I'm gonna raw-dog it.
After my rough ending of the Oklahoma City Marathon and subsequently turning 50 years old, I took some time off and then wondered how to approach this next one, my first race in Arkansas.
Finally, after all these years, I said it and I meant it - I would go into it with no expectations. Period. Sure, I would like for it to be under four hours, but it is time to stop expecting it. For the first time, for real this time, I would put no pressure on myself. And how would I ensure that I could hold myself to that?
By raw-doggin' it - no Garmin (and not even a stopwatch), no Gatorade, and no camera. Just a small bottle of water for the early morning and a positive attitude. Stripped down, bare bones. It worked wonders.
It also helped that the theme of the race was Mardi Gras, so there was a festive atmosphere from the minute we set foot at the race expo and check-in at the Statehouse Convention Center the day before the race. At the start line, early Sunday morning, it was a little chilly, but everyone seemed to be in good spirits.
With around 4,000 people at the start line (1,353 for the marathon and 2,640 for the half-marathon), it was a perfect mid-size city race - big enough to have spectators and other runners visible most of the time, but not overwhelming - no overcrowded corrals or difficulty getting to them.
The first mile brought us around a few blocks near the Convention Center before sending us over the Broadway Street bridge into North Little Rock and past Diamond Bear Brewing, where Gloria and I had a couple of beers the night before. I used those first two miles to push through the pack a bit because I wanted to be sure I was around the 3:50 pacer. The mood was light amongst those runners, with people chit-chatting and generally having a good time.
Feeling pretty good, but not wanting to overdo it, I decided to push the pace just a little more because my legs actually felt uncomfortable holding back so much. I promised myself, though, that if I made it to the 3:40 pacer, I would not pass - I would hang there or drop back.
After almost two miles in that neighborhood, we went back over the bridge to Little Rock proper and headed east on Sixth Street for the next four miles until we reached a turnaround at a roundabout near Bill and Hillary Clinton National Airport. At that point, it was the seventh mile, there was a clock showing 47:48 (7:58 pace), and I had caught up to the 3:40 pacer. That was enough for me - stay with this guy for as long as possible, drop back to the 3:50 if necessary, and keep it calm and steady. At the 7.5-mile checkpoint, I clocked in at 1:00:35 (8:05 pace).
Making our way back west on Ninth Street through an industrial area and over I-30, I chatted with the pacer (a well-experienced runner for whom a 3:40 was a cakewalk) and another guy who had not run many races and had just moved to Arkansas from Colorado as we made our way into the MacArthur Park Historic District (and yes, I could not help but sing the song to myself).
A turn onto Main Street led us into the SoMa (South Main) neighborhood with its cute shops and...Purse Museum? A couple more quick turns sent us over I-630 and then around the block and back over the highway into another residential neighborhood. Straight down Center Street we ran right up to the gates of the governor's mansion.
By that point, it was Mile 11 and I dropped back a bit from the 3:40 pacer. He remained in my sight, though, so any time I saw him get to a corner or a landmark, I counted the seconds until I got there. For the next few miles, I was about a minute behind him, and was more than happy to be at a potential 3:41 finish.
The half-marathon runners had split away and the field got a lot thinner, but there were still enough runners and spectators to help make it feel like it was an event. All the aid stations throughout the course were full of volunteers that cheered on the runners, continued the Mardi Gras party vibe, and provided a boost of energy and support.
The next couple of miles were flat and straight west on 16th, then around the block and back east on 14th, through another residential neighborhood, and by the time we turned north on Chester, it was the halfway point and I clocked in at 1:48:17 (8:16 pace) while always keeping the 3:40 pacer about a minute in front of me.
The organizers certainly had a their minds on good photo opportunities, because a turn off of Sixth Street to Woodlane Street sent us right in front of the Capitol Building (and sure enough, a photographer was there to capture it) before sending us westward on Third Street.
Until that point, there had been some slight inclines, but as Third became Boone and then Markham, the incline got greater, and it definitely became a hill. And that hill was nothing compared to what came next.
A right turn onto Kavanaugh sent us up, up, and up into the fancypants Hillcrest neighborhood. Up we went through miles 15, 16 and 17. Oddly, I felt good about it. My quadricep muscles were finally getting some attention and I was happy to use them as a welcome change. On the downside, I was starting to feel alone - there were not many spectators (save for a few residents watching from their lawns or driveways), the pack had thinned out even more, and because the road was winding I had lost sight of the 3:40 pacer.
The road did straighten out, though, and I was able to determine once again that I was a little more than a minute behind the pacer, which was great news as I headed into the 17th mile. Plus, the neighborhood has a little downtown (uptown?) area which had some spectators and sideline support. And finally, after about four solid miles of uphill, I had crested the hill of Hillcrest and turned onto Lookout Road for the descent.
The new change of muscle use had me smiling with joy. I smiled with laughter a bit later when the young, handsome fellow in front of me passed by two middle-aged ladies and one pointed to the other and said, "She's single and looking!" as he passed. Then she looked at me and said, "But only for good-looking guys." Whatever.
I descended the winding hill on the beautiful tree-lined street that reminded me of Highland Avenue in Upper Montclair, New Jersey (a running route from forever ago), until it leveled off at Cantrell Road, a state route that led to Cedar Hill Road and then a left turn onto the five-mile out-and-back along Riverfront Drive. It was mile 19 and time to dig deep for the extra gear.
Because the 3:40 pacer was now visible, the fast runners were coming back at me (closing in on their sub-three-hour finishes), and there were people on the sidelines again, I found that gear. I straightened up and lengthened my turnover, and a spectator said, "Look at the stride on this guy!" I had picked up the pace enough at the mile 20 checkpoint to register a 2:42:57 (8:09 pace).
But that did not last long. When I got to the checkpoint at the turnaround early in mile 22, I clocked in at 2:57:18 (8:27 pace) and the pacer was a solid two minutes ahead. And I was definitely not worried about it. I could take an hour to do the last five miles and still finish in less than four hours, which was never the point to begin with. I had been having a great time and all I wanted to do was to finish strong and happy.
So, I made sure my pace was as comfortable as possible through the final few miles. I hit the mile 23 checkpoint at 3:12:20. We had been running on a path alongside Riverfront Drive, which then met up with Cantrell Road in mile 25 and...wait, is that a huge hill up ahead??
Holy moly, it sure was. OK, no worries. It is mile 26 and I am on pace for a 3:43 finish. Just shorten the stride and take it one step at a time.
Once I got over the hill, it was the home stretch. I could hear the music playing from a half-mile away. There were spectators on the sidelines again as I veered onto LaHarpe Boulevard. Someone gave me Mardi Gras beads and I put them on, thrilled to have been a participant in this party, proud to have accomplished this feat at 50 years old by finally letting go and not worrying so much.
I sang along with "Let the Music Play" as I approached the finish line, arms raised, triumphant. A 3:41:42 finish time never felt so damn good. Less than a decade ago, that would have been a disappointment. But it isn't 2016, I am not in my 40s anymore, my body has changed, and things hurt and break more easily. I have slowed down, but I am still strong.
And in the spirit of Mardi Gras - from before the start to well-after the finish - I let the good times roll.
Results, photos, and video can be found here: https://results.raceroster.com/v2/en-US/results/a4v2cqt544cdya6x/detail/aq9h4zugtg6hq3uq
