Sometimes You're The Windshield, Sometimes You're The Bug

Seattle, Seattle, Seattle. I had such high hopes for you. I’d been putting in the miles, running strong, gaining confidence. And then I had to go an suffer Bronchitis Lung’s revenge - or something close enough to it to cause an awful replay of last year’s marathon. Instead of the four or five 20 milers that would help me grow strong enough to cover the distance, I was able to do one - and that in mid-April. So really, I had a pretty good idea that I would be growing antennae as I headed into this marathon.

Still, hope “is a thing with feathers”, and I secretly dreamed that all would be well. Perhaps 50 mile weeks of shorter runs would be enough to carry me across that finish line with style, grace and a fantastic PR. I would run to what I felt my realistic ability would be, and if I fell short, well, then I would try and run with spirit and perhaps a little zen.

I was up before the dawn, though I slept fairly well considering. The Space Needle was beautiful in the early morning darkness.



I had plenty of time to eat some breakfast, have a small cup of coffee and gather all my things before walking to the bus. Once at the bus stop, I was shocked at the number of other runners up so early. Bus after bus scooped up runners and carried us down the freeway to Tukwila where, yep, there were even more people! Until you’ve seen the number of porta potties they put out for a race of 28,000 people, you have no idea what a lot of porta potties looks like. Makes the Portland marathon or Hood to Coast beer garden look like a rest stop…

I found my corral - lucky number 13 - and sat down nearby to wait for the start. Note to self - running with friends is infinitely more fun. Seriously. As the corrals opened, volunteers offered us packets of salt. Packets of salt? Really? But considering the rest of the day, perhaps I should have partaken…

Finally, the start rolled around. The elites took off at 7:00 - while those of us farther to the back sat around and waited. About 18 minutes later, I was off.

First mental snapshot of the day - the enormous inflatable Brooks rocker dude - Matt - welcoming us out on the course.

The first part of the course went by uneventfully - I stopped to use the restroom (2 minutes…the line stopped moving as soon as I popped in!), drank some iced down Cytomax, climbed some early hills easily. But by mile 6 I was starting to feel it a bit, and I worried that I was going to have a rough day.

But the beautiful shores of Lake Washington (another snapshot) and the green grass of those parks distracted me for some time. The soldiers and families standing at attention holding American flags brought tears to my eyes (yep, filed that away!). I fell in behind a guy in an older Brooks jersey and shorts and kept my pace solidly at the 9 min mark.

We started a steep climb that would lead the marathoners out onto the I-90 bridge and across the water, and then quickly headed down a nice grade that I felt comfortable on. This downhill pounding would wreak havoc on my quads later in the day. But out here on the bridge I was recognized by @wsearunner, which gave me a nice boost. A buffed out shirtless dude passed me, and I felt my competitive hackles rise. This guy was obviously a body builder - not a runner! I couldn’t let him beat me. I worked to pass him again. We exchanged leads a few times.

As we headed back up the bridge, I still felt pretty good, but the Cytomax was starting to gurgle. We hit our first tunnel, where the road canted pretty strongly. I tried to find a flat line, but it wasn’t easy to do. We joined back in with the 1/2 marathoners, so I felt like I was passing people again. At this point, I started to think about how far I still had to go, and I felt my spirits starting to sink.

I hit the 1/2 way mark in 1:58, right on pace for my sub 4:00 finish, but I could tell at this point that things were getting tight. I started to take short breaks at the aid stations, and I could feel my pace slowing. Right around the 16 mile mark, there was another aid station, and for some reason, I left it feeling great. Perhaps it was because I knew I would see a friendly face soon, or maybe it was the 2nd Hammer gel I had eaten. I bounded out of there and headed for the hills. Not long after, I started feeling what can only be described as electric shocks shooting through my legs, radiating in both directions. Oh, crap, I thought.

Seeing my husband at the 17 mile mark was definitely a boost. I had him give me a quick massage, and I stretched a bit. At this point, though, I knew my game was off, and I had decided that I would try and take a relaxed view of the race. I let myself stop and chat with him, knowing this was costing valuable minutes. As I headed up Aurora Avenue, my challenge became letting the race go and not getting bogged down in the emotion of not meeting my initial goals.

Wow, was this a long hill. Up, up, up, relentless, though it was fun to cheer for the Brooks ID runners heading down the other side. Nausea had set in, and I made the decision to drink only water from this point on. With the benefit of hindsight, I see that this was probably the wrong decision, as the nausea was more likely the result of electrolyte depletion. The Cytomax was not that strong, so it’s very likely that it was too watered down to be of much use. I have ordered some S-Caps to see if I can work out my electrolytes issues.

As we pulled to the top of the hill, we were greeted by a sweeping view of the city of Seattle…and the enormous hill were were going to run down, and then back up. My heart sank. I couldn’t do this. This low emotional point would continue for a few miles. I hit the bottom of that hill in 2:51; in spite of all my stopping, I was still at a 9:10 pace (though I did not realize this at the time - in my mind, the race was over). Another mental snapshot - looking back up that hill is the beautiful vista you see in the advertisements for that race. If that isn’t false advertising, I don’t know what is…

I had decided at the top of the hill that there was no way I was going to run up, so I started to walk. The medical patrol even stopped to ask me if I was okay, and buff shirtless dude went right on by. I walked the entire hill, and when I got back to the top, I reluctantly started to run again. Coming down the hill was the closest I came to crying - I wanted to stop at mile 21 and go in to the hotel and watch the soccer game - but my pride wouldn’t let me. This was not the race I wanted, but it was the race I had.

I stopped again to talk to my husband, and asked him if I really had to keep on going (much to the amusement of the others standing there). Mentally, I knew I was going to finish, but the mind has other ways of messing with you. Once I had decided I was going to finish it, I started to notice that the bottom of my right foot had a strange ache, similar to one that ended up with me having tendonitis for three weeks. My left knee felt off, like the kneecap was off track again. Nevermind the regular aches of running - I became super focused on every twinge and ache that might compromise the rest of my summer running. I started taking every excuse to stop.

My race was over, but I challenged myself to let this be okay. I started paying attention to the people around me, and though my body hurt, I started smiling again. If I didn’t feel like running, I didn’t. I stopped and stretched as I needed to, and I even decided to take a gel at 3:30 in - I had forgotten to do so at the 3 hour mark. The nausea seemed to be subsiding now that I wasn’t taking in the Cytomax, but I was out of gas.

The last little hill before the finish was cruel, but finally I was on the final stretch to the finish. I mustered up a run, and as I entered the last six hundred yards, I saw buffed shirtless dude. I had to pass him, and pass him I did. That one little victory made my day. (You can see him finish behind me in my finisher’s video.)

Since last Saturday, I’ve had a lot of time to think about what happened and where I’m going, but that’s the topic of another post.