Running the Rock

22,000 runners arrived at Fair Park to participate in the Whiterock Marathon along with thousands more volunteers and onlookers, and it seemed that ALL of them drove and were directly in front of us. After months of dutiful training, race day finally arrived. It was 20 minutes before starting time and we found ourselves sitting miles from the highway exit, staring into a river of red brake lights wondering if we could possibly make it to our groups before the start line cleared. After exiting 5 minutes before start time, our anxiety grew as gate after shut gate showed "FULL" signs, and we realized we had left all valuables at home (as instructed), including money and debit cards that might have paid our way into the attended lots. We pulled into the last free gate and found a spot in the way back, clamored out of the car, threw caution to the wind, and ran several hundred yards to the starting line, happy to be free.

Ultimately we had nothing to worry about as the wave starts (they released only a few hundred runners at a time to avoid people crushing stampedes) allowed me to easily join the proper corral of runners before the gun. Heather particularly had nothing to worry about as her wave crossed the starting line in 37 degree temperatures a full hour after the initial gun. That's a long, cold wait. Needless to say, it was an awkward and unexpected beginning to the event.

We enjoyed the sights and sounds within the mass of humanity, and warmed up quickly once we were underway. The diverse nature of the runners, the volunteers, the onlookers, and the scenery provided more than adequate entertainment. People of all varieties participated in every conceivable way. I saw five 10 year olds running their first half marathon, and runners in their 60's running yet another in decades of events. I was impressed by lumbering giants every bit of 6'5" with lineman like frames, and petite young ladies easily under 100 pounds. There were screaming, whooping, inebriated onlookers gripping "Bloody Mary's" on their front lawns, and there were church groups holding signs bearing encouraging Bible verses. It was a true cross-section of the culture, much like the State Fair, but athletic, healthier, and with more teeth.

I wisely slowed my gait in the 1st quarter and abandoned my pace group until I was fully warmed up, then continued at a reasonable cruising speed. I felt good in the 2nd quarter and ran faster than my usual pace, a lack of discipline which probably came back to bite me in the last half of the 4th quarter when true fatigue set in causing pain similar to enduring a simultaneous pulling of the quad, hamstring and calf muscles in my right leg, accompanied by one of my customary allergy/sinus infection induced coughing fits. In short, I hit the wall hard around Mile 22.

I resorted to walking a short distance while I assessed my condition, then ran briefly before walking again. Months ago I established a finish time goal of 4 hours or less, but frequent glances at my watch confirmed the goal was rapidly slipping away with every hobbled step. Each time my body begged me to stop, my mind unleashed a spoken and unspoken barrage of self directed and often colorfully profane verbal abuse until pride overcame pain and motivated me further.

I rallied and ran strong once more as I passed well beyond Mile 23 and happened upon the soon to be infamous "Mile 24 Water Station" which bore signs claiming it to be at 24 miles, and it's volunteers encouraged us with cheers of "Only 2 more miles!" Buoyed by the false realization that only an insignificant 2 miles remained, I measured my remaining energy and kicked up my pace, determined to finish strong and feeling less pain. It seemed like a very long mile and my spirits rose as I saw the mile marker ahead only to be crushed with disbelief as I saw the unmistakable "Mile 24" in big, black letters. Volunteers shouting out the wrong mileage at Mile 2 would be no issue, but to do so in the most difficult final miles was unbearably defeating.

I was physically and emotionally spent, and missed my goal but fought through it to the end and improved my personal record by about 6 minutes, registering a 4 08 42. I was determined and trained hard this year, but I'm now on a mission.

Finishing another marathon and half marathon and improving was a good personal achievement. It was a challenging and fun learning experience, but it was not landing on the moon, inventing something revolutionary, changing the world, or finding the cure for cancer. It's a relatively commonplace occurrence and in the grand scheme of things it's a time consuming, nearly meaningless pursuit and serves ONLY the participant. Now Heather and I are setting a goal to make our hobby and exercise regimen something truly meaningful and bigger than ourselves, but that's a post for another day.