The morning of the race dawned crisp and clear in beautiful Bend, Oregon. Bend is in the high desert, so it is not unusual to have very chilly mornings in August. My husband had registered us both for the full marathon for my birthday. We arrived at the elementary school where the race started to blissfully short port-a-potty lines and an interesting cast of characters. My particular favorite was the guy with vertebrae threaded onto his truck antenna like a more sinister (but less creepy) Jack-in-the-Box ornament. Frankly I was pretty intimidated when all of the early starters (usually reserved for people expecting a 6-hour time) had body fat percentages lower than my shoe size. There were also a grip of people in Cascade Lakes shirts, a 216-mile relay race that had ended the day before and I overheard a discussion between two runners who had both run a 50 miler the previous weekend. Can you spell H-A-R-D-C-O-R-E? Fortunately, a fair amount of the starters at the regular time looked more my speed and we queued up for the pre-race briefing: The course was to be well marked with "confidence flags" that would be placed to reassure runners that they had indeed taken the right path. I have always maintained that the interstate needs confidence signs--Congratulations! You are actually on the way to the airport!
The race started and we left the paved parking lot to immediately bottle-neck at the start of the single-track course. Aaron and I were perfectly content to stay toward the back of the pack. I know that my strength has always been a strong finish. I was worried about Aaron from the start just knowing the difficulty he has had in the past with physically breaking down towards the end of long races. I put it out of my mind and just enjoyed the beautiful scenery and the cheerful banter between me and my husband. At about mile 4, I had to tie my shoe <wink> and after about 10 feet back up the trail, I realized that I had inadvertently gotten a stalk of weeds stuck in my pants. I pulled out the 2 foot stem, but the leaves remained behind (pun intended). In what I am sure was a WTF moment for the runners behind me, I plunged my hand down the back of my capris in an attempt to scoop out the chaff. I knew it was a loosing battle and wished once again that it was possible to dip my entire body in Body Glide.
For the first several miles, we played leap frog with a particular pair of runners. After the third or so exchange of the lead, we started talking to them. The big guy, Peter, was talking up the Galloway (run/walk) method with evangelical fervor, and since we couldn't deny that all of us ended up at about the same pace, we decided to join them. It turns out that there were buddies from way back in high school. Peter is raising money for cancer research by running 50 marathons (one a month; he's about three years in) and his buddy Haig was running his first marathon ever. We ran for three minutes and walked for one minute together. My only experience with Galloway is limited to knowing someone who does 9/1 intervals, so I was surprised at the short length of time for the run. It seemed to work pretty well though, especially since the course was on a steady climb. We had a great time talking to these two guys; one of the best things about running is the people you meet along the way. I mean that in the larger sense too, because I am blessed with a very supportive community of running companions.
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| At the top of the BIG HILL. (Thumb left in for authenticity) |
Looking over my shoulder to see if Aaron was having as much fun as I was, it was immediately obvious to me that he was in a bad way. I gave up my lead and slowed to a trot as I repeated "don't be selfish" over and over in my head like a mantra, because all I wanted to do at this point was RUN. But...ultimately, my relationship with my husband is far more important than a silly race. There will be *many* other marathons in my future, but only one husband. With that in mind, I told him I would finish the final 11 miles with him no matter what. So we walked. For the most part, walking was okay, especially when I had to see my husband nearly crumple in agony whenever he tried to run, as though some malicious wizard from Harry Potter had struck him with the cruciatus curse. That was hard, but even more painful was when we neared the finish line and had to go past a long line of finishers waiting in the port-a-potty line. It felt like the walk of shame when they all started clapping and cheering for us. I felt like a failure and secretly wished for some physical evidence for our slow pace (a little blood, maybe a broken limb). However difficult it was for me to walk, I know it was far more difficult for my husband to ask me to make that sacrifice. We finally crossed the finish line together at just under 6 hours. And though there was never really any other option, I am proud that we finished this race together, however long it took.
As with most things, there is usually a silver lining. I try to take lessons from each race I do and this one taught me that I am more than capable of surviving a six hour race. This is good news indeed as I head into training for the Baker Lake 50k in October--my first ultra marathon. As a bonus lesson, I also discovered that caution trumps speed when it comes to pulling up one's knickers during a shoe tying break.
