Marathon Man

Two years ago, I experienced perhaps my proudest athletic accomplishment: I completed the 2005 Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon. The story of how I arrived there is well worth telling, so here we go.


Pre-training
The idea to run a marathon came to me sort of randomly in the summer of 2004. I was in a library at Carnegie Mellon and was hit with a flash of inspiration. I went to a computer and looked to see if there were books available for non-hardcore runners to learn how to train for a marathon. Indeed there are, and I picked up a copy of The Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer later that day.

Granted, I wouldn't have gone so far as to label myself a "non-runner" at that point, but I wasn't a serious distance runner either. I'd do 3 miles here and there, but nothing spectacular. A lot of running is genetic; natural cardiovascular efficiency marks the difference between world-class runners and amateurs no matter how much the weekend warrior may train. I do have some physical advantages for running - I don't weigh very much (especially without a shirt), I have a long stride, and I've always been pretty active physically. I have some drawbacks as well, including a fairly average cardio endurance and arthritis problems in my legs and my shameful excuse for a right knee. Still, I was convinced that I could do this.

The book has as its only goal that the reader finishes the marathon; it guarantees that if you follow it closely you will finish but actively avoids making any other claims. This objective was fine with me, as I was not concerned with establishing a time goal. It also required just four runs a week, a schedule that I thought I could handle.

So, during the hot summer of '04 I began my training in earnest. I realized that there was not enough time to get all the necessary work in before any nearby races (Columbus was taking place about a month too early) so I thought I'd just see how things went. My goal was to run a 20-mile Francis-a-thon at the end and perhaps enter the Cleveland marathon the next May.

This training session started well. The four runs per week consisted of two short ones, one intermediate, and one long run. At the outset, these distances were only 3, 4, and 5 miles, well within my range. Two months in (the total training is 15 weeks), I was clearing 12-mile runs on Saturdays without too much problem. I had adopted some of the mental techniques recommended by the book, which I think were generally helpful though some of them were too cheesy for my standards. A lot of distance running is simply having the determination to finish rather than any elite physical gifts, and having your mind straight is key.

- I took the recommendation not to listen to music while running, in part because I didn't own any headphones but also because of the book's claim that focus is important. I know some people would like to take the Peter Gibbons approach, where they get home from running and think that they'd been fishing all day, but that's not effective training. As nice as it is to zone out, there are advantages to concentrating on your running as you travel.

- I fantasized about the race day as well, in particular imagining myself passing Jacobs Field, Gund Arena, and Cleveland Browns Stadium. Needless to say, these were inspiring images.

- As I got better, I awarded myself special running powers, much like how Mega Man acquires new weapons as he defeats bosses. These were Diesel Power, an extra reserve of running energy; Laser Focus, the ability to fully block out my surroundings and reach my goal; and Aqualung, an extra storehouse of oxygen even in wet or rainy conditions. I also adopted the Prodigy's "Diesel Power" as my training song - I listened to it every time I finished a run.

- I also had a mantra, like the book recommended. It was: I am a marathon runner. I run with (whatever of the above special powers I had gained at that point). I am going to finish every single training run and defeat the 2005 Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon (yes, I included the sponsor). Nothing can stop me now." (a little NIN reference)

My encouraging progress was stopped abruptly when I badly sprained my shoulder during a football game in early September. This may still rank as the most painful injury I've ever had. I couldn't sleep on it for over six months. In regards to training, my Dad's friend Amsbaugh helpfully pointed out that you don't actually run on your shoulder, but it was still responsible for supporting one of my guns, and I couldn't find any way to leave it at home and have the rest of me run. I gritted my way through that year's Great Race and declared my running season over.


Training
At the close of 2004, I registered myself for the Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon, to be held May 22, 2005. The die was cast.

I began the training anew for the most part, though I skipped the first week because I was easily up to that training level and it was damn cold outside. My first run took place in February, where the temperature had bizarrely risen above 70 F. That climate was not to last, as a lot of my runs through February and March were executed in brutal cold and snow. Some notable sessions included:

- A feud with some loser members of Pitt's track team who were practicing on CMU's track for some odd reason. I used the track for many short runs (3-5 miles) to take advantage of the soft surface. These guys kept insisting that I move out of their way. No, you move out of my way or go around me. Get your own track and stop bothering me.

- I discovered the limit of my attention span: 20 laps around a track. Anything more, I go crazy.

