The
Philadelphia Marathon
November 22, 1998 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
26.2
Miles through the city of brotherly love.
http://www.philadelphiamarathon.com
After the Steamtown
Marathon on October 11, I kept telling myself I only had one more race to
go...one more event in what has already been a pretty ridiculous year.
Between surviving the previous 11 months offering of Columbia, 3 ½
Ironman’s, 1 IMC, 1 marathon, and the sacrifices made along the way to reach
all those goals (translation: Looking at Lynda and asking “Hi...hey
wait...haven’t we been dating for a year and a half now?
How are you?” from time to time...), I knew that ending the 1998
couldn’t come fast enough.
As the weeks between
Steamtown and Philadelphia went by...I could feel my fitness and my motivation
taking a header. It was getting
colder and darker...and running just wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t like tights.
I didn’t like seeing my breath again this soon...but I kept on keeping
on...because I knew I had the fitness to end the season with one more solid
effort, even if I missed a PR. I
just wanted to give it my best shot one more time...but fate was hinting to me
that I might have another ending to this wondrous year.
Many of you may
remember my Blackwater Eagleman Race Report back on June 8.
That race I had been overwhelmed the week before by my Grandfather’s
diagnosis of brain cancer...and raced on trying to grasp just what the heck
something like that meant. I’ve gone on this whole summer...just trying to accept,
reason, and come to peace with his decline.
On Monday night...6 days before the marathon, my mother called. Things
looked bleak...and the doctors didn’t think he could make it through the week.
I knew it was
coming...but it still completely deflated me.
It looked like I would be losing a friend...and losing the chance the do
the thing that helps me forget about life’s trials at the same time. For the
rest of the week...each time the phone rang, I braced for the worst.
I wasn’t sleeping...and I couldn’t eat very well. I tried to stick to
my final week taper plan...but I just couldn’t concentrate.
By the time Saturday morning came to pass...I knew that I would have my
chance to run, so quickly I tried to take all the emotions that had torn me
apart all week, and force them to work in the same direction.
As Mark Markley and I sat quietly the night before the race, I cut a
small band from an old race shirt and made a sign.
It simply said “For
Grandpa”, and would be all the strength I would need the next day.
I pinned it to my shirt, and went to sleep...knowing it would be the last
time for this drill this year.
Race Day awoke sunny,
cold, crisp, and windless. Mark and
I drank coffee, I cut PR Bars for my stash, and we said very little.
Since 1996 we’ve been doing marathons together, and Philadelphia would
be number 4 for us. It would also be the first time we were going after the clock
with a clear goal - sub 4:00. As we
walked to the start, the only conversation was Mark looking over at the
Strawbridge’s billboard at the temperature: “36 degrees.
Nice.”
My reflective, quiet
mood soon gave way to the warm rays of the morning...waiting on the Art Museum
steps for Eric Weiss, Michael Parente and Tom Downs. “Iron Pete” Priolo showed up from NYC to add to the mix,
and soon it was a perfect gathering of Deads. Pete was joking that there would
be no off-season...that Philadelphia was step one getting ready for Ironman New
Zealand...and I just couldn’t fathom it.
After today...I just let my mind wander about how wonderful it was going
to feel to be done. In my haze...I
could see the clock on City Hall, and it was 8:20am. Time to head to the start.
I knew this was going
to be a special day, no matter what the clock said. I had my best college buddy at my hip, and the sun on my
face. Eric and Tom would be leap-frogging
us for the first 13 miles on bikes, and Eric had volunteered to be my brain for
the second half of the race to try and help get that sub-4.
As I looked down at my little sign (pinned right below the ‘Carpe Viam’
on the singlet) I said a quick prayer to give me the strength to hold on...and
we were off.
I had planned on
running this race by heart rate for the first time, after using my HRM
exclusively on the bike for 7 years. I
had learned that for me to run 9 minute miles, I would need to hold 145-150bpm
the whole way, a task I considered a challenge, but not overly out of reach.
I warmed up by mile 2 into the 140’s, and felt good...the only problem
was the traffic. Our first mile had taken nearly 10:15 (11:15 on the race
clock), so we had about a 2 minute deficit to make up to get back on pace. Mark
and I ratcheted the tempo up to around 8:50, and settled in.
Michael Parente, who had figured he wouldn’t feel that great on race
day suddenly felt fresh and fast. I
could see him pogo-ing up and down, trying to conserve the speed so he could run
with us...but there was just no way. At
the 2 mile mark, we said our good-byes, and he was gone. Mark said he heard a
sonic boom, and I saw a flash...and we got back to business.
