The BIG M

My sister wants details.  So here goes. 

I felt far less trepidation going into this, than I expected.  The past two weeks I was actually a little excited.  Besides, any time I get to spend with Lindsay, my FRP, I'm excited.  She is, for lack of a more worthy adjective, awesome.

We headed for Newport Friday afternoon and checked into the Embarcadero Hotel, AKA Race Headquarters, putting us into the middle of the hubbub.  Packet pickup was exciting and intimidating.  We sized up the other runners.  Was anyone older, fatter, or sporting our clueless newbie look?  Nope.  They mostly looked lean, experienced, and nonchalant.  “Oh yes,” I imagined one saying casually to another.  “This is my 3rd marathon this week.  Let’s grab breakfast at the Pig and Pancake, after we finish.  I’ll meet you there at nine-thirty.  That’ll give me time for a shower.”

This was the 13th Newport Marathon.  Good thing we were not superstