, I had done more mileage, by far, than I had ever done in my life, and had remained as injury-free as can be. Everything felt like it was coming together for this one race.

And for the first 15 miles of the race, everything was coming together. Needing a 3:10:59 or faster marathon to qualify, my goal was 7:15 a mile. By the fifth mile, I was at more like 7:00 a mile, and from then on I kept accidentally running sub 7:00 miles. I remember thinking that pace had never felt so easy. It wasn't until around mile 12 or so that I even felt like I was working. Somewhere after mile 15, however, I felt my hamstrings cramp in both legs. I actually stopped running, looked at my watch, and told myself, "Just walk for 1 minute, then you'll be fine." I did walk for one minute, but then I wasn't fine; I started running again, only to find that my legs began to cramp after another minute or two.

After my hamstrings (and later my calves and quads) started to cramp, the race became more about survival than any time goal. For the next 11 or so miles of the race, I would run until I cramped, then walk until they went away...rinse, wash, and repeat. I would end up watching every pace group from 3:10 to 3:50 pass me by the time it was finished. Watching each of those groups pass was probably the most defeated I have ever felt during any running competition.

I finished in 3:51:37 after passing through the first half in 1:32:10. You can do the math on that one...41+ minutes and about 1:36 a mile off my goal of qualifying, which might as well be forever. In the past month since the race, I've come to terms (somewhat) with the race. I've taken a couple positives from it: part of the journey was the training, and I made it through tougher stuff than I ever had before; regardless of how stupid it was to go out that fast, I went balls out for a goal that I thought was possible; and it's beneficial to get a good, ass-kicking humbling every now and again, as I learned quite a bit about what I can do differently next time around.

It's pretty damn disappointing to be in better shape than your time in a race indicates. And it's just really confusing and fun when the opposite happens. After two full weeks off running, and two slow weeks to get back into things, I ran a 5k that my classmates and I were putting on to raise money. I finished in 18:35, which dead-on tied my PR. I had no business running that fast, and am still not quite sure how it happened.

What I think this shows more than anything is that running has a lot left to teach me. And I'm excited to keep bumbling around like an idiot as I learn.

PS: I'll be joining in the BeerMileage challenge this week. School's starting to get a bit stressful, meaning I'll be doing a fair amount of beer drinking this week. Hopefully the mileage follows suit.

Dbrasch