The Steamtown Marathon
October
11, 1998 - Scranton / Wilkes-Barre, PA
26.2 Miles in a semi-mountainous region
of Northeastern Pennsylvania.
http://www.steamtownmarathon.com
Executive Version: A 2nd best 4:19:07
(missed PR by three minutes) on a brutally downhill course.
It's Fall...that must mean its marathon time again.
After 10 months of tri-training, I always seem to welcome the simplicity of just
running this time of year...it's a great way to keep eating (sort of), and keep
the motivation lit. In 1996, I was
happy just to run one (Marine Corps) and get through it.
Last year, I did the 4-week-double (MCM, Philadelphia), and knocked 52
minutes off my PR. This year, why
not a triple? The Ironman /
Steamtown Marathon / Philadelphia Marathon triple would be over 12 weeks.
6 weeks between events...should be plenty of time, right?
Well...my legs were about as pleased with this concept
as a 4 year old is when served lima beans.
There was much whining, crying, pouting, and general grief all
around...as over the next 5 weeks I did not have a single run I could bring
myself to call 'good'. In looking
at my training diary the phrases looked a lot like: "argh", "bleh",
"slow", "slower than slow", "concrete",
"cream-o-wheat-legs", "uphill both ways", and my favorite
"insert fork, I'm done". It was clear that this would be a training run (at
best)...and I was having serious thoughts about whether
or not this was a good idea up until the Wednesday before the race.
By then...it was too late to worry, so I just shelved my brain and
tapered away
Driving up with Mark Markley they day before the race
is an old drill by now. He drives
up from DC to Philly. Switch cars. We splurge at Starbucks at the start, and
drink water the rest of the way up. This
is a well-tested mix that assures good hydration...and an average speed of
141mph during the second half of the drive to find a bathroom.
In 3 years of racing...we've never been late, missed an expo, or stopped
along the way. :-)
The expo was the best run I have ever seen.
We were in and out in 20 minutes, ready to go.
At the expo they had large versions of the course profile...a main
attraction to the Steamtown race. The
course is a point to point run, with a loss in elevation of 955 feet.
Most of this is done in the first 11 steeply downhill miles...with
rollers after that. The most noticeable
uphill on the course was at mile 23.8 to 24.6....lovely.
I made a mental note to start psyching up for it at mile 22...where there
was a
little breath of a downhill before you began the climb
for home. We checked into the
hotel, and feasted at the same TGIFridays that fueled us to PR's at the Wilkes-BarreTriathlon
2 short months ago. Back in the room, we alternated between Jackie Chan and the
Yankees respectively kicking butt on the tube.
Not a lot of talking...but then again, what is there to say?
We've done this before...and nothing seems to make that
night before jitter ever really go away.
After a good nights sleep...Mark and I were out the
door at 5:45am. We parked in what
we hoped would be a legal spot and walked towards the buses. It was quite
a sight...the finish line all ready to go, and 50 yellow buses...ready to cart a
lot of quiet people up the mountains. The
ride was about 45 minutes...and mostly uphill. I remember thinking how happy I was we weren't running
up...it almost seemed like cheating in a way...but by days end, I would learn
just how 'honest' this course could be.
At the start, you hopped off the bus to the sound of
the Forest Lake High School student body greeting you, and handing you a purple
ribbon that said "Good Luck Runners! 10/11/98
Steamtown Marathon". It was
one of these little ribbons on a hat in front of me at the Wilkes-Barre
Triathlon meeting in August that made me want to do this race...and it felt just
as cool to pin it to my hat as I thought it would.
Good Kharma is good Kharma...and I'll take what I can get!
The volunteers handed out dry-strip bags so you could
take your jackets off and pick them up later...a nice touch. Most of us headed
inside the school to keep warm...it was gray and misting outside, about 50
degrees. Inside, Mark and I met up
with my training buddies from home, the women of the Fast
Tracks womens running club of Wayne, PA. They allow men to run with the group...and over the 3 years I've run with them I've made some great friends. Jana has run every 20 miler I've run since 1996 with me...and is hoping for a sub-4:30. Bobbi has run Boston, and hopes to break 4:00. Deb is a rookie and has everything in place...the name tags, the pace chart, and the energy. Just standing near her gives you this infectious energy that screams "Lets GO!!!!". Micheline (sp?) is another first timer hoping to finish...somewhere in the 4:15-4:30 range. Mark is his usual quiet self...ready and reminding me "This is just our training run for Philly, right?" I know he'll be fine...I'm just hoping I can hang on in then end.
*BOOM!* Away we go...down the parking lot, onto the
side streets of Forest Lake. The
downhills start immediately...and the first one at the one mile mark is so
steep, my toes are crashing against the front of my shoe with every step.
