It was a good day.
Saturday morning, March 5, at 6 a.m.:
It had been 16 months since my last marathon and I stood at the starting line for the Myrtle Beach Marathon knowing that this would be my last attempt at a personal record (3:04:41). After six months of being sidelined from an injury, I had a non-stop autumn of short race PRs followed by the most intense marathon training of my life (Hal Higdon's Advanced 2 program). I had to face it - I am not getting any younger so it was now or never.
Yet, at the same time, I was fully prepared to fall short and, if necessary, readjust my goals as I went along. One perk to getting old is getting wise. No more early rash moves to sabotage my race. I would use lessons from my previous races to make this one as good as possible.
Mom and I arrive at Myrtle Beach airport.
My mom (who came for support, not to race) and I flew into town on Thursday and spent Friday walking the area surrounding our hotel. Packet pickup was a breeze at the sports center. We had an early pre-race dinner at a local Italian joint (Ramando's) and the pasta primavera was perfect.
The view from our hotel balcony at Breakers Resort. Don't let the photo fool you, it was chilly and windy!
One of multiple stops at the local Piggly Wiggly, my favorite name for a grocery store. Everything was within walking distance of the hotel. No rental car needed!
The course map, from MBMarathon.com
6:30 a.m.
The race started right on time. It was a chilly but manageable 39 degrees as the sun began to rise. Giant flags indicating goal-times helped everyone get to the right spot at the starting line on Grissom Parkway at 21st Avenue. I planted myself with the 3:05:xx crowd. They even had pacers for every 10 minute range beyond that, and at go-time, I stuck with the 3:05:xx guy for the first few miles.
The pacer said that the first few mile markers might be a bit off. We turned left onto Joe White Avenue and right onto Kings Highway and, with everyone's GPS watches beeping about a tenth of a mile after the markers, it seemed to be true. Still, the guy was running awfully fast for a 3:05:xx pace as I clocked a 7:02, 6:57 and 6:55 in the first three miles while staying near him.
So I hung back a little bit and, as we passed the airport and turned right on Farrow Parkway to head into the Market Commons downtown, I nailed my PR pace nicely with a 7:01 and 7:02 for Miles Four and Five.
Turning right onto Howard Avenue and left onto Reed Avenue, the Market Commons section was good time. With cheering crowds, funny signs, a band playing "American Girl", and the fun of first watching the leaders come toward me as I ran north and then watching all the people behind me come north as I ran south, everything was going smoothly on this easy, flat course. The sun broke through the clouds. I took off one glove (the other was still holding my starlight mints inside). Miles Six and Seven - 7:02 and 7:08. Perfect. Steady as she goes.
Unfortunately, the left turn put us directly into the headwind as we began the nine-mile northbound trek along Ocean Boulevard. I fought with it for a while, trying to keep up the pace and, though I hung strong, I realized I was expending too much effort. There was another burst of sideline support in these miles and that helped me hit a 7:02, 7:08, 7:06 and 7:02 for Miles Eight through 11.
Thinking about the Lower Potomac River Marathon (almost exactly two years ago) in Maryland, I remembered the importance of racing smart. If the wind was going to slow me down, so be it. Maybe I would be able to make it up. Maybe not. But I know that pushing too hard to maintain this early would mean a big wall 10 miles later. So I backed off a bit with a 7:14, 7:10, 7:10 and 7:09 for Miles 12 through 15.
Even in those miles, I was reading my body's signals and I could tell I was still giving too much. I am pretty sure that there was a gentle but noticeable incline which did not help matters.
By now I was almost a minute behind my PR. Trying to make up the time seemed like a bad move, but perhaps I could push a little bit more in the last few miles of Ocean Boulevard, hoping that after the left turn, there would eventually be both a tailwind and a downhill.
However, I could not muster the energy. Not yet. So I did the opposite, backing off even more and letting my legs dictate the pace. Even with a 7:17 and 7:23 in Miles 16 and 17, there was still plenty of hope for a second or third best (3:04:43 to 3:06:28).
