As it tends to be, it was chilly on marathon morning. Gloria did an awesome job getting us from our hotel (about seven miles from downtown) to the starting area in the heart of Baton Rouge. Her keen sense of direction and ability to learn the lay of the land rather quickly was a relief, since most of my energy was being spent worrying about whether my legs would hold up. She found a place to park on the street and we found a spot next to one of the buildings where I could do some stretches without getting hit so hard with the gusts of wind.
I seeded myself with the pacer for a 3:30 goal. That felt do-able, since my leg felt like it would at least hold up for the duration of the race. And even if it did not, my attitude was "whatever happens happens, as long as it happens in under four hours." I would bring my phone with me, in case things got bad and I had to call Gloria to pick me up (literally, as in, off the ground). Plus, if my mind needed to wander, I had four long Phish jams playing softly in my headphones.
For the first mile or two (while listening to the 62-minute "Ball Square Jam" from 7/2/11), I held back. I pretended I was back in Las Vegas for the Red Rock Canyon marathon, taking the first few miles very easily before the hard work of climbing that thousand-foot ascent. Only this time, the hard work would not be a mountain, it would be the challenge of staving off the hamstring pain that was inevitable.
With a couple of low 8s under my belt, things felt pretty good. As we left downtown Baton Rouge via Park Boulevard and passed a couple of parks along Dalrymple Drive I got to talking with a gent wearing a "Fifty Under 4" shirt indicating he had run a marathon in every state, each one under four hours. I told him about how that was my goal and that I was on number 19. He wished me luck and I moved on, accelerating the pace into the mid-7s as we passed City Park Lake.
We passed University Lake and headed into Louisiana State University for the fourth, fifth and sixth miles, an enjoyable campus tour that included a pass by the impressive stadium. Off of the campus in the seventh mile, we ran through a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. Its serene tranquility brought a content smile to my face. This was shaping up to be quite an enjoyable race, and I had gotten my average pace down to about 7:50.
Along Lakeshore Drive and its beautiful community, the residents were out in full force, with signs, music and cheers - not to mention the proud New Orleans Saints fandom. The team would play its NFC championship game that afternoon (and lose, sorry to say) and the "Who dat?" chanting was infectious.
We continued to work our way around University Lake and back around City Park Lake through the 10th mile and, now in my second hour of running, I was listening to the 59-minute "It Tower Jam" from 8/2/03). After backtracking past the parks along Dalrymple, the marathon runners split from the half marathon runners and the real work was about to begin.
While deep in thought in the 13th mile, doing some math in my head to try to calculate my pace (7:49 thus far), I heard a familiar voice. It was Gloria! She was calling my name, holding a sign. I was so thrilled, I stopped and gave her a kiss. She said I looked good and I told her I felt good. Things really were going as well as could be...
...until they were not. Something suddenly was not right with my right hamstring as I snaked my way through more pretty residential neighborhoods in the 15th mile. It was almost 10 a.m., I had been running for two hours, and the Real Time pain reliever was wearing off. My right leg muscles started seizing up.
Slowing the pace considerably, I made a frantic call to Gloria, asking her to meet me wherever and whenever she could, but as soon as possible. I needed more of that pain reliever and my "stick" muscle roller. If there was any chance in me finishing the race under four hours, I would need some quick treatment.
Somehow, I dragged my deadening leg through miles 16, 17 and 18. I was getting by, but slowly. The 3:30 pacer passed me, which meant my average pace was now slower than eight minutes, which also meant that those miles had to be closer to nines. I even considered walking, but thought the better of it.
Now in my third hour of running, I tried to focus my attention on the third Phish jam - the epic 58-minute "Runaway Jim" from 11/29/97 - but things were looking grim. Then, around the Mile 19 marker, I saw Gloria. Like a pit crew at a NASCAR race, she was on the ready. She gave me the stick and I furiously rolled my hamstring, howling in agony. She passed me the Real Time and I shoved my hand down my tights to slather it on. Then, more rolling.
The whole process took about two minutes, which would normally be an eternity in a race, but I knew the only way to buy myself some time at the end was to lose a little time first and get this done. I thanked my wife profusely, kissed her goodbye and set out to finish this thing.
Amazingly, that stuff worked again. I did not care if it only masked the symptoms, as long as it could get me through the last six miles. I hit mile 20 with about 2:45 on the clock. Even at the pace I was running, I knew I could get to the finish in under four hours. At 11:04 a.m., just after hitting the 22 mile mark and starting the final Phish jam ("Drive-In Jam" from 8/22/15), I sent Gloria a text: "If I can keep this up, it should be a 3:35 finish".
Gloria met me one more time, in the middle of mile 24 and with another sign. The positive energy was exactly what I needed. Finally getting into the downtown area, it finally felt like the race was coming to a close. Though the last mile felt like it took forever, it did not matter. I was going to finish this race well under four hours, and is that not what I had come to Louisiana to do?
I approached the end as the P.A. was playing one of my favorite songs - "Your Love" by the Outfield. I sang along at the top of my lungs as I crossed the finish line with a final time of 3:36:10, an 8:16 overall pace. Somehow, I had managed to come in the top 16 percent overall (141 out of 890) and in the top 29 percent of my age/gender group (25 out of 89). On an injured leg. A month after pretty much getting a PR. Wow.
Truly, now, I had earned my Beach to Bayou medal. I completed my 20th marathon. I listened to four Phish jams. I crossed my 19th state off the list. I drank beer. I ate as much of the available vegetarian gumbo as I could get. I listened (and tried, unsuccessfully due to the soreness, to dance) to the band playing "Proud Mary". I reveled with my wife and enjoyed the chilly but sunny day in beautiful Baton Rouge.
This was, indeed, what I came to do. And I did it. Who dat?
 |
| At the start line of the Louisiana Marathon in Baton Rouge. Photo by Gloria. |
For the first mile or two (while listening to the 62-minute "Ball Square Jam" from 7/2/11), I held back. I pretended I was back in Las Vegas for the Red Rock Canyon marathon, taking the first few miles very easily before the hard work of climbing that thousand-foot ascent. Only this time, the hard work would not be a mountain, it would be the challenge of staving off the hamstring pain that was inevitable.
With a couple of low 8s under my belt, things felt pretty good. As we left downtown Baton Rouge via Park Boulevard and passed a couple of parks along Dalrymple Drive I got to talking with a gent wearing a "Fifty Under 4" shirt indicating he had run a marathon in every state, each one under four hours. I told him about how that was my goal and that I was on number 19. He wished me luck and I moved on, accelerating the pace into the mid-7s as we passed City Park Lake.
We passed University Lake and headed into Louisiana State University for the fourth, fifth and sixth miles, an enjoyable campus tour that included a pass by the impressive stadium. Off of the campus in the seventh mile, we ran through a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. Its serene tranquility brought a content smile to my face. This was shaping up to be quite an enjoyable race, and I had gotten my average pace down to about 7:50.
Along Lakeshore Drive and its beautiful community, the residents were out in full force, with signs, music and cheers - not to mention the proud New Orleans Saints fandom. The team would play its NFC championship game that afternoon (and lose, sorry to say) and the "Who dat?" chanting was infectious.
We continued to work our way around University Lake and back around City Park Lake through the 10th mile and, now in my second hour of running, I was listening to the 59-minute "It Tower Jam" from 8/2/03). After backtracking past the parks along Dalrymple, the marathon runners split from the half marathon runners and the real work was about to begin.
While deep in thought in the 13th mile, doing some math in my head to try to calculate my pace (7:49 thus far), I heard a familiar voice. It was Gloria! She was calling my name, holding a sign. I was so thrilled, I stopped and gave her a kiss. She said I looked good and I told her I felt good. Things really were going as well as could be...
...until they were not. Something suddenly was not right with my right hamstring as I snaked my way through more pretty residential neighborhoods in the 15th mile. It was almost 10 a.m., I had been running for two hours, and the Real Time pain reliever was wearing off. My right leg muscles started seizing up.
Slowing the pace considerably, I made a frantic call to Gloria, asking her to meet me wherever and whenever she could, but as soon as possible. I needed more of that pain reliever and my "stick" muscle roller. If there was any chance in me finishing the race under four hours, I would need some quick treatment.
Somehow, I dragged my deadening leg through miles 16, 17 and 18. I was getting by, but slowly. The 3:30 pacer passed me, which meant my average pace was now slower than eight minutes, which also meant that those miles had to be closer to nines. I even considered walking, but thought the better of it.
Now in my third hour of running, I tried to focus my attention on the third Phish jam - the epic 58-minute "Runaway Jim" from 11/29/97 - but things were looking grim. Then, around the Mile 19 marker, I saw Gloria. Like a pit crew at a NASCAR race, she was on the ready. She gave me the stick and I furiously rolled my hamstring, howling in agony. She passed me the Real Time and I shoved my hand down my tights to slather it on. Then, more rolling.
The whole process took about two minutes, which would normally be an eternity in a race, but I knew the only way to buy myself some time at the end was to lose a little time first and get this done. I thanked my wife profusely, kissed her goodbye and set out to finish this thing.
Amazingly, that stuff worked again. I did not care if it only masked the symptoms, as long as it could get me through the last six miles. I hit mile 20 with about 2:45 on the clock. Even at the pace I was running, I knew I could get to the finish in under four hours. At 11:04 a.m., just after hitting the 22 mile mark and starting the final Phish jam ("Drive-In Jam" from 8/22/15), I sent Gloria a text: "If I can keep this up, it should be a 3:35 finish".
Gloria met me one more time, in the middle of mile 24 and with another sign. The positive energy was exactly what I needed. Finally getting into the downtown area, it finally felt like the race was coming to a close. Though the last mile felt like it took forever, it did not matter. I was going to finish this race well under four hours, and is that not what I had come to Louisiana to do?
I approached the end as the P.A. was playing one of my favorite songs - "Your Love" by the Outfield. I sang along at the top of my lungs as I crossed the finish line with a final time of 3:36:10, an 8:16 overall pace. Somehow, I had managed to come in the top 16 percent overall (141 out of 890) and in the top 29 percent of my age/gender group (25 out of 89). On an injured leg. A month after pretty much getting a PR. Wow.
Truly, now, I had earned my Beach to Bayou medal. I completed my 20th marathon. I listened to four Phish jams. I crossed my 19th state off the list. I drank beer. I ate as much of the available vegetarian gumbo as I could get. I listened (and tried, unsuccessfully due to the soreness, to dance) to the band playing "Proud Mary". I reveled with my wife and enjoyed the chilly but sunny day in beautiful Baton Rouge.
This was, indeed, what I came to do. And I did it. Who dat?
 |
| The Beach to Bayou medal, connecting my Mississippi Marathon, Louisiana 5K and Louisiana Marathon medals. |
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| Gloria and me in front of the Louisiana State Capitol building, at the finish line of the Louisiana Marathon, in Baton Rouge. |
