Baltimore 2004

The 2004 Baltimore Marathon
October 18, 2004 -- Baltimore, Maryland

26.2 Mile Run.

http://www.thebaltimoremarathon.com

Charm city, huh? We'll see about that.

Originally Published to TRI-DRS on November 4, 2004.

Compared to some of my other race reports, this will be an "express" version - no time for the usual tome!

The Baltimore Marathon has now become a staple of my Fall Marathon Program. It gives me a chance to have a nice, long, catered training run on a tougher than you'd expect course, and to spend some time in a fun place (B'more Inner Harbor). It's a Saturday race as well, which means by 12:00PM I'm done (or nearly done) so Lynda can sleep in, meander over to the finish when she feels like it, and join me on the slow-moving feast that is marathon recovery.

I've been coming back since 2002. Okay, so that's 3 times total, but the race is only 4 years old and seems to get better each year! Unfortunately, I, well, haven't been. I ran a 4:19 my first time here, then plodded to an undertrained 4:30 in 2003. This year, thanks to increased responsibility and new projects at work, my training plan showed more "misses" than "hits" when it came to long runs, so once again I'd be toeing the line and using experience as opposed to actual mileage in my legs.

In short - go slow, don't be stupid, and don't forget to eat.

Number 1 was assured. Number two was iffy. I managed to pooch number three by forgetting my gel flasks when packing. When I went to go buy some at the expo, nobody had any left. Whoops. Plan "B" - time to bring extra Pop Tarts to the start line.

The alarm went of at 5:30AM, and I got some coffee and hit the road at 5:50. I hailed a cab out in front of the hotel, but that was easy - it wasn't exactly moving, but I think the driver was pretty startled to see someone this early. I told him I needed to get to Ravens Stadium, and that was that - I entered the time warp.

There was NO other traffic on the roads, but this guy was driving his cab like the Night Bus in the last Harry Potter movie. We were going 75mph down Pratt Street (I peeked - I couldn't believe it), weaving around cars that weren't there - the guy HAD to be an ex-New York hack. Only NYC cabbies are that loony on purpose. I held my (still full) coffee with both hands, and tried to keep from getting serious burns on my lap with each dive and dart.

4 minutes later - we landed. Whew!

With having to hurry, I was able to check my bag and wander over to my 'secret' hotel - an accidental discovery in my first year at this race. Warm lobby, nice chairs, bathrooms with nice fixtures - what more can a guy ask for? For the next two hours I was able to just sip my coffee, hang out, stretch, and get ready for my little jog. Soon the lobby was full of runners of all shapes and sizes getting ready, and plenty of families waiting as well.

As I sat on the floor looking down and stretching, Samantha came over. I know her name was Samantha, because her mother said, "Samantha! Where are you going?" I looked up, and was eye to eye with two very blue eyes, little blond curls, and a big smile. Samantha was probably about 18 months, and very curious. She looked at my hat, and reached up for the brim. I just sat still as she picked it up, and very casually looked underneath. Maybe she was looking at her reflection.

"Sorry dear..." I said to her, "There's nothing up there. Why do you think I'm getting ready to run 26 miles?"

Surely she didn't understand a word, but it must have been funny just the same. Laughing that giggle that all toddlers have that you just wish you could bottle up and listen to when you need a smile, Samantha put my hat back down, and toddled away. I waved "Bye!" as she left, and with her mom politely reminding her to answer, she turned around and waved back.

Soon it was time to line up for the start. I wasn't nervous - I wasn't expecting anything on this day. Maybe a 4:22 if I was smart about things. I ate those extra Pop Tarts (Frosted Brown Sugar), and lined up with the 4:15 pace group. I figured they'd keep me honest and on pace early; if I was still with them at 20 miles, why not hang on?

The TV helicopters chattered overhead - and then away we went. The beauty of a race with 3,000 runners was that I crossed the starting line in 45 seconds flat, and was under way. The first three miles at Baltimore are all uphill, so our pace was naturally off by about 15 seconds per mile. No big worries...

