So This Is What All That Training Was For

Race Start: We line up in the starting chute and the air just feels positively electric. There is a lot of giggling and maniacal laughter. It is as if at this moment we all realize this is what all that training was for. I am excited about the race, and really nervous, and also wondering if I'm a little crazy for running 26.2 miles voluntarily. Logically, I know I've prepared for this, but there is still that part of me that is wondering if I am ready, did I train enough, will I get through this? Well...I guess we're about to find out.

Mile 0-1: It takes us about a minute or so to go under the start banner, and then we start our watches. There are three of us running together: me, Julie, and Heidi. We shuffle along, trying to move through the pack and also trying to stay together, or at least within eye contact. The first mile ends up being a bit slow, but we are happy with this, as it means we aren't so nervous that we are blazing out the gates too fast. Going out too fast has come back to bite us before, and we collectively decided that if we come through the first mile a minute or more faster than we expect to, we'll have to hammer down on the pace. Our primary goal is to cross the finish line, speed is not really a factor. Maybe for another marathon, but not this one. First we need to know we can do this, and it is really important to each of us that we finish this. I feel like I am running with the support and good luck of so many family members and friends, and finishing this race is really important to me.

Miles 2-4: It is lightly raining, which feels nice, and we are moving along right at our pace. We're running on a paved trail that runs alongside the Glenn Highway. A lot of cars honk and wave. There are people pulled over at the side of the freeway cheering. So far, this feels pretty fun. We pass people, people pass us. Julie sees someone she knows from Portland (she knows everyone...a byproduct of her being the most friendly person on the planet). I realize quickly that I've overhydrated and must make a quick stop at mile 4. (And the cold doesn't help much...I swear my bladder must constrict in cold weather...I always have to climb out of the tent in the middle of the night when we're camping too.) Frustrating.

Miles 5-8: Three of these miles are on a paved road, and the last mile is on a gravel road. They seem to fly by. I think all of us are holding our breath for miles 9-15, waiting to see what "tank trail" really means.

Miles 9-16: We see Mark just before the tank trail starts. He asks me if I need anything from my backpack (packed with everything from extra shoes and socks to extra energy gel to my MP3 player), and I tell him, "Nope, I don't need anything, I'm good." We are still looking chipper and feeling like nothing in the world can take us down.



We turn the corner from the aid station onto the tank trail. Tank trail means uphill, downhill, gravel, mud, some rock, and a generally meandering course. The hills are tough, but so are we. We have trained on the Leif Erickson trail all spring, and we can run uphill about as fast as we run downhill (sore knees slow us down). A hanging mist fills the hills surrouding us, and rain starts to fall a bit more steadily. We know we'll be dealing with hills until we are through mile 13, so each mile marker we pass makes us happier. My right arch starts to cramp a bit, as my feet aren't used to all this uneven ground. I try to concentrate on running in the tank ruts, but now and then it is a bit muddier there, so I need to keep my eyes right in front of me. Because I'm concentrating on my feet, I don't seem to notice the hills as much.

On the way up a hill somewhere in the mile 12-13 region, a guy with a big goofy hat in front of us tells us we have just one more hill to go. Woohoo! But then we run up another hill, and another one, and I think even one or two more. I see Mark again at mile 13, a third of the way up the long slog up the last big hill.



We are muddy, but we are still feeling good. I need to make another pitstop at mile 15 with some stomach issues...annoying. I'm lucky I have running partners that are nice enough to wait for me. I race out of the porta potty a bit peeved and wishing for one of those iron-clad stomachs. At mile 15 we realize we only have 11.2 to go, and we are still feeling really good so that makes us almost giddy. In this section of the course we run up some narrow winding trails, run over some creeks, and basically are enjoying a wonderful trail run. We come off the tank trail onto a gravel road, which brings us back to pavement at mile 17.

Miles 17-21: I'm not sure what happens to me at around mile 17, but I start to feel the collective work I've been doing for the previous hours weigh down on me. I see Mark at about my worst point on mile 17, and he looks concerned. I manage to put on a relatively happy face for this photo:



Somehow, after running over a freeway overpass and telling Julie that I am going to treat myself to a huge latte at the end of this, I manage to pull it together and feel good for another few miles, although I am beginning to feel like I'm running on autopilot. I'm not looking around as much. I'm starting to focus on the most basic of needs...food, water, self preservation. I am eating bits and pieces of pretzel to try to keep my stomach under control. I am trying to get down some of the energy gel I've brought, but still having a tough time with that. At this point I know I'm going to finish, but I have absolutely no idea what is waiting for me in those last few miles.

Those miles really deserve their own special post.