Marathon #4

On Saturday my dad came to the market as we were closing the stand, his second year coming to Pittsburgh for Marathon Weekend (he's such a supportive pop, that one!).  Olive was delighted to see him and the two of them wandered around while Rob and I cleaned up.  Afterwards we headed back to Highland Park for dinner at E2, one of the local restaurants on Bryant Street, since I'd heard they made good pastas.  I wound up getting spaghetti and giving my meatballs to Rob and my dad.  Our waiter kept the delicious grilled, chewy bread coming, and Olive ate not one, but two olives!  She'd only ever spit them out in the past, so this was progress.  And they were some excellent olives.  We went back home, visited for a spell, then put Buggy to bed.  My dad and I went for a walk around the neighborhood then drove to Kellie's where we'd be staying for the night.  Her husband, Mike, was doing the half marathon, and given the nasty road blocks and parking situation we decided it'd be best to consolidate.  I slept pretty well in Jack's bed and rose before 5:30.  After a breakfast of four scrambled eggs (I upped my normal race breakfast by one egg), Pop, Mike, and I were out the door at 6 and parked downtown by 6:20.  The temperature reached 81 later in the day, but while we made our way to our corral and waited for the 7:30 start I was freezing and ready to run to warm my body more than anything else.  I decided to stick with Mike, who was shooting for an 8:35 mile pace, for as long as I could, seeing him as a means of improving my time a little bit.  I lost him before mile 1, but even the little bit I ran with him helped spur me to keep a livelier pace than usual.  Seeing all of the clusters of runners, part of me wished that I had a group for support when parts of the course became difficult, but I've always been more of a solitary runner, especially in marathons, and I know I can do it.  Besides, all of the spectators - far more this year because of last year's rainier conditions - are enough to keep me going.

After the first mile I was already drenched in sweat.  The miles were ticking by without me realizing; I'd pass at least three mile markers and not even know it, which made for a less arduous run.  Twenty-six miles is a long way to count down.  However, somewhere in the fifth mile I began to feel a numb pain in the outer side of my left foot.  I kept most of my weight on my right foot and hobbled along until mile 12 when the pain went away for good.  It worried me, though, and I was afraid I'd end up having to walk the remainder, putting a serious damper on the day.  By mile 15 the heat had risen to 79 degrees, more than twenty from when the race began.  Unable to stand it any longer, I took off my shirt and tied it around my neck like a makeshift dicky.  I spotted Sarah, one of my friends from the market, then Water, an employee at the co-op with whom I'd once volunteered, who was passing out apple slices and Sun Drops, little chocolate candies.  At that point I was fewer than five miles from my house, and the jaunt through Homewood, the neighborhood in between, was fun, filled with lively supporters and an easy enough course.  I was flooded with relief when I hit Highland Park and was on the most familiar terrain of all.  Though I didn't see many neighbors I knew, I saw Rob on the sidewalk in front of our house, where a water station and band were also set up.  I ducked inside to use our bathroom,  have a drink of water, and snag Buggy's sunglasses that we sitting on the table.  They're a snugger fit than mine, making them better for running, and they were much needed on such a bright day.  Last year it was after I passed our house that things plummeted quickly.  I was dreading miles 21-26 since they'd given me such a dreadful time before, but my experience was very different this time around.  I have unpleasant memories of the stretch down Liberty Avenue through Bloomfield, all but dragging myself forward and hearing the heckling of fat women on the sidewalk, "Come on!  You can do better than that!"  That was in no way encouraging when I was already giving all I had.  This time, though, I was feeling full of pep, and one woman in Bloomfield told me I had on the coolest running outfit she'd ever seen.  The dicky worked in my favor.  As I bounded down the hill that descends into the Strip District, nearing mile 24, I spied a sizable crowd that had gathered outside one of the rowhouses and saw my buddy, Keith.  He cheered and the rest of his pals roared.  The final two miles were the toughest mentally, but I imagined it in terms of the beginning of a run and thought of how short a distance that really is, how I rarely go out for such a short run unless I'm with Buggy and we're just running an errand.  

And then it was over.  The finish line ended up being closer than I thought it was and I felt like I ought to continue running.  The clock read 5:03, so I knew that I'd beat my time from last year, 5:15:16, by a good bit, and had broken my record of 5:06 that I did in 2008.  I'd hoped to run it in under five hours but hadn't trained the way someone striving for this goal ought to.  I felt oddly good, as if I hadn't just run one of the farthest distances I'd ever gone.  My dad was there just before the finish so I was able to meet up with him easily, but it was harder to find Rob and Olive.  I knew they'd left shortly after I was at the house and he'd been studying the maps of accessible roads.  My dad and I circled the area for a while then found the family reunion area, organized alphabetically, which was brilliant.  I hung out there and stretched while my dad continued to look around and, soon enough, they found me.  Afterwards, we went to the market to close the booth, which was probably one of the best things I could do.  Staying on my feet and active rather than collapsing into my bed allowed my overworked muscles to cool down slowly.  My sunburn hurts more than my legs at this point.  I'm ready for my fifth.