...until we hit mile 4 and our pace leaders just HIT IT. My one worry with pacers is always this; you have 22 more miles to make up lost time. Must some of you feel compelled to make it all up in ONE mile? Regardless, that's just what happened. After 3 10:00 miles, some of us followed the bright orange shirts through an 8:59 mile, but 2/3rds of the group was instantly dropped. Yeeesh.

So I settled in and just followed the shirts. Everyone left was happily chatting back and forth, but I just kept quiet (amazingly enough). I needed to keep my energy in check for the later miles, and babbling now would just come back to haunt me later on. I went through the 10km checkpoint right with the 4:15 group, and followed their sometimes up/sometimes down pacing all the way to the half-marathon point.

There I actually picked it up a bit and opened a gap, much like a Tour rider who is given permission to ride ahead and greet family on the route, Lynda would be waiting for me at mile 14 (so long as the weather was good). Sure enough I spotted her and stopped to chat.
You look great!" She said. "Yeah..." I huffed. "So far, so good - been hanging around 9:40 per mile so far. If this keeps up, I'll be finished around 4:15 - 4:20? We'll see!"

I kissed her goodbye ("Sorry honey, I think I've got GU breath!"), and headed up the road. 14 down - 12 to go.

I was still up the road from the 4:15 group, but I could hear them whooping it up behind me. As much as the yo-yo pacing annoyed me, the group did have energy to spare. I figured I'd just keep running until they caught me, and then try to hang on. My guess was that I was maybe 15-20 seconds ahead? Shouldn't take too long for them to catch up.

I still felt under control as I entered Little Italy at mile 16, and the pacing group was still behind me. The sun was out, I had 10 miles to go, and things were surprisingly looking up. I was tired, but I was having FUN. I was enjoying my long run, and racing a smart race - getting the most I could out of a base that really could have used about, oh, four more 20 milers (give or take, since I hadn't run, umm, any).

As I came rumbling along, A pedestrian carrying two shopping bags tried to enter the road from the left, looked up, and acted startled to see...well..a marathon. He looked left, right, left again, and then looked right at me.

I waved and said, "Hello! Thanks!" I was thanking him for *not* running into my path. By now after nearly 2:35 of steady progress, swerving around someone who doesn't want to wait 5 seconds would just annoy me, so I appreciated his patience. He looked back at me and asked, "What are you?"

I replied, "The Baltimore Marathon, sir..." By now I've passed him, and I'm running backwards to maintain eye contact and be polite. He asks again, "No - what are YOU?"

I didn't get it, so I asked him something - "Italian? Bob? Slow? What do you mean?"

Without changing his expression a bit he deadpanned, "You need to do something about your chest. You've got boobs like a chick."

I stopped. I looked down at my chest. At the moment, I'm pretty damn proud of it because after 4 months of heavy weightlifting and medicine ball work for Dragon Boat, I've actually developed my pectorals for the first time in my entire life. My shirts stretch. For God's sake, even Lynda has even started noticing! However, when running, I must admit the muscles do, well, have a bit 'o bounce to them. Can't help that.

But to this guy, that makes me look like "a chick."

Must have been the shaved legs.

I just turned and tossed my hands in the air, "Thanks, buddy! Have a nice day!" as I headed off. Over my shoulder, I hear more astounding logic: "It's okay, buddy. I'm a Daygo, too!" Ah, well, that explains, um, nothing at all. I rolled, bounced, and sighed my way up the road, still ahead of the 4:15'ers.

To put it mildly, I was a little miffed. Positive self image is something that I have next to nothing of most of the time. After all the work in the Dragon Boat, I was starting to SEE a difference in myself. I could tell I was onto something good, and that I should keep going. Maybe if I stuck with the weights a little more...maybe I'd start to feel more like the triathlete everyone seems to think I am?