Normally, we keep
ourselves going in races with bad jokes, good jokes, songs, and ad-lib’s about
things on people’s singlets. Today-
silence. He’s calling out the
occasional mile split, and I’m just checking the numbers.
By mile 5, we had pulled back to within 40 seconds of 9:00 pace, and were
looking to be back on track by 10 miles. My
HR was a concern...I hadn’t been below 162 since shortly after Michael left
us...but my breathing was relaxed, so I just let it be...no sense in worrying
about it. By mile 6, Tom and Eric
had found us, and were taking turns hopping curbs to stay ahead of us without
running anyone over (too badly). They
were providing needed relief, and something to look for and talk to,
even if for only a few seconds.
At mile 7, I tried to
eat a chunk of PRBar... crunk 40% solid concrete.
Frozen. The air temp had rendered half of my eating strategy useless. I
tried holding one in my hands to warm it up, but that was no good.
I had 2 GU’s pinned to my hip for ‘emergency’ use, and they quickly
became the only fuel I would have all day.
One at 10, one at 20...and anything else I could get my hands on...
Mile 8 was our
fastest of the day, an 8:13...rolling on the flat before the only real climb of
the day up to Fairmount Park. My HR
was at 166 now, and I was beginning to wonder if I could possibly hold it there
all day...I had never done that before. As
we ground up the climb to Memorial Hall and the 10 mile mark, I hit the day’s
high of 178...and saw the stars that told me “Whoa, Trigger...you want to see
breakfast?” We backed off and
headed for my favorite part of the course: The Fast Tracks water stop.
I had spent most of
my summer running with the Ladies (and occasional gentlemen) of Fast Tracks...
and their water stop is always a hopping place, complete with DJ, signage, and
someone on the cell phone calling up numbers of runners as they whistle by.
After looking forward to it for 9 miles, I’d like to say I remember
some of this stop...but to be honest, I have no idea who I saw.
For the first time in my running life, I was still in a fairly dense
group of people...and it was all but impossible to find anyone I expected to
high-five on the way through! I
felt disappointed...but there literally was no time for that.
We descended through the botanical garden at mile 11...passing Bobbi from
Fast Tracks, also doing the Steamtown / Philly double. I knew she had aimed for
sub 4 at Steamtown...so I asked is she could stay with us...but after a few
strides Mark and I quietly rolled on. We
were almost halfway...
We passed 13 miles at 1:55:55. This was good, as I had run PDR’s 13 miles in 1:56:34, so I knew we were having a good day. The question was...for how long could we keep this up? As we ground up the short rise to pass the Art Museum for the second time that day...I was making the change in feeling from “OK” to something worse...but all of the sudden we were surrounded by people. We ran up this cavern of humanity, yelling on all sides...and it started picking me up a bit. Through all the voices I heard one man shout “Go on buddy...for your grandpa! For your grandpa!”
poof
I got the shot of adrenaline and spirit I needed...just as Mark was
getting a similar recharge by high-five-ing Beth as we headed out of town...back
down Kelly Drive for the final 12 miles. Eric Weiss merged in with us, and Matt Beaugard pulled along
side as well. Unfortunately...he
had gotten hurt along the way, and seen his tempo drop off dramatically (for
him...still 2 minutes per mile faster than we were running!), so he had done the
smart thing and stopped. Rolling
downhill...the longest stretch of the race was under way.
Kelly Drive is a
beautiful road along the Schuylkill River, and every major race in the city uses
it for some portion of the course, as does the CoreStates- er, First Union Pro
Championship Bike Race. We would
head out 6 miles to the turn in Manayunk (home of the wall), and back.
It’s long, quiet, but flat...and having Eric along made a huge
difference. My HR was still holding
at 164, and we had time in the bank to the tune of 4 minutes.
The voice of reason (Eric???) said “Umm...guys, why don’t we slow
down a bit? You’ve got
time...save it for the finish.”
I swear I saw a halo
over this man...but I figured it was salt from my hat draining into my contacts.
We slowed down, and for the first time since mile 2, let our tempo drop
to 9:10’s. Miles 15, 16, 17, 18
and 19 were all a very quiet blur. My HR stayed around 160.
Eric was doing the best that he could holding a steady tempo and just
talking to us...and he let me be. I
was quietly suffering more than I had ever suffered in a marathon before...and
the doubts about hanging on to our goal were getting louder and louder.