- Developing my loops of various mileage; my favorites were the 6-mile Homestead loop and the 8-mile "PHI Bar Loop." Sadly, the latter did not feature a stop at its namesake. I lived atop giant hill, so I always got to close my sessions with a run up Forbes avenue, which was always a delight.

- 10 miles badly hungover on a Saturday. I do not recommend this. 4 miles after a pitcher and 1/2 a pizza at PHI probably wasn't the greatest idea ever, but it worked out OK.

- 11 miles in wintry weather in Medina. My running log tells the story:
Medina is an awful place to run - they don't have any sidewalks. Plus it was cold, super-slushy, and super-windy on the return trip. 3 down-and-back laps, and I did it. So there. I never ran with any more than a long-sleeve T, running shorts and tights, and a winter hat.

- I did 12 miles one morning accompanied by a friend on a bike. To be more accurate, I did 7 with her along until she wrecked the bike and took care of the last 5 myself. I did offer to stop and help...

- Crushing my first-ever half-marathon in 1:53, I felt like I was really doing well. This whole time I'm developing minor aches and pains, but nothing really bothersome.

It's amazing how well the body can adapt to increased stress. Three months in, the short runs are bumped up to 5 miles, the intermediate ones stretched to 8, and the long ones over 16. The shorter ones, 5-8 miles, don't really feel like much anymore, though the longer ones become increasingly challenging. 2+ hours on the road is tough even for a well-trained runner.

11 weeks in, disaster strikes in the form of a hip injury that completely shuts down my ability to run, 13.5 miles into a 16-miler. Physically and psychologically, this was a severe blow. I manage to force through some of next week's sessions, but I post a 0/18 miles the following Saturday. I'm very worried at this point - maybe I invested all this time and I can't do it.

Things get better though. In Week 13 my injuries clear up and I'm back on track. Midweek I get sick and exacerbate my condition by accidentally overdosing on NyQuill (I think I've written about this episode before). My diary entry for Saturday's 18-mile run reads simply:
18, bitches.

The rest of the training is a cinch - the final two weeks taper down the mileage, since at this point your body needs rest more than it does endurance training. I couldn't agree more. There were still some miles to be completed, but the 3-mile runs in Week 15 were an absolute joke. With 276 total miles in my bank, I was ready for the big race.


Before the marathon
I stayed at Lance and Bucko's apartment in Medina the night before the race, and I was nervous. Nervous because I couldn't bear the thought of putting in all this effort, inviting people to see me, telling everyone about my quest, and then going out and failing. I knew that the only thing that could possibly stop me was my bad hip, but I also knew this was a very real possibility.

Eventually I got to sleep on the couch and it was race day.

I started with the champion's breakfast of two frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts, while Lance and Bucko drove me up to the beautiful City by the Lake. I felt superb in the minutes leading up to the race - muscles loose, 70 and sunny outside, and no digestive problems on the horizon. Things were looking good. Don't fuck this up for the rest of us, hip. Check me out before the adventure starts:



The marathon
To make it easier to follow, here's the course map:


Things started well - just over a mile in I passed Cleveland Browns Stadium and a rock and roll cover band who were ripping through Blur's "Song 2." It's hard to imagine how I could have been in a better frame of mind at this point.

Then, 2 miles in, my hip started to hurt. Oh no, don't do this. Please don't do this.

It didn't do that. It straightened out after about another mile and I was on my way to the West side of Cleveland. We went over some bridges and through some wooded areas, but I really don't have too many memories of miles 3-12. All that really sticks out in my memory were three things, two of which belonged to this girl in front of me openly defying the running gods with her generously top-heavy build. I was convinced that for lower back-related reasons she was only running the half-marathon option, and I was correct. There was also a funk band playing about 8 miles in. If I organized a marathon, I would have someone playing slap bass every half-mile just to improve runners' morale. Well, my morale anyway.

Around Mile 12, I saw my #1 fans Lance and Bucko, and got word that Dad would be arriving for the finish. This brief encounter took place at Jacobs Field, where I was inspired by the majestic sight of the home of my red-white-and-blue-clad baseball heroes. I felt excellent. Here's me, almost halfway home:


Two notable events took place around the halfway point. First, the wimpy half-marathon runners finished up, clearing the road considerably and leaving only the day's true superstars. Second, I was rudely cut off while making a right turn by this blond, 40+ dude with a headband and fanny pack. Thanks, buddy.

Well, he apologized for the running faux pas, and we started talking. I made a running friend! His name was Keith, this was also his first marathon, and he had trained with the same book as me. We talked about our experiences training and about general life stuff, and that made the running go a lot easier.