I have to make a conscious effort not to lean forward or I know I'll
tumble. Soon, the course flattens
out and our little grupetto settles into a 9:45 pace.
Bobbi is long gone already...with thoughts of breaking 4:00, there's a
muffled sonic boom...and see-ya. Deb, Mark, Micheline and Myself just
truck along...ticking off the miles. All the while, the downhill pulls at you.
You want to go faster...but you know to do so now means paying later...so
we all hang back...always checking the watch to make sure we're saving enough.
5 miles comes up faster than any marathon I've ever
done. I pop my first Power-Gel, and
sing along with our little shufling chorus as we stumble through "Leavin'
on a Jet Plane" . We've been
running 9:40's to now...Deb is hoping to run 10 minute miles, and despite
dropping back to drink enough
at the second water stop...she bridges a 30 second gap
with ease. Like a group of parents,
we all reminded her not to let her emotions carry her too much too early...as
can happen in the first 10 miles when everything is easy and you wonder what all
the fuss is about. Now that I think
about it that
may have been a bit of a downer...but Deb listened and
settled back into her tempo. She
was still ahead of schedule, and putting time in the bank each mile.
By 13 miles, I couldn't get over how fast the mile
marks were coming up. In all my
years of running, that had never happened.
We hit the halfway split at 2:07...9:45's on the money.
I still felt good, Mark hadn't broken a sweat, Jana was grooving
(although somewhat concerned we were going out too
hard)...and Micheline just kept on trucking.
There were hopes that we could all hang together until the end...I knew I
was going to need the help. In my
three previous marathons, my meltdowns always came between 20-21 miles. I
would need this group to tow me in if that happened again...so I was
focusing on the effort I would need in the last 6 miles.
By now, we were off of the downhills and into the rollers. It was here I learned that downhill for that long does not equate to strength saving. By riding the brakes on the big hills early, my legs were starting to get sore. I was now VERY happy with our decision to keep the tempo easy in the beginning...for each uphill now was a harder and harder test. Unfortunately, my legs weren't the only ones starting to feel the pressure.
SH@*^$! I heard
from my right shoulder, as Jana stared down at her right leg...the first limb in
the troop to betray its pilot. Mile 16. "I need to stretch this
guys...hang on..." An ITB that
had given
her grief earlier was now beckoning for full attention.
We all stopped and waited...but the entire mood in the group shifted.
As we got moving again, it was a lot quieter than before. Less than half a mile later, it popped again;
"@*$&@!" We all stopped again.
Jana leaned against a telephone pole
and stretched it out...but it was time for that awful
decision marathon groups always seem to face.
"Guys...go. Go
on. I don't want to hold anyone
back...go!" Mark turned,
and I followed him. It was
hard...for the moment I hated everything...but I knew if I was hurting, I would
want Jana to do the same thing. As
we rolled on down the road, we knew that Mark (Jana's husband, not the Markley
of Dead
fame) was waiting to meet her at 17 miles.
Micheline bridged up to us after waiting with Jana a little bit longer
and being kicked ahead...and we all kept an eye out for Mark.
We spotted him and gave him the update...he said "I can see her down
the road, you guys go on...I got her."
And then there were three.
Micheline said to Mark and I "You guys get me to
20, and I'll see what I can do from there." She
settled into a rhythm, and Mark and I began doing some math.
Despite the stops and the more rolling nature of the course, when we got
to mile 20 the clock was at 3:18 - 9:54 miles.
We had gotten to 20, and for the first time in my marathon life...I was
lucid, not speaking Belgian, and not seeing abstract art on the pavement.
I asked out loud: "Dude...you think we can run a sub-hour 10k?" I wanted to get done as fast as possible...I knew the crash
might come soon. Mark said "We
can try!". I looked at
Micheline...and she just said "I'll stay here as long as I can...this tempo
is good." We set 4:20 as a
goal, with 4:25 as a backup goal.
Mile 21 came up quick...and we all moved as one.
At mile 22...we we're still running sub 10's...but walking at the water
stops was taking longer now. My
legs were sore from top to bottom, and my knees felt like they were on fire. We
were on tempo for 4:20, but only by a few seconds.
Mark was
beginning to inch ahead...and I just let him go.
By mile 23 he was only 50 feet up the road, but it might as well have
been 100 miles. I wasn't coming apart...but I knew that I couldn't run for very
much longer.
And then there were two.
Unwavering, Micheline was still at my side.