Each mile marker was another victory...and soon we were to the point
where I could say “I’ve come too far to quit now...” and if I let my head
droop, all I had to do was see “For Grandpa”, and I would stand straight
back up. Just get me to the
turn...get me to the turn...
At 20 miles, Eric
shuffled left, and Mark and I made the turn for home. 6.2 miles to go, and we had gotten there in 2:55.
It was a new 20 mile PR, and I had hoped to get here in 3:00 or less.
I ate my last GU, and grabbed a handful of Jolly Ranchers from someone on
the side of the road who chased me when I missed her hand...thank God.
The sugar was my lifeline now...I was running mile to mile.
Of course, there was
Eric’s good news at mile 20...and that cheered me up immensely...but I’ll
let him tell you about that. :-)
(No, he’s not having a baby, buying a car, or buying a ring....sorry)
At Mile 23...we had
still held tempo at 9:15’s, and were still ahead of schedule.
I turned to Eric and said “I’m beginning to believe...”
We had 3.2 miles to go, and 33 minutes to get there.
Mark was starting to surge ahead from time to time...so I knew he was
getting antsy to end the pain. As I
started thinking about the time we had left...it occurred to me that we had run
23 miles walking only 30 seconds (at most) each water stop.
We had not stopped to take a leak, take a walk break, or stretch.
I had never done that in a marathon before...and I really began to
believe that we might just do it.
24 Miles...2 to
go...time in bank...22 minutes. Eric started pointing things out to me...just
like I had to Micheline at Steamtown 6 weeks ago.
“You see that bridge? That’s
at 1 mile to go. On the other
side...you can count down the mile markers to Boathouse Row...and then it’s a
¼ mile to the Museum...” I just
let his voice become the background to the scene and the feelings that made up
the last mile for me. I was going
to make it. I was going to make it!
At mile 25, last shot
of water...and I came up to Mark’s side.
I said to him “Let’s go get it, shall we?” He reached back, took my hand...and the grip said all I
needed to hear. He surged, and I
watched him go, yelling “Get yourself a good finish picture!”.
Now it was Eric and I, and we had 13 minutes to run the last 1.2 miles.
As we rolled along...I suddenly felt dead.
My stride shortened...and you could almost hear the sound “BONK” come
from within my legs as the last drop of glycogen went poof. I turned to
Eric and said “Hey...what a perfect time for the wheels to come off, eh?”
I had less than ½ a mile to go...and I knew I could shuffle some, and by
some way get myself up there. I
wasn’t walking now...not after all this....I was finishing running.
He told me “We’ll
surge at the statue...and go strong to the finish...” but I already knew that.
“I always finish strong...no matter what...no worries.”
As we passed the 400m mark at the back of the museum...we started to
accelerate. I glanced down at my
watch...I had 6 minutes to spare. I
looked down at my sign...and reminded myself of how lucky I was to be running
this race at all...as I made the final turn for home I would make in 1998.
Eric stuck his hand
out... “4:00 is all yours man...get up the road and get it!
I’ll see you afterwards!” I
grabbed it and (without crying!) just tried to will my thanks to surge from my
soul to him. I managed to utter “I couldn’t have done it without
you...thank you, thank you, thank you....” as he peeled away, grinning that
same grin that had chased me down at Tupper, rolled by me in Canada, and beamed
after that first ½ IM finish line at Fairmount in 1996...as just some guy
running at the back of the field as slow as me.
I had set a goal, and
made it.
I had doubted myself, and
hung on.
I had made it with
the help of 2 great friends...and the sprit of another so far away.
As I had in coming
down Lakeshore Drive in Canada...I wanted to fly, and let my body leap again and
again as though by sheer force of joy, it just might.
Soaring on that sweet joy I crossed the line, and stopped my watch at
3:56:00.
And as another
hard-earned medal went around my neck...and the tears that marked all the fears
and doubts about the day being set free once more ran down my face...I knew that
this moment was not just for me...it was for grandpa.
After the Marine
Corps Marathon in 1996, he told me he never ran a marathon, but always wanted
to.
Tomorrow...I have a
gift on a ribbon for him.
For Grandpa.
Epilogue - Posted to TRI-DRS on December 2, 1998:
To all of you who sent your condolences about my grandfather after my Philly Marathon Race Report...there's a (somewhat) happy ending to the story. I saw him on Friday, said my good-byes, and gave him the number, medal, and sash I wore for his race.
He passed away today at 4:15pm.
Thanks for your support and hope through all of this. You guys are my extended family...and I really appreciate it.