At this point, I'm completely dependent on the little placards marking each completed mile. I was like one of those people in the hospital with the self-administered morphine who can only press the button every so often and absolutely can't wait for the next time the machine doesn't lock them out. Those numbers were things of beauty to me. Some prankster shut off my morphine supply at one point by removing the mile 14 marker, but order was quickly restored.

Keith and I headed east, through some park in a very lovely area of the city. I was still going strong. My pace for the first half of the marathon was about 9 minutes per mile; I slowed to 10 minutes per mile for the second half, but that was well within my expectations.

I was strongly resolved not to become dehydrated or "hit the wall" during the race due to lack of available carbohydrates, so I adopted a strategy for the drink stops. I took every one; at half of them I got water and at the other half I got gatorade. The only flaw in this plan was inadequate storage facilities; around Mile 20 I had to say a temporary goodbye to Keith and pull over. 7 gallons later, I was back on the road and actually ran Keith down by Mile 22.

It's said that the last 6 miles of a marathon are the second half. I would say the last 10 are, but either way it definitely gets a lot tougher. My precious mile markers got farther and farther apart - Mile 25 was at least 3 miles away from Mile 24 - and although I felt physically pretty good, I was mentally ready to cross that finish line any day now.

Just before Mile 26, runners can look to the right and see the finish line. There it is! It's like a siren's call or an oasis - you just want to run towards it and embrace it. But you can't. You have to loop around a couple of blocks first. Then, suddenly, there it is. Right in front of you. With everything I had left, I made a mad dash for the finish line over the last 200 yards and pounced on the magnetic stripe of the finish line with one fist raised in the air. I had done it. Here's a good picture of it, though not nearly as good as the professional one Dad purchased. I look like a real bad-ass in that one, but here I'm obscured by Curly Sue.


Plus, there's that old dude in front of me. I'd like to clear this matter up, since my Dad frequently fails to understand this. OK, ready: I BEAT THAT GUY. I looked his bib number and his chip time was minutes slower than mine. He simply started closer to the front than me. Repeat: I did not lose to that old guy. You might say that I should have run faster to avoid this confusion in the first place, but then you didn't run it the race all, did you?


After the race
My final time was 4:07:43. (Chip time - I'm aware that the gun time clock in the above photo is longer).

The word "marathon" is used colloquially to denote any event that takes an exceptionally long time; a marathon meeting, a marathon drive, a holiday marathon of Jingle All the Way, etc. Having run an actual marathon, I hesitate to use the term at all, especially to refer to sitting on the couch for an extended period of time. Nevertheless, as I watched the seemingly-endless The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King Extended Edition this past year, I started to wonder if it might be appropriate. Yep, its running time is indeed four minutes longer than my marathon completion time. Truly a marathon film.

OK, back to raceday. I wandered through the finish line area and got my medal from this chick wearing a tiara for no apparent reason (Ms. Rite Aid 2005?). Hand over the medal and nobody gets hurt, honey.


Check out a few photos of me post-race with my prize. You've got just Francis; me, Lance, and Bucko; tri-Francis; and me with Keith.


I pretended to stretch for a while, but who cares? I was going to be sore anyway and I just didn't feel like it. We made our way back to the car, and then I experienced perhaps the greatest moment in my life: I sat down. Oh my. Just thinking about that makes me smile.

Post-race I wasn't as dead as you might expect. I was hungry and tired but not super-hungry or super-tired. I took a short nap, watched the Tribe beat the Reds, and drove back to Pittsburgh. All things considered, I felt pretty solid.

The next day was a different story. Though still giddy about the race, my legs told me in no uncertain terms that we would not be going anywhere very quickly for a few days. I was alright with this agreement. Did I carry my medal with me and show it to everyone I saw that day? You bet I did. (one person asked without sarcasm "did you win?) A couple days later, the soreness fully cleared up and I was back to normal. Except for the stress fracture I acquired in my right foot (which I played softball on and which went away in a matter of weeks), I was mostly back to normal.


Would I run another one? I'd like to. I need to make the time committment, and I want to make sure my injury status will allow me to finish. My knee is a lot worse than it ever was and I have this nagging ache in this unstretchable muscle on the back of my right leg, but I can typically run through both of those without too much bother (I did 6 miles easily this morning). The sad thing is, even though I'm only 27, my marathon window may be closing on me, and I'd like to experience it again before things are all said and done. Maybe in a couple of years.