Part I is here.
In more than 400 training miles and 550+ miles on the year, not once had I experienced any need to hit the can, so to speak. That all changed around Mile 4. Seriously? Today? Now? More than 550 miles since January and nothing. Then again, not once during all those miles had I dragged myself out of bed at 3:30 a.m. to go for a run. I’m guessing it was a combination of the early start and race day adrenalin. I tried to ignore it through Mile 5, but it wasn’t long before I knew I needed to come up with a plan. The aid station at Mile 4.7 had long lines at the row of porta-potties and the prospect of significant lost time. I’d have to hope for the best at the next.
The aid station at Mile 6.3 came in to view and I started plotting my attack. I grabbed a cup of sports drink and rounded the corner onto 3rd Street and checked out the scene. Five porta-potties and only one person waiting. Here’s my chance. I told my running partner to go on without me, I’d catch up. I had no idea if that was true. But I stood there. And waited. And waited. And danced. And waited. What the heck? Finally, one opened up and I took up the cause. I can say without a doubt it’s the first time I’ve ever hit the ground running after visiting one of these things. In retrospect, it might be a good move on a regular basis.
But now what? I checked the Garmin and had lost more than 2 minutes. Uggh. I couldn’t see my running partner anywhere in the long line of runners strung out down 3rd Street. So I took off in pursuit. I weaved in and out of runners I’d already passed once, struggling with the mental battle playing out in my head. How quickly can I make up the lost time? How quickly should I make up the lost time? Am I going to burn out if I keep up the pace? I rounded 3rd Street onto Grove by the old Bayern Brewing building and figured I was going too fast when I heard a spectator yell out “Look at that guy go!” Not being known for my speed, it was a moment of pride, but I knew I couldn’t keep at it much longer and still have any gas left for the rest of the race. That’s when I spied my running partner a hundred or so yards up the road. I caught up to him about 3/4 of a mile after we’d split and resumed my pacing job. I’d made up more than a minute of time and still felt strong. I doubt I’d have been able to do that successfully if I hadn’t had a target to chase down.
Along the course were numerous signs bearing well wishes for specific runners or, more often, rather humorous bits of encouragement for all of us. “Pavement Fears You” and “Toenails are for Sissies” made me chuckle, but my favorite read “Getting Up at 5:00 a.m. to Make This Sign Isn’t Easy Either.” There was also a series of Chuck Norris themed signs you can read about here.
I finally started feeling tired at the aid station at Mile 8.2, but at least from here on out I didn’t expect any surprises. We’d run this part of the course so many times in training that it had become second nature. Fourth street is a long straight section of the course, but there are enough dips and street crossings and trees to keep it interesting. Almost to Mile 11, Bonner Park presents a tantalizing part of the course. The route runs by it on two sides. As you approach from the west, you can look across to the other side of the park and see faster runners heading toward the home stretch. But not you. You still have to turn to the south and take a 3/4 mile diversion before looping back and reaching that side. Ha! No soup for you!
With about 2.5 miles left, I was losing some steam, but that’s also when my total inexperience in these running type things caught up to me. On the one hand, I felt like I had enough energy left to dig deep and shave off some more time and perhaps move up a few spots in the standings. But I would have nothing left after that. On the other hand, my mind was telling me it would be the ultimate embarrassment to completely run out of steam on the Higgins’ Street Bridge in front of hundreds of adoring fans. Well, one, anyway. So I decided to stick with my pace to ensure I’d at least finish with a smile on my face.
Really, that was a given. I hadn’t stopped smiling since 4:00 a.m. Here I was, out running a race I’d set as a goal back in February, having only started running in January. I’d spent 18 weeks in a training course, determined and driven for no other reason than a challenge to myself. I’d been hit by a car while on a training run and knocked out of training for three weeks while battling pneumonia. I wasn’t running for a cause or a show or a purpose. I was just running for fun and a sense of personal accomplishment. And it was fun. I remember thinking around Mile 7 that I didn’t want it to end as I jokingly asked a spectator for a cup of her coffee.
With the home stretch underfoot, my smile widened as I wondered what it was going to feel like when I rounded the final turn on to the Higgins’ Street Bridge. Many of our training runs crossed this bridge and our coach frequently reminded us to visualize just such a scene when the runs got tough. To my right I was jolted out of my day dreaming by an overly enthusiastic young couple bellowing out encouragement. I enjoy hearing the cheers and a hearty “way to go” or “good job” and – I don’t care who you are – a clanging cowbell pumps up the excitement any day. For some reason I don’t like hearing “you’re almost there” or “there’s only one mile left!” as these two were boisterously delivering. I got the feeling that the full marathoners coming behind me weren’t too interested in hearing “there’s only one mile left!” But that was particularly true since the pair had apparently lost their way. At that point they were a quarter of a mile off.
In the last half mile, the course has a series of turns that help keep things interesting with the final turn taking you off the quiet edge of the University District and on to the Higgins’ Street Bridge, the picturesque main thoroughfare crossing the Clark Fork River and diving into downtown Missoula. After a small rise, that last 0.1 or so of the race is a nice downhill stretch that lets you coast across the finish line. It is welcome not only for the finish line, but because the course is subtly uphill all the way from the Bitterroot River back at about Mile 3 (or Mile 16 for the full). The bridge is lined with hundreds of spectators and the cheers make you feel like everyone is patting you on the back. I scanned the crowd for Cheryl, my one adoring and supportive fan, but didn’t spot her.
Crossing the finish line felt exactly as I’d expected. Barely containable excitement and pride. I collected my finisher’s medal, found Cheryl – who smartly declined a sweaty hug – and headed for the finishers photo and food line. Like everything in the Missoula Marathon event, the food is well organized and top notch and we had our pick of watermelon, bananas, pasta salad, frozen fruit pops, nuts, trail mix and other things I missed. I found my running partner whom I’d left behind around Mile 8. I’d been able to successfully pull him along enough to meet his goal of finishing in under 2 hours. We headed back to the bridge to cheer on friends still out on the half and full courses.
My decision to keep my pace consistent brought me across the finish line with gas left in my tank. I wasn’t exhausted and probably had a couple more miles in me. I’ll have to experiment more in training to get a feel for how much and when to push. The Garmin told me I’d run 13.11 miles, ridiculously close to the actual race distance (which is always set to ensure you run at least 13.1 or 26.2 miles, etc.). The final results say I came in 540th out of roughly 2,500 finishers with a time of 1:56:11 for an 8:53 min./mile pace. Not bad for a beer blogger doing his first race. I’d started out the day with a goal of hitting an 8:50 pace and would have hit it were it not for my mid-race calling. Once home, I celebrated with a fine imperial stout.
On Monday, the day after the race, I felt a little stiff, but no more than any of our other long training runs. Tuesday arrived and I couldn’t wait to get back to the streets. I knocked out a five miler feeling stronger than I’d felt in weeks. Maybe the remaining pneumonia crud was finally in check. Maybe it was the unusually cool 65 degree evening air. Maybe it was the satisfaction of completing a challenge months in the making. Or maybe, it was because I was out running just to run.