Sure enough, after the U-turn on Grand Dunes Boulevard (Mile 18 - 7:26) and a return to Kings Highway, it was downhill with the wind at our backs and the sun in the sky. I knew that it would not get any better than the 7:13 in Mile 19 but even as I slowed down again, I felt good despite the fatigue in my legs. I thought again about Maryland and how my legs got tired but I never hit the wall. I thought about the Fort Myers Beach Marathon, too, though, and how I hit it at Mile 25. I promised myself I would not let that happen here, so I rode the good vibes and willed myself to keep steady into a 7:21 in Mile 20.
There is a difficult mental struggle that happens when you know you are heading in the direction of the finish, but then forced to turn off and run in a different direction, so the right turn on 66th Avenue was mentally crushing, but I kept it together in Mile 21 with a 7:22 thanks to some more great crowd support. A short stint along a trail in Mile 22 before popping back out onto Grissom Parkway kept things visually interesting but the 7:29 felt too forced. At that moment I was extremely glad that I had extended my training runs to 22 miles because it felt familiar despite the effort.
I thought about the Missoula Marathon - how I reached into a very primal part of myself, unleashing this monster within that not only defied but embraced the pain of these miles. I considered trying to summon that beast, but there were another series of turns - a left onto Grand Daddy Boulevard with a U-turn back to Grissom, a right onto 48th, left onto Oleander, left onto 44th, right onto Mayfair, left onto London - and they rapidly sapped my will and energy. I was in the doldrums for those two miles and I knew it. No point fighting it. 7:41 and 7:49 for Miles 23 and 24.
Two hours before, I was heading for a PR, but fourth best (3:06:29 to 3:10:44) was now my goal, and I had no doubt it was completely attainable. I started doing those mathematical negotiations that I tend to do (if I slow down this many seconds per mile, I will get a fourth best and still get a Boston qualifier). I was hurting, but I was strong. There would be no wall. Period.
Happy to be back on Grissom, it was a tough task to get through Mile 25 with a 7:43, but with the Broadway at the Beach shopping complex in view, I could see that it was the home stretch. It was not enough to know it. I needed to see it.
I gathered my last bit of strength, dug deep for that last bit of gas in the tank, lengthened my stride despite the pain in my quadriceps and let out several repeated unattractive grunts as I hit a 7:22 for Mile 26.
I rallied to the entrance of Pelican Field with determination and pride, but none of the overwhelming emotion of previous races when I approached the finish line completely spent and trying to hold back tears of joy (Philadelphia and Missoula) or pain (Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, N.H.) or sadness (New Jersey, missing my BQ by mere seconds).
This time all I could see was the clock as I heard a voice on my left say, "Get under that 3:10!" while I watched the seconds of 3:09 tick away.
I finished with a 3:09:44, feeling nothing but...good.
I missed my PR, but I felt good.
My legs were burning, but I felt good.
All the good parts of all the good marathons I had run gave me all the tools I needed to run my fourth best ever. It was also my best (and first Boston qualifier) since Central Park in February 2013.
Maybe Mom was the good luck charm because she was at that one, too. Maybe I did not need luck at all. Maybe I just needed it to be good.
And that is exactly what it was.
Here's a video of the race course from MyrtleBeachOnline.com: http://www.myrtlebeachonline.com/sports/marathon/article59624396.html
Thinking about the Lower Potomac River Marathon (almost exactly two years ago) in Maryland, I remembered the importance of racing smart. If the wind was going to slow me down, so be it. Maybe I would be able to make it up. Maybe not. But I know that pushing too hard to maintain this early would mean a big wall 10 miles later. So I backed off a bit with a 7:14, 7:10, 7:10 and 7:09 for Miles 12 through 15.
Even in those miles, I was reading my body's signals and I could tell I was still giving too much. I am pretty sure that there was a gentle but noticeable incline which did not help matters.
By now I was almost a minute behind my PR. Trying to make up the time seemed like a bad move, but perhaps I could push a little bit more in the last few miles of Ocean Boulevard, hoping that after the left turn, there would eventually be both a tailwind and a downhill.
However, I could not muster the energy. Not yet. So I did the opposite, backing off even more and letting my legs dictate the pace. Even with a 7:17 and 7:23 in Miles 16 and 17, there was still plenty of hope for a second or third best (3:04:43 to 3:06:28).
Sure enough, after the U-turn on Grand Dunes Boulevard (Mile 18 - 7:26) and a return to Kings Highway, it was downhill with the wind at our backs and the sun in the sky. I knew that it would not get any better than the 7:13 in Mile 19 but even as I slowed down again, I felt good despite the fatigue in my legs. I thought again about Maryland and how my legs got tired but I never hit the wall. I thought about the Fort Myers Beach Marathon, too, though, and how I hit it at Mile 25. I promised myself I would not let that happen here, so I rode the good vibes and willed myself to keep steady into a 7:21 in Mile 20.
There is a difficult mental struggle that happens when you know you are heading in the direction of the finish, but then forced to turn off and run in a different direction, so the right turn on 66th Avenue was mentally crushing, but I kept it together in Mile 21 with a 7:22 thanks to some more great crowd support. A short stint along a trail in Mile 22 before popping back out onto Grissom Parkway kept things visually interesting but the 7:29 felt too forced. At that moment I was extremely glad that I had extended my training runs to 22 miles because it felt familiar despite the effort.
I thought about the Missoula Marathon - how I reached into a very primal part of myself, unleashing this monster within that not only defied but embraced the pain of these miles. I considered trying to summon that beast, but there were another series of turns - a left onto Grand Daddy Boulevard with a U-turn back to Grissom, a right onto 48th, left onto Oleander, left onto 44th, right onto Mayfair, left onto London - and they rapidly sapped my will and energy. I was in the doldrums for those two miles and I knew it. No point fighting it. 7:41 and 7:49 for Miles 23 and 24.
Two hours before, I was heading for a PR, but fourth best (3:06:29 to 3:10:44) was now my goal, and I had no doubt it was completely attainable. I started doing those mathematical negotiations that I tend to do (if I slow down this many seconds per mile, I will get a fourth best and still get a Boston qualifier). I was hurting, but I was strong. There would be no wall. Period.
Happy to be back on Grissom, it was a tough task to get through Mile 25 with a 7:43, but with the Broadway at the Beach shopping complex in view, I could see that it was the home stretch. It was not enough to know it. I needed to see it.
I gathered my last bit of strength, dug deep for that last bit of gas in the tank, lengthened my stride despite the pain in my quadriceps and let out several repeated unattractive grunts as I hit a 7:22 for Mile 26.
I rallied to the entrance of Pelican Field with determination and pride, but none of the overwhelming emotion of previous races when I approached the finish line completely spent and trying to hold back tears of joy (Philadelphia and Missoula) or pain (Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, N.H.) or sadness (New Jersey, missing my BQ by mere seconds).
This time all I could see was the clock as I heard a voice on my left say, "Get under that 3:10!" while I watched the seconds of 3:09 tick away.
I finished with a 3:09:44, feeling nothing but...good.
I missed my PR, but I felt good.
My legs were burning, but I felt good.
All the good parts of all the good marathons I had run gave me all the tools I needed to run my fourth best ever. It was also my best (and first Boston qualifier) since Central Park in February 2013.
Maybe Mom was the good luck charm because she was at that one, too. Maybe I did not need luck at all. Maybe I just needed it to be good.
And that is exactly what it was.
Post-race photo by Mom.
This was really cool - one of the tents in the finish area had a computer into which you key your bib number and it prints out this little slip with your unofficial results!
For what it's worth, here are my official results:
50th of 1,421 overall
46th of 824 males
6th of 124 males age 40-44
10K time: 42:47
Half-marathon time:1:32:14
Some well-deserved relaxation with a cup of coffee on the balcony....
...and a leisurely walk on the beach with Mom, my good luck charm.
Here's a video of the race course from MyrtleBeachOnline.com: http://www.myrtlebeachonline.com/sports/marathon/article59624396.html
