Thankfully, I was able to keep my attention on encouragement for Gloria who was running her first marathon. Not that she needed it - she was her usual, confident self.
Parking was a cinch. The walk to the start was short. The morning air had just the right amount of cool. Ideal conditions for race day. We checked our bags in the Henry B. Gonzalez Convention Center and walked to the start corrals through the adorable La Villita arts village.
Leaving Gloria so we could go to our respective corrals was tough, because now I could only think about the aching blob in my gut. Another Tums, please.
The course map, if you want to follow along: www.runrocknroll.com/san-antonio/the-races/course/
The race started roughly on time (7:15-ish), with the elites first, followed by the first corral (where I was) about five minutes later. Within the first mile through San Antonio's downtown, I could feel the urge to vomit already creeping in. So I took it slow, and hit the first mile marker at around a 7:30 pace.
But by the end of second mile, the wave of good vibes came over me and I started to feel almost good. So while the cheese brick still sat like dead weight in my tummy, my legs felt fantastic and so did my lungs. I decided that I would focus on those two things and let them carry me along, ignoring the pain in my stomach.
And it kind of worked. A speaker system was blaring Kiss' disco hit "I Was Made for Loving You" and I sang and clapped along. We ran past the Alamo and into the north end of Downtown, criss-crossing the San Antonio River, and the entertainment continued with the as-promised bands at every mile - some rock, some country, some folk, but all pretty darn good.
It was a gray morning and I did not feel well, but I managed to smile.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
This Rock n' Roll Marathon gimmick was exactly what I needed to take my mind off my aching belly, and my miles steadily got faster, bringing down my average pace to around 7:05 by the time I got to the seventh mile marker, where "Rock and Roll All Nite" (another Kiss song!) was being played by a band of kids so young, I do not think their parents were alive when that song came out.
In the eighth mile, things got eerily quiet as we headed onto a tree-line path in lovely Brackenridge Park. Rounding a turn, loud cheers were audible, but no music, which seemed odd until I came upon a military tribute featuring lined-up photographs of soldiers that had been killed in action, followed by a lengthy stretch of dozens of folks on either side of the path holding American flags. Quite the moving display.
Out of the park and into the Westfort section of town, I was on a straight shot on Broadway and Alamo Street in the ninth mile when the rain started pouring down. It came down hard and heavy for about 10 to 15 minutes and then completely dissipated by the time I got to mile 10 on Austin Street in the Healy-Murphy section.
The course had been mostly flat to this point, so the incline of only about 100 feet was noticeable. I had to put in some effort while my gut reminded me that all was not well down there, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. Spanish dancers on the overpass above kept me distracted as I began the incline, and the enormous mariachi band in Lockwood Park around the corner kept me entertained, but my pace started taking a hit.
With each successive mile on the ever-so-slight incline along the straightaway of Cherry Street in the Denver Heights section, my average pace slowed at least another second (yes, I was doing the math in my head, as usual), so by the time I got to the back half of the course, I was down to about a 7:10.
And it was not about to get better. With a much smaller field now (the half-marathoners had turned off to the finish), and my tummy in no better shape, it was time to get down to the real work. Thankfully, the steady decline was a help; and so was the band at Mission County Park playing an excellent rendition of Melissa Etheridge's "I'm the Only One," not to mention the marvelous sight of a drive-in movie theater, something you do not see often these days, not the least one that looks as majestic as this one.
The leaders, having completed the loop through miles 19 and 20 were coming back toward me and that offered some inspiration, too. I thought about counting them to get an idea of my place standing, but it would have been no use because the loop was too long and wide, so the runners in front of me were not always visible.
Besides, I was still slowing down tremendously and each mile became a lot more labored. Plus, this was the only section that lost the Rock 'n' Roll spirit. There was no music until I was passing that band at Mission County Park again (this time playing "Man in the Box" by Alice in Chains - that's some repertoire!).
Back on the same stretch of road from miles 15 through 19, all I could do was grin and bear it while I counted down the miles to the home stretch. And I mean that literally - I was grinning ear-to-ear because the runner's high is real and it makes me giddy, even when it hurts. Plus, it stretches my face, which opens my nasal cavities and allows me to breathe better.
A guy with a thick drawl said to me from the sidelines, "Hey, at least yer smilin'. Some of them other dudes up there look like to-tal shee-it."
Trying desperately to dig deep for the final three miles (all on a slight uphill), I came up with very little as I passed the most polite kid in marathon history, calling me "sir" as he offered encouragement. I assured him he would end up passing me before the finish, and when he eventually did, he offered me more good tidings and called me "sir" again.
The final two miles were in a lovely neighborhood south of Downtown. Many residents were out on their driveways and lawns cheering for us (as they had through many of the residential areas), but my pace was slowing drastically, as each mile got closer to eight minutes. I had a watchful eye on the clock, which was just shy of three hours at the 24th mile marker. The last two miles had to be done in less than eight minutes apiece to get a Boston qualifier (3:14:59) - the gold standard of marathon running. Normally, that would be an easy mark, but the sun was now out, the humidity was closing in, I was about ready to vomit again. This would not be a sure thing.
Back on Alamo Street for the home stretch, my body was desperate to shut down (and throw up), but I only pushed it harder. It felt like I was putting the kind of sub-6 short-race energy into my final sprint, but I was probably only mustering up low-7s at best. I tried to rally past the guy in front of me and he matched my effort, so for the last quarter-mile I was neck and neck with him, grunting and grimacing and trying like hell to shake him...or just get to the damn finish line and let the pain be through.
Neck-and-neck with that guy, I am in agony and he is sailing in smoothly.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
Crossing the finish line, I looked for a clock. No clock! How can there be no clock at the finish line.
Finished! Where the hell is the clock?
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
Having hit the 25th mile marker at around 3:06, I was mostly certain I came in BQ territory, but I had no idea of my finishing time (3:13:21) until much later, when I received the tracking text message while I was hanging out with my cousins (who live in town) near the finish line, waiting for Gloria.
Gloria, in blue, coming in to the home stretch and looking great.
Photo by Tracy McCray.
Video by Tracy McCray.
When Gloria did finally make it to the end, I was overwhelmed with happiness, seeing that look on her face, knowing she was feeling that same feeling I felt a decade ago...but that is her story to tell (and I hope she will tell it here).
So happy and proud of my new bride upon completion of her first marathon!
Photos by Tracy McCray.
And she was proud of me, too.
After seventeen marathons, that newfound excitement is gone for me, but the thrill is still there - and so is that feeling of absolutely needing to persevere; to run all 26.2 miles, regardless of training injuries, weather or even terrible pre-race food choices.
Can you see the pain behind that smile?
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.
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