But a comment like that - some blind stupidity from someone I didn't even know? It hurt. That sucked. However, I tried to right the ship in my own head. "Hey, you! You ARE RUNNING A MARATHON. Remember? RUN!" Ah, right. At least that's something.

I rolled on towards mile 20, through some of the climbs in the rougher neighborhoods of Baltimore. There were people out on their stoops watching us all run past, and when someone waved I always waved right back and said, "Thanks for letting us pass through!" Everyone I waved to seemed to be really nice about it...until I evidently got someone on a bad day, again.

"WOW. DAMN." She said as I ran by. I looked back, curious to what she was looking at, hoping it wasn't me.

It was me.

"Son - aren't you kinda' big to be running a marathon?" Holy shit. Welcome to Baltimore - the run of 1000 Insults.

"Yes ma'am!" I replied. "I'm big, so I HAVE to run so that I won't always be big. Understand?" I smiled, but inside I could hear the sounds of an ego that I'd once numbered the pieces to for ease of reconstruction, shattering once more.

She just shook her head and said again, "Damn."

But that wasn't all. Less than 4 blocks later we ran past a group of cheerleaders out on their school's front steps. They were on break, not really doing much except hanging out and soaking in the sunshine. Trying to appear all calm, collected, and happy while I thought about how freaking fat I must really be...one of the cheerleaders looked at me and pointed - POINTED!

"YO! BOY! You have GOT to do something about those shorts!! Those LEGS!" It was official. I thought I was running a marathon, but I was really running through a nightmare of adolescent proportions. It hurt enough that I actually had to laugh. I mean, I had a cheerleader LAUGHING AT ME for running! Every fear that I'd ever had about running was now coming true! It was amazing.

But I was still running. That was all I had left. "What's wrong with these legs?" I asked as I trotted away. "I mean, they are running a marathon right?" She just kept on pointing and laughing...and I just kept on running.

Right about then, the 4:15'ers caught me. More accurately, the lone remaining 4:15 pacer and two people from the start passed me - everyone else was gone. I tried to lift my tempo, but there was nothing left. The wheels came off precisely at mile 21 - right about where I thought they would.

What followed was a sequence of 10, 11, and even one 12 minute mile as I came completely unglued. Not enough mileage. Not enough training. Not enough food. Oh, and I'm too f'ing fat. Forgot that. How could I forget that?

As I passed mile 25, I thought of Ian Wright. Not because he had anything to do with the run of 1000 insults. Not because he's fat (he isn't). It was because I was passed by a man wearing a full pack, trail shoes, and a sign on his back that read, "Training for 2005 MdS. This is my second marathon today." Wow.

I was feeling pretty bad by now, but at least there was only one mile to go. I felt like my feet were glued to the road...and then I looked down and saw why. Someone had been giving out Gummy Bears from their front yard earlier in the day. At mile 25 of a marathon, a Gummy Bear would take the average runner about 4 miles to chew. Most runners who grabbed a Gummy realized this fact once they'd accidentally glued their own mouth shut, and immediately disposed of said Gummy with predictable results.

The road was now coated with Gummy Bears; it was a Gummy Bear Massacree (as Arlo Guthrie would say), and my feet WERE in fact glued to the road. It was a perfectly absurd coda to a long, long day, but a day that was just about over.

I cruised through Camden Yards and headed for the line, feeling like I'd survived something. I wasn't fast, I wasn't fit, but I'd gotten through it. Sometimes, that's enough to take home and call it a good day.

I crossed the finish line in 4:26:59 on my watch - I'd given back almost 12 minutes in the last 6 miles. Now THAT's a proper collapse!

Now I've got three weeks to Philadelphia. I'm putting down the mileage that I can, and hoping for a better run on a familiar course. At the very least, I don't think the cheerleaders will be there.

Hurricane Bob

* "Sometimes it takes all you've got to ride with the mortals." - Stephen Roche

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