The Clarence DeMar Marathon (Part Two)

Part Two - Race Day

From the outset, the mantra was always "Run the race for which you trained."

When I felt great and was tempted to speed up, that mantra reminded me to hang back. When I started doubting and slowing down, it helped me keep up speed. So when things started falling apart at Sunday's Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, N.H., I kept questioning why. What did I do wrong? Why is this not working?

We were bussed to the start line in Gilsum, where I did a very slow warmup mile. It was a chilly morning in the mid-50s, but it would quickly heat up to the high 70s by noon. The gun went off and I cruised down the first big hill a little too quickly, with a 7:03 mile, but talking to Shannon McGinn, a fellow New Jerseyan, in the second mile helped me dial it back, doing mile two at 7:20. I probably should have hung back some more, but I did not want to start out with too great a deficit in my 7:08 pace goal, so I said goodbye to Shannon and pushed up a small hill in the third, only to cruise into the downhills at 6:49 and 7:01 for the next two miles.

"Run the race for which you trained."

Knowing I was too far ahead of my goal, I pulled back, taking the next few miles at 7:12, 7:10 and 7:18. Back on track, I pushed a little, but I surprised myself with a 6:58 in the eighth, so I pulled back again, taking the next few miles even more slowly than the others - 7:18, 7:29, 7:21 - enjoying the scenery of running along the water and knowing that it would not be time to truly race until after the halfway mark. 

Mile 12 had the part with the dam in Surrey and the sight was too gorgeous to rush through, so I took one more slow mile at 7:17 and decided it was time to start moving. But I suddenly did not feel able to do so.

For one thing, my stomach started getting those unsettled feelings that have plagued me too often in the past. The questions started - Was it the pre-race Clif Bar? The Shot Block gel in the 9th? The morning coffee?

"Run the race for which you trained."

This time it meant to speed up, no matter what. My body told me to slow down, but my mind disagreed. So I pushed, only to end up with a 7:25. At the halfway point, I think I was on pace for a 3 hours and 12 minutes. Fine. Keep pushing for the 7:08s and get as close as possible.

Mile 14 was uphill along the golf course, and I motored through it at 7:11, giving me a renewed confidence which was shattered a mile later when all I could muster was 7:45 with the same effort. The 7:21 in the 16th was to be the fastest of the final 12 miles.
 
Still, I felt like this race could be salvaged. After all, 3:07:00 was an ideal goal, but 3:14:59 (the Boston qualifying time) was good, too. And it was still do-able, even with a 7:42, 7:46 and 7:35 in the miles through a loop in a residential area on Keene's outskirts and toward Wheelock Park. Heck, I was still in 25th place, where I had been most of the race. If I was slowing down, so was everyone else.

But slowing even more to a 7:53 in the 20th, I knew things were getting irreversibly bad.

The next mile was the mystery trail mile which started with a big downhill, went under the highways (Routes 9, 10 and 12) and ended with a big uphill.

And that was where I hit the wall.

Cresting the hill and running into the main residential section of Keene, I hit the 21 mark with an 8:14. As I passed a sign that said, "Remember, you PAID to do this!" I had to chuckle to myself.

But there was no laughter left in 22, as I struggled to muster an 8:27, beating myself up physically and mentally, trying to figure out how it all went so wrong again. Then I heard a voice behind me call my name. Realizing it was Shannon, I uttered, "Oh shit."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked as she passed me by, while still nicely offering some encouragement after I essentially insulted her. I spent a lot of time afterward wondering why "oh shit" was my reaction, and I guess it was because she told me she was gunning for 3 hours and 20 minutes. If she was passing me, then I was way off my own goal.

And it would only get worse - 8:42, 9:12, 9:37 - as more runners passed me along the rolling hills of the cemetery.  I searched my body for any extra strength I could find. At this point, I was merely surviving. The last mile was a dismal 10:01, which was weird because I felt like I was rallying to the finish and I thought for sure I had picked it up for one last bit of oomph.

At the turn into Keene State College for the finish line, there were people cheering so loudly, I had to hold back from crying. I thanked the crowd for being so great and pushed to the line where, in the last few yards, I saw Mom holding a sign that read, "Go Dan! 40 - Fast and proud!"

I heaved my deadening body into the finish line at 3:24:21, hugged Mom, and tried my best to make sense of what had happened.

I saw Shannon and apologized for the "oh shit". She did phenomenally well - a 3:15 with a negative split. Had I stuck with her, I would have had a much better race.

But therein lies the rub. I could have shot for a 3:15 or 3:20 and gotten it. But then I would have always wondered if the 3:07 was possible had I taken the risk and reached for it. I said in this very blog last week that I have to learn to sacrifice a few minutes to save several, and I thought I was doing so by going for 3:07 instead of a PR. So, no regrets.

Now it is back to the drawing board - figure out what to do next and rearrange my goals. While my peers are peaking at age 40, I will be aiming lower.

But that is the whole point - you train for a race and you run the race for which you trained. Whatever the goal, and whether or not you achieve it, is irrelevant. The success is in having the guts to stick to it. For my next race, I will train for a race that is less risky and I will run that race accordingly.



For Shannon's excellent account of her fantastic race, see http://shannon-creatingmomentum.blogspot.com/2014/10/an-anecdotal-study-of-impact-of.html