As the end neared I was trying to coach her along, but she didn't need
it. I knew she was hooked up and getting to the finish was not to problem. I
wanted to get here there AND break 4:20. I
was talking to her as much as I was talking to myself. I knew the big hill was coming...but after the 25 mile
mark...it would be downhill to the finish.
Thus, our marathon only had 2 hard miles to go....and a cruise to the
finish.
At mile 24, the clock was at 3:59. Being that close was exciting to me...because I knew if we
just kept running, we could make it under 4:20. Then...the hill started.
This was it...I knew all we had to do was knock this thing down, and we
were home free. As the hill
steepened, Micheline hit the jets. I
kind of surmised that she hated hills, and the sooner they're over, the better.
Mark was 40 feet up the road... and I was now 4 feet behind Micheline.
Right turn, up another block...left turn...up more. I gritted my teeth,
and forced my legs to turn over...I wanted the downhill, and I could feel it
coming.
Mark was walking just ahead, and Micheline and I caught
up to him at the summit. We all
walked through the water stop and looked at the watches: 4:10...and mile
25 was at the next corner. Knowing
it would be close, we all took off as one, ready to squeeze every last bit out
of what was left of our legs. Mark
moved away again...and once more I let him go.
He was setting a PR by almost 50 minutes...and was after more.
Micheline now knew she was going to finish her first marathon...the only
question now was 'How fast?'.
She had fought through earlier side stiches by grabbing
a rock and breathing...but now needed to get rid of that rock. With a toss the
rock sailed out of her hand...and right towards the front window of a Dental
Office. For 4 awful seconds that
sucker looked destined for a shattering finale, and I was contemplating how in
the world we would escape if the police chased us.
Hell...they could call ahead for donuts and wait at the next block.
Luckily, with a resounding "thunk!" the rock hit the wood below
the window and tumbled to the ground. We both let out a
good "Waaaah!!!' And got back to business.
At mile 26, we should have been able to see the finish...but couldn't. There was one more hill...one final insult to injury...that may have been too small to put on a profile, but looked like the North Face of Everest to me right about now. I was hurting, cranky, tired, and now embarassed since I'd been assuring Micheline that the hills were over.
Whoops.
I had to ask: "You got one more climb in you? Only
one more...just one more!" She didn't reply by speaking.
She took off again...and it was all I could do to hang on. Mark was just
ahead...and once more, we were closing in.
As this last little pitch was taking people apart, we were swerving
around walkers left, right, left, left, right.
I was yelling out "C'mon people!
You've suffered too long...don't quit now! C'mon!
Over this...just over this!"
As we crested the top...I could finally see the finish.
I didn't look at my watch...I didn't want to know.
I turned to Micheline and said "How long have you waited for this
moment? How many months did you get up early and run to get yourself
here? This is the finish you've
wanted...now run to it and enjoy it!"
I started yelling and pumping my fists...and yelling more. There were
people...balloons...and the clock.
After IMC, I was worried that I would be bored.
I was woried I'd never be excited about running a
marathon again.
As those welcome tears of joy started running down my
cheeks...I was pleased
to find out how wrong I was about myself.
I may have joked about it...but there's no such thing as "Just a
marathon"...no matter what you've been through.
One more yell...one more leap...and we're there! As we almost mowed down some woman in the chute, Micheline split left and I split right. The officials put me 3rd in line...and I stop the watch: 4:19:04.
Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!
I got my blanket.
I took of my hat...and as always, got the chills from feeling another
hard earned ribbon draped over my neck. A
hug from Micheline lets me know I wasn't overly annoying out there...and another
hug from Mark as we've survived yet another day.
Somwhere on the course...Deb was sticking to her pace
chart like NASA sticks to a procedure, which let her catch Jana with under 2
miles to go. Jana and Mark had been
steadily moving along the whole way...running when they could, walking whendthey
had to, stretching, taking Advil, and finding the way home by any means left.
Deb would get her 4:28, breaking her 4:30 goal Micheline by 2 minutes...and getting that first magical marathon medal. Jana would get her 3rd medal 4 minutes later...her 4:32 taking 12 minutes off her PR despite the ITB implosion.
Bobbi? She
was just up the road of our little trio...4:14...and ready to go sub-4 at
Philly.
We all started...we all finished. No matter what the clock may have said, it was a good day.
One thing is clear...At Philadelphia on November 22, it
won't be, nor will any race ever be "Just another marathon."
Mark and I are going to try for sub-4, for real.
Hopefully, Bobbi will be ready to go again, as will Dead Tom Downs.
I hear Eric Weiss may make a cameo to drag my sorry butt under 4:00, or
to heckle me for walking.
Jana? C'mon...you've
got the base...all the cool kids are doing it....
:-)