The lead runners went out way in front and I hung back as much as I could. Even now, 19 marathons later, I still have to remind myself not to start out too fast. The rule is, was and always will be "If you think you are going a little too slow, you are probably about right."
I used my Garmin GPS watch to keep track of my splits and, indeed, I hit the first mile at 6:53, only slightly faster than the magic 7:01 pace that would bring me a personal record (3:03). The next few miles were 7:00, 6:53 and 7:07. I could not slow down any more than that; I was already having too much fun looking at all the beautiful houses on the tree-lined Scenic Drive and enjoying the awesome tailwind. Perhaps it was too early to start talking about a PR, but I was about 11 seconds in front of the goal time and the seed was already planted in my brain.
With another sub-7 in the fifth mile (6:58), I knew I had to calm my excitement and slow the hell down. I have done this all too many times - start out too fast, crash by the end. I did not want this race to end in suffering. This was supposed to be a happy race, through and through, and I was determined to keep it that way. So the next few miles were deliberately slower - 7:08, 7:10, 7:08, 7:04, 7:11 - and it felt like I was crawling. Plus, those miles put me about 22 seconds behind my goal PR pace and no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I did not need to go for a PR, I could not get the nagging thought out of my head that it was possible. Perhaps that is why I did the 11th mile with a 6:58.
(By the way, if you are watching the videos, you will notice that my math was a little off. Doing math is a great way to keep my brain occupied while running, but it is not easy to do it accurately!)
Still not certain that a PR attempt was the right move, I hung back some more for the next three miles, even getting caught up in a conversation with a fellow runner. So miles 12 through 14 in Gulfport were 7:04, 7:05 and 7:12.
More than halfway through the race now, and 37 seconds behind PR pace, it was time to decide what kind of race this would end up being. The flat course and the tailwind made it possible to stay so steady with so little fatigue. If there was any chance to ramp it up and get some of those seconds back, it had to start immediately.
I went for it.
To make up 37 seconds in 12 miles, I needed to run 6:58s consistently. That seemed unlikely. However, there was one saving grace - my PR goal pace had a built in cushion. A 7:01 pace overall would get me to the finish line at 3:03:32. But my PR is 3:04:42, so that gave me 70 seconds of wiggle room.
I ramped up the effort for the next several miles and made up a decent chunk of time. Unbelievably, I ran my fastest two miles yet in Miles 15 and 16 (6:52 each) and kept the effort strong and solid, coming in with 7:01, 6:59, 7:02, 7:03 and 7:01, for miles 17 through 21.
Five miles to go and only 20 seconds off of that 3:03 goal, the PR seemed completely within my grasp, especially with that built-in cushion. But my grasp started to slip as each mile got more labored. There was no way I was ever hitting a wall at this race, but I could definitely feel my energy fading away as I managed to run Miles 22 through 24 at 7:02, 7:04 and 7:02 - a marvelous feat at any other marathon, but every second counted now. I kept telling myself that I only needed to push myself a little more and it would be over and I would be triumphant. I was picturing where I would be on my five-mile course and how close to home I would be. I was also picturing what it would be like to cross that finish line breaking the PR that has been standing now for almost a decade.
The 25 second deficit from the goal pace would put me at the finish line at 3:03:57. All I had to do was run the last 2.2 miles in 15:52. That would be a 7:12 for each mile. 7:12 had been my slowest mile, when I was barely trying. If I use every last bit of gas in the tank, surely I could pull that off.
Then, the course's one and only hill came in Mile 25 and threatened to put the kibosh on the whole thing. Not a natural hill, this was an exit ramp off of Highway 90 and onto Interstate 110, which literally crosses over Biloxi. At first, the incline felt good - I could finally use some different muscles (my quads were raring to go). I even passed a few people. But heading up the incline and into the 15 mph winds that had been at our backs (at best) and from our left (at worst, which still was not bad) knocked my penultimate mile down to a 7:16.
Still, every uphill has a downhill, so I gave it everything I had for Mile 26. Despite my hamstrings practically screaming for mercy, I lengthened my stride as far as it would go as I saw Gloria and my friend Marshall cheering me on from the minor league baseball park where the finish line was. All I had to do was hook around the stadium, enter from the opposite side, and traverse the outfield wall and first base line to the finish. And with a 6:50 (my fastest mile of the race), I made up almost all the time I lost in the previous mile (my slowest).
This was it. PR, baby. I had done it.
Except, somehow, I had not. As I rounded the outside of the ball field, I saw the seconds tick past the 3:04:41 that I needed. Grunting, groaning and moaning in pain, I crossed the finish line with 3:04:48 on the clock. An amazing result of which I am extremely proud, but inexplicable considering my pace and my splits. How did it happen?
If it is possible to be both elated and disappointed at the same time, this would be that moment. But at that point, who cared? My 19th marathon was my second fastest marathon of my life - at 44 years old, no less. There was no reason to quibble, nor was there time to do so because from that moment, for the rest of the day, it was party time. You run a race like that, you celebrate.
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