Marc F. asked me afterward whether I started regretting marathoning
when I realized the proverbial wheels came off.
"No," I told him. Or probably I said something saltier, being as I was
in a mood to curse this and that, though mainly myself.
Instead I had the following sorts of thoughts:
Mile two: "I'm on pace, but my heart rate appears to be 15 beats higher
per minute than it should be. I wonder what happens if I keep this up?"
(Later, when I thought about it, it was screamingly obvious what would
happen: if you run at your lactate threshold, you can't clear enough
lactate, and eventually acidosis will set in. But I guess stupid people
like me have to experience this before they learn it.)
Mile 10: "This is frustrating. Why can't I get Boston right?"
Mile 11: "Should I give up on running Boston? I just can't do it."
Mile 17: "Maybe I just don't know how to run marathons at all. Maybe I
can't ever run another decent marathon."
Mile 21: "I wonder what spring marathon I should register for so as not
to blow my half a year of training."
(I really do say things like "so as not to" when I talk to myself.)
Now, the less is said of the actual race, the better. Those who are
gloating in their Schadenfreude are right to do so; being provocative
about my training was part of the fun, but it came with a risk. And
here we are: a devastating loss to the Maniacs, almost a personal
worst, positive splits bigger than the state of Montana, and the
ignominy of getting cheered from a walk to a jog by a bunch of drunken
Boston College frat guys.
So here's all I'll say of the race: It was warm enough for the heat to
bother me, I didn't adjust my plan, and I knew after mile ONE that it
was not going to be good, and I still didn't adjust my plan until after
10 miles when the choice was no longer a choice. There was no plan B,
so getting myself to the finish was the only goal after plan A
withered. Getting myself to the finish without any serious damage
seemed like a good idea when I came up with plan C -- run another
marathon soon -- although I probably would not have been done any
sooner had I tried. And there were comparative positives: I didn't
throw up multiple times like Joe B., even though I came close. I didn't
get taken to the hospital like Marc's and my roommate Dave, even though
I seem to have been pretty dehydrated, too. (After several liters of
water and gatorade, three pints of beer, and a large cup of coffee
since the marathon, I peed properly for the first time after coming
home at noon Tuesday.) I also didn't get a migraine, like Frank, with
whom I chatted briefly on the course, before the migraine happened, I
hope.
Some numbers, such as they are: I was on plan for 2:47 through 11
miles, slowed down a bit by the half (1:24 something), and essentially
gave up on the race around the hills, finishing with a pathetic (given
my plan) 3:14 something.
Still, it was Boston and so it was another great experience. Tons of
thanks to Julia and Joe for the awesome brunch. Those cinnamon buns
alone were worth the price of the trip.
mika
in ann arbor, getting ready to ramp up training for bayshore marathon