The
Caesar
Rodney Half Marathon
The
Caesar
Rodney Half Marathon
March 19, 2000 -- Wilmington, Delaware.
13.1
Mile Run
(Or,
The Caesar Rodney 1/2 Marathon - My Spring Surprise).
You all know now the storyline of last week - My discovery that my thyroid was
messing with my waistline and trying to turn me into the Big Engine That
Couldn't, and you guys were all wonderfully supportive and informative. Friday
night I brought home a stack of printed out e-mails about 1/2" high and
re-read them all again to try and quell the fear and dread that was creeping in
and trying to ruin what little hope I had left for this season. Heading into my
first race, the Caesar Rodney 1/2 Marathon in Wilmington, Delaware... I wasn't
sure what to expect.
Despite all the mileage I had put down, I was worried. Worried about how my body
would respond to racing stress for the first time since November. Worried that
carrying 15 extra pounds on a hilly course would be a miserable, hopeless plod.
Worried that the fatigue that I was feeling might force me to lay down for a nap
halfway home. Lynda, as always, was my hope the night before the race as I laid
down upon another pillow of stones...sharp and as cold as the fears I could not
ignore by myself.
Reminding me of Art Hutchinson's favorite Ironman mantra, she just kept telling
me "The fitness is within you. I know it's hard to believe...but you're
times have been better despite the fact that you're heavier..." She was
right: I was running faster than last season, but I just couldn't help but think
- What if? My mixed emotions spun and spun as I finally surrendered to sleep.
I usually worry about getting to races early. Eric doesn't. I suggested that we
leave for a 9:30 start by 7:15am, giving us nearly 2 hours for the 1 hour drive.
I like to leave room for traffic, plane crashes, meteor impacts, ham-spilling
18-wheelers, and bathroom breaks. Eric likes to get his warm-up in by cutting it
close enough so that we're sweating in the car before we get there. In this
case, Eric won. He said he'd be at my place at 7:45, so I figured what the
heck...he's driving.
When he arrived at 8:05, I had already stuck every sharp object I could find
into my Brillo-haired Eric Weiss voodoo doll, and had given it to the cat for
some more shredding. I was feeling much better.
However on this day, he was right. We got there with 35 minutes to spare. But I
know in my heart that I if I had tried that? Forget it. I'd probably blow a tire
and get nailed by a rogue tsunami on the expressway. I guess lawyers just have
luck with commuting.
We signed in, got our numbers, and tried to warm up. Ahh, Spring in
Pennsylvania! It was a lovely 35 degrees with a steady Northerly breeze. Wearing
shorts and no gloves, I resorted to primal screams when the wind gusted to keep
warm. I tried to stretch, but I was just too cold. I huddled into the center of
the field like a penguin in the arctic...hoping for the gun.
Eric found me, and I made sure he started right ahead of me. He has been running
like mad since January, and expected a 1:38 or better today to validate his
Boston hopes at Pittsburgh in 6 weeks, whereas anything in the 1:55 range would
be fine with me...I haven't broken 2 hours since 1998 for this distance.
*BOOM!*
The cannon (that I hadn't seen since my eyeballs were frozen shut for a time)
was about 15 feet to our left. As a result, my hat spun around like Daffy Duck's
bill when plugged by Elmer Fudd, and I took off running like I'd stumbled onto a
firing range. The start at CR was downhill for the first mile, so I made a
conscious effort to keep my turnover quick and to think light (Bwahahahahaha!)
on my feet.
As we neared mile 1, Weiss was out of sight as I figured...and I heard the
split: "7:40".
What?
"That's gotta' be a typo!" I yelled. "No, it isn't....7:45...shut
up and run...7:50..." the timer replied. Hoooo, boy...this is so not good.
I did this at Philly with Markley. I ran too hard too soon and paid the piper
the last 11 miles. Not again. Not here. Watch the HR - 150. Hmm...that's pretty
near normal. Legs feel okay... might as well keep going.
Mile 2 - 15:30. Lets see...math...that's 7:45 and 7:45. HR is 151. No way. They
must be measuring this run in Kilometers. Maybe that was short. Had to be. I'm
fat and I suck. I can't be running this well.
Mile 3 - (water stop): 23:50.
Now that's more like it. HR is 152...running in the 8's? Almost a 3rd of the way
there. Hmmm...I was just telling Eric that when I ran my 1/2 Marathon PR, I
hadn't run farther than 5 miles... and just ran until I blew up. That day, I
never blew up. can that happen twice?
Mile 4...I have no idea. I was running without a watch and just watching the HR.
My body was locked on 152, and I just kept listening to my feet as they
taptaptapped out a cadence as fast as I could pedal. At Mile 5, we started
climbing through Brandywine Park - the nasty uphill section that makes this race
so totally evil. HR to 160...up we go.
Taptaptaptap...keep the feet moving. Shorten the stride...take deep breaths.
Smooth...smooth...little gears for the big man...little gears for the big man...taptaptaptap...
The 10K split - 52:20. Okay, not so great anymore...but we're going uphill now.
That's still got me on pace for...God I can't do math when I run...1:04? No.
104:40? Right...divide by 60...damn, less than 2 hours. Whatever.
Taptaptaptaptap...
Up and around the water tower that marks the high point of the race, I knew that
there were some rolling hills to go. We'd do an out and back, and then descend
the last 3 miles to the finish. I made a deal with myself that if I could keep
it together to there, I'd have to run the downhill with whatever I had left.
Taptaptaptaptap...you know, this high-cadence thread from last week really works
when you think about it...
Miles 7, 8, 9...grinding through the rollers at 152 BPM on the HR. I have no
idea what my splits are, but I know I'm running steady. Eric should be coming
from the other way soon...there! He yells to me "Keep it up...you look
good!" My brain, unable and unwilling to spare the energy to create
anything original, opens the tunnel up from my ears to my mouth and pipes his
message right back out: "Keep it up, you look good!" That's me – a
six-foot, 195 pound parrot. As I taptaptap away, I wonder why that always
happens, but I guess that means I'm working as hard as I should be.
At mile 10, the last 5K starts...and the first digital clock I've seen since the
start tells me that with 3 miles of downhills to go, I've covered this far in
1:22:20. I can't think too clearly, but I remember that 1:20 to there is 8:00
flat...so I'm slower now, but on a pace that might bring me in under 1:50. My HR
is 155...and I know that it's time to pay my share of the deal I made to myself.
Turning into the park...I open my stride for the
first time all day.
The taptaptap that I've been hearing gets a little slower, but I'm covering more
ground now. With Sir Isaac Newton hurtling my body down the twists of the road,
I visualize myself tucked in and flying down the backside of Yellow Lake. Almost
home...just keep on the power. People that ran too hard too soon are struggling
now...just like I did here last year. I know how bad that feels...which makes
the moments now all that much sweeter, even though it sure does hurt like hell.
The alarm on the HRM tells me I'm over 165 now...running harder and faster with
the downhill than I have all day...all year...all my life.
I'm passing people, and I'm not getting passed. I'm watching their heads turn as
I come by, pounding the road and sucking wind like a Hoover. I smile inside as I
notice that just about everyone I catch looks back, and moves over for me. Can't
say that's happened on a run before...
At mile 12, the hills flatten out...and like a cyclist with the field breathing
down his neck at the 1km to go mark, I desperately try to keep my momentum
moving. Someone next to me calls to his partner "We're at 1:38...with 1.1
to go..."
I know I can break 1:50 now. My PR is 1:44. That won't happen today, but I never
expected to be this close. The pain makes me want to cry, but I don't dare stop
now...the disappointment of finishing with something in the tank would hurt far
worse. Just a little longer...just a little more now.
Rounding the final turn with 400 meters to go, Weiss comes down the finish hill
and picks me up. I manage to ask him "Hey...how'd you do?" He whips
around on his heels and corrects me: "You run - I'll talk..."
Suddenly, I hear something I don't hear very often - Eric is breathing heavy.
"...If I can catch you..." Huh?
"I can't...go on...I'll see you up there."
Wow. He must be trashed. I *know* he had a good day now...and the hopes that the
two of us will hit out goals drives me up the last climb. I can hear the
finish...I can see the clock...and for the first time in a long, long time...the
news for Bob in a running race is good:
I cross the line in 1:46:53...My second fastest 1/2 Marathon all time, and the
fastest I've run in 3 years despite carrying 15 extra pounds of body weight, and
the immeasurable weight of my own doubts. While the body weight will eventually
leave...to show those doubts the door so soon and unexpectedly has made me feel
lighter that I've felt in months.
And dammit, I was pretty proud of myself. I smiled at the clock. Last year, I
didn't finish for another 20 minutes. Boy...I've missed this feeling!
Eric finished in 1:33:54, a new PR for him (breaking a 4 year old mark). In
typical Weiss style he showed me the watch and said "Do you know how much
this sucks? Now I have a chance to qualify for Boston...and I'll *have* to run
hard there." Ahh...such sweet pain, isn't it?
We headed home to feast and
reflect over Pizza, The NCAA Tournament, and a surprise phone call from Left
Coast Deads Amy White and Kathy Majteka to check on how St. Lynda was dealing
with me, and how I was dealing with me, too.
It was great to be able to tell them "I'm doing pretty well, guys..."
after the surprise of the day, and know that I really meant it, felt it, and
believed it more than I had when the day had started.
The more I know about my body...the less I understand how it can do what it
does. I guess that's the essence of the journey, isn't it?
One last thing and I promise I'll stop typing: Thanks to all of you for picking
me up and supporting me when I needed it...I don't think I could have done that
well without you!