The
Great Valley Marathon
April
15, 2000 -- Chambersburg, Pennsylvania
26.2 hilly, rambling, running miles.
http://www.chambersburgrrc.org/
Run a marathon to train for a marathon?
Sure!
You've all heard Eric's tale of agony, perseverance, and ecstasy at setting a PR
this weekend at Chambersburg during our 'training race'. Well, since someone had
to obey the script as it was written, let me bring you the story from the middle
of the back of the pack.
When he first wrote to me in late March with this insane notion, I knew it was
perfect. It was so insane, it had to work. To run a marathon to train for a
marathon? Oh, oh yes. This would signify that I was officially crossing that
plane where sanity takes a backseat to training...and it made frighteningly
perfect sense. Like an addict looking for his first serious endorphin fix of a
cold and late-arriving Spring, I closed my eyes and pressed SUBMIT on the
sign-up web-page...and then I called Eric to simply say "This is all your
fault." and hung up.
The drive to Chambersburg was pretty uneventful...3 hours in the car grooving to
CD's, periodically saying out-loud "I can't believe we're running a
marathon tomorrow...this is all your fault." to make myself feel like I had
somewhere to place the blame. After all, addictions are never your own fault.
After passing through the traditional summer construction project on I-81 for an
hour ("Due to be completed in Spring 1989"), we checked into a
surprisingly full Econo Lodge, and I asked the front desk attendant "Is
anyone else here for the marathon?"
With a straight face, she asked "What marathon?" I asked Eric if we
were in the right town.
After a short nights sleep, we woke to a gray sky of broken clouds with some
hopeful light from the sun trying to break through. The forecast was calling for
rain...but it looked like we would be lucky. After taking in a lovely
continental breakfast of Toast and one donut (and being asked by the same desk
clerk "So why in the heck would you boys want to run that far on
purpose?" to which we replied "It's a training run...for...another...nevermind.")
I headed out to pack the car...whereupon I came face to face with the reason the
place was booked.
Before me stood a plump, fully-dressed re-creation of a Civil War General from
the South, right next to his Plymouth Concorde...complete with a Southern Flag
decal on the bumper. Being so close to Gettysburg, I had forgotten that on
alternating weekends...the brutal death of thousands of young lives is recreated
for historical purposes. Creepy. I couldn't help but think "Hmm...I guess
not all CEO's golf on the weekends, eh?" Of course, I was standing there in
black tights, a black jacket, Oakleys, and a black and yellow racing hat. I
looked as alien to him as he did to me, and we stood there staring for about 5
seconds before I managed to say "Good luck against the damn Yankees. I hear
their pitching is tough these days, but I bet you can wear them down and win
this here war."
He didn't even blink. I chose to make a hasty retreat before he loaded his
rifle.
Eric and I drove to the High School where registration *should* have been, but
there were 2 cars and 2 people there. Had to be the wrong school. We rolled up
and asked the 2 guys there in sweats "Is this where the race is?" They
said "Yep. We're expecting 31 people today..."
31.
31?
Thirty One?
No
matter how slowly I went, I would finish no worse than 31st place. I liked my
odds.
Sure enough, we lined up with a total of 37 people for the start. Most of the
runners there knew everyone else, so it really felt like a club run more than a
full-blown marathon...adding to the surreal state Eric and I had been in since
arriving. After one of the locals said a prayer for a safe return home (a nice
touch), and after the race director scared us all by reminding us that this was
a "Nasty, Challenging course...not for first-timers at all..." I
headed for the back (which was only 12 feet from the front) and raised my hands:
"4:15? 4:15-4:30? Anyone?" A few hands were raised... the horn
sounded...and the smallest yet longest running race I'd ever entered was off.
I immediately settled into a nice, easy pace...setting the HR about 135. The
fellow to my right struck up a conversation about racing, training, and why he
was there. His name was Pete, he had recently become a father, and was
contemplating running Pittsburgh too. I shared with him Eric's and my conjoint
loss of sanity that had resulted in us running this marathon as a training
marathon for the same reason, so why not go for it?
We crossed mile 1 in 9:03, 25 miles later it would prove to be the best of the
day. Eric was long gone, and the field was pretty well spread out already. We
were in a small group of 6-8, sometimes running together, sometimes spreading
out along the road. The hills were endless...and that would be the big challenge
of the day. Chambersburg is a little city between 2 ranges of the Appalachian
Mountains, and the course was laid out in an East-West fashion that had us
pretty much going up or down all 26 miles.
We passed the miles talking, trying to keep the tempo steady yet smooth. I
learned that Pete had hiked the Appalachian Trail (Georgia to Maine!), been with
the Army stationed in Panama: ("You've never known humid until you feel
Panama humid..."), and had gotten interested in running/multisport during
his training in the military. Now settling down with a family, his priorities
were changing...and he was trying to rediscover where his fitness had gone. It
always amazes me how there's nothing like a race to make 2 strangers get to know
each other. By mile 15, he had gone from being a guy in a white shirt, to 'My
Buddy Pete.'
I talked about Ironman races, my funky thyroid, my engagement...heck, everything
that crossed my mind...which made for a pretty surreal journey at times. All the
while we were ticking the miles off, thankful it wasn't raining, and wondering
when the course would ever flatten out. Sometimes the EMT's supporting the race
would ride up alongside on mountain bikes and strike up conversation, while
keeping traffic away (the roads were never closed) at the same time. It was
exactly what I needed from this long run - the day just kept on flowing by, and
I was just there to watch it happen like an amused spectator.
At mile 16, I caught a glimpse of Eric headed the other way. His stride was
solid, his arms were relaxed, and he looked good. Pete and I yelled to him, and
he motored off. I said to Pete "Looks like we close this little loop here,
and we're there. I guess about 2 miles back?"
Weeeelll, not exactly. At that point Eric was a full 5 miles ahead...and it
would be nearly an hour and many, many major hills before we'd cross that same
piece of pavement.
Soon Pete and I were shuffling on some of the steeper grades...almost
race-walking. I taught him (and explained the etymology of) the 'Alii shuffle',
and we just held on. Our splits were getting slower and slower (we didn't run a
mile faster than 10:20 for the last 14), but my HR was still in the 135-145
range. I kept saying "It's not us...it's the course...we're still cruising
at the same speed...but this 26.2 miles uphill back to the start is really
starting to p*ss me off! Who designed this freakin' course, M.C. Escher?"
Through
the worst hills on the course and back down to mile 20...I was really starting
to look forward to being done, and so was Pete.
At one point I said "That mile was long. Had to be." After 4
consecutive 'long' miles, I didn't need to tell him that they were fine, and he
didn't need to correct my optimistic measurements of mileage.
By mile 22 the field had spread out to the point that there was no-one in sight
ahead, and no-one in sight behind. There was no-one out in their yards out
between the farms. There was this 'Twilight Zone' feeling that we were the only
one's left alive...and it was doubly refreshing to cross another mile marker
painted on the shoulder. It meant we were one more mile closer to home...and we
hadn't gotten completely lost yet.
Early on, we had been on pace for a 4:15 finish. Then 4:20. Soon, it didn't
really matter. With 2 miles to go, Pete was starting to fight off some serious
quad cramping, and I was ready to be done. We rumbled on through the last aid
station, and started grinding through the last series of steeps. Shuffling the
ups, and holding on through clenched teeth on the downs, we stayed side by side.
Pete kept apologizing for slowing down, and at one point he told me to go on if
I felt good... but I kept saying "No apologies! I'm not leaving now. After
24 miles? What? No chance. We're flying in together." I knew where he was,
that place where thinking and talking take too much energy. You just want to be
done, now. Eric had been my brain and carried me in at Philly '98, so now it was
my turn to pass the favor on.
At each corner I'd guide Pete to the short line: "Lets go to the left here.
Lets stay to the right. Easy on this downhill...we're almost there..." We
picked up a body that had been coming at us backwards in the last mile.
Considering that Pete and I had been running 10's, this guy was in rough shape.
The RD hadn't lied - this course was NASTY to the last. I said "Come on,
run in with us..." and without looking back, mystery man picked up the pace
and stayed 3 feet ahead of us. I say mystery man...because I never saw his face
in the last mile. He just picked it up and never let us draw alongside...making
the battle for, uhmm (ahem)...25th place...(cough) a fierce one indeed.
Just like that...it was over. We took the last left turn off the course, and I
could see the school. "Pete - there's the school! We made it!" He kept
trucking on...looking at the line. With 100 yds. to go, I could see the clock
change over to 4:30:00, so we'd be in the bracket we had hoped to be...and
beaten the 5 hour cutoff that had snuck up close enough behind to start worrying
me. Mystery man crossed, then Pete, then I took my last step to finish in
4:30:25.
Eric was there. He had showered. He had some food. He was just finishing up the
last Chapter of War and Peace when we got there. As Pete and I plopped our tired
hides down on the most comfortable rock (!) we'd ever sat on, Eric said
something I'd never heard him say before: "I'm so sorry. I'll never make
you do this race again..." Hmm. I must look worse than I feel.
All I could think about was how glad I was we hadn't counted this race towards "The Duel", or else I'd be nearly 2 hours in arrears already.
Each
finisher received a plaque, and the RD told us to make sure that our bib
information was correct - he'd be sending out engraved plates with our names and
times for surviving by the end of the week - sweet! As I looked at the single
sheet of plywood that held the entire field's results, like a proud parent I
kept looking at Eric's tag...with only one more ahead of him. Hate him, love
him, or love to hate him as I do...it was just really cool to see.
I finished officially in 26th place...and technically won my age group. Of
course, I was the only one in my age group...but no matter. We all got the same
hardware, and survived the same road to get there.
Over chocolate shakes and fries from Mc'Ds on the way home...with only a taper
and 14 minutes now between Eric and Boston, the mood was pretty high. Once, for
no reason, we both just laughed out of nowhere - at nothing. I asked him "Lemme'
guess - it just occurred to you that we ran a freaking marathon this morning,
eh?"
"Yup. Completely insane..." He replied, still grinning in a contented,
Chesire way.
"...and completely your fault." I finished.
He may have nearly won the race...but he'll not get the last word from me.