"The difference between the mile and the marathon is the difference between burning your fingers with a match and being slowly roasted over hot coals."-- Hal Higdon, running writer and coach
Ahhh..nothing could be truer of the my third attempt at the marathon. If we are starting to see one trend, it's training and the challenges that temperature, work load, sleep etc.. can impose on it.
3rd marathon: Chicago Marathon, October 7, 2007
It was a hot summer in South Bend for training. Despite not being a morning person, I made efforts to go early. Kelly and I were training together again and we got together for a few long runs... only for most of them to be unbearably warm and end sooner than intended. However, in general, training went pretty well. Nothing (besides elite status or training in the desert) could really prepare you for what was to come though.
Seeded in a coral, I was fortunate enough not be in the back of the 45,000 runners, but was probably more like 15,000 deep. The air was already warm at gun time, but I was determined to get after the 3:20 goal that had been looming before me. Three miles in... the sweat was starting to bead on my face... NOT GOOD.
This was supposed to be a race to make me proud. Four of my athletes came in to Chicago, donning home made shirts with sayings like, "This lady is crazy, and I do what she says!" and buns, while riding the L around Chicago cheering me on. It made my heart so happy that these young women took the time to come support me, as their coach. Matt, my parents and brother also came for the race and made their way through the city to different sections to support me. It was amazing. And then the race happened and I felt like such a disappointment. I saw my girls at the half way mark, coming over the bridge, and I tried my best to look upbeat, but things were starting to get rough. At mile 16, I was nearly alone on a out of reach stretch. I remember seeing my dad and I just wanted to cry and have him tell me I could stop. It was so painful. I couldn't drink enough fluids or pour enough on my body to stay cool. Puddles formed in my shoes from the water and sweat running down me. Now was a time for survival. Those last 10 miles was a combination of running as much as I could and walking through pain. Probably the scariest thing at this time was that I was passing people. The field had slowed and people were going down left and right.
Finally, goals long dead, I made my way to the final turn before the last 1/2-3/4 mile straight away into the finish. As I approached the turn, a woman was waiving her arms and telling me to stop. STOP?!? NOW?! HELL NO. I just put my body through hell for almost 4 hours and I am going through that finish line. I earned it! No ma'am I will not stop. So I pressed ahead---to see my four girls along the straight away, cheering and smiling. Finishing, I just about crashed. I felt sick, like I wanted to assume the fetal position and just exist. Coming through, I was perplexed by droves of runners running around the finish area. The marathon had been shut down and runners were being diverted off the back half of the course. Thousands of people who started that day were never allowed to finish. Posed with a challenging situation, race directors had to make a tough call, and unfortunately it resulted in many DNF's.
No comments:
Post a Comment