Longer than it looks

Last Saturday I ran the Salt Lake City marathon. Although I did not win - disappointing, I know - I did finish. Going in my goal was to come across in under four hours, which is a fairly common marathon goal. I missed that goal by just over a minute, at 4:01:15 according to my timing chip. I'm not complaining, though, because after 26.2 miles, turns out my time didn't matter that much to me. It probably means a lot to other people who were further from dying in a pool of tired sweat. But to me, all I wanted to do was cross the finish line and eat a Creamies. (That was one of the sponsors. Chocolate ice cream popsicle after a marathon. It seemed like a good idea to someone, I guess.)

The course was pleasant, and the weather almost ideal for marathoning. The first half was cooler, about 50 degrees, with no wind. After rounding the 13-mile marker - at about 1:57 for me - the clouds blew away and the air started to heat up, but nothing more than 60 or 65 degrees. It made for a beautiful, excuse-free day for a run.

I am a heart-rate runner. It is a more consistent measure than running on pace alone since pace highly varies depending on GPS accuracy, and since it is easy to over-exhert yourself trying to maintain a pace when other variables are in play - elevation, heat, hills, etc. For the first half of the marathon, I kept my heart rate at a fairly even 147-148. After that, I wanted to push myself up to about 155 and then, with 4 miles to go I planned on "throwing the hammer down" (as I referred to it in my head, amused) to about 165-170, depending on what was left in the tank. It was especially amusing since my last four miles felt like I was trying to tow a truck and "throwing the hammer down" in reality was just maintaining an 11-minute mile.

What amazes me about marathons are the people who run them. Mainly the ones who run faster than I do. Like the 60-year-old women who run it in three and a half hours. Or the 250-pound cleidsdales that cruise on by down the home stretch. They just blow my mind. Our bodies are just miraculous. That's what I told myself as my hamstrings started to seize and my vision started to blur.

When I burst (kind of) across the finish line, it was amazing. It was almost as surreal as the time I ran my mom's new Jetta into a Hastings signpost or as walking through the Boise airport when I got back from Brazil. I am so happy I decided to do it. I wish I would have won, though.

A Marathon Post

I am training for the Salt Lake City marathon. Now, I realize that there are a few fundamental logical flaws about that statement – “Why Salt Lake, when you live in New York?” and “But marathons are for athletic types, Tony!” just as a couple of examples. But I am going through with it nonetheless.

The main reason that I am doing it is squarely in line with the assertions outlined in the disgustingly accurate blog StuffWhitePeopleLike.com. Beyond that, I am doing it because (a.) Lance Armstrong did it, (b.) girls do it, and I am not one to be beat by a girl, (c.) training for it is cheap entertainment, (d.) entrance into the New York Marathon is on a lottery basis and (e.) it gives me an excuse to wear running tights.

Although I am far from being ready for the marathon – I am about 1/3 of the way into my training – I have a few observations thus far. I’ll keep it to four for the time being, although I could offer many more. Running gives you way, way too much time to think.

(1.) There are few physical sensations that are more persuasive than having to go to the bathroom. Granted, I have never been water-boarded, which some say is unpleasant, but when you are running and you know you are 5 miles from the nearest bathroom, it is stressful. At the first inkling of tinkling, you start to run both more quickly and more smoothly. It makes life one big cardiovascular potty dance.

(2.) You only meet people who are running faster or slower than you. Everyone who is running at the same pace as you will stay the same distance in front of you or behind you. I’m sure there is a life lesson to be learned in that somewhere.

(3.) 26.2 miles is long. To date, the farthest I have run is 18 miles, and that was actually a 16-mile training run during which I got lost running circles in Brooklyn for 2 miles. Our bodies are remarkable adaptive because I remember when my knees gave out after 3 miles. (That is not a testament to my body specifically, but to bodies in general.) Or maybe it’s just a testament to how much I complain.

(4.) There’s room for improvement. Always. I am looking at finishing the marathon in about 4 hours, 3 hours 45 minutes best-case scenario. That’s chump change by marathon standards. But I won’t be able to run better than that until I’ve run at that pace. It’s like lower-tier mediocrity is a necessary step to upper-middle-tier mediocrity.

I'll try to provide periodic updates on how goes the training. And trying is half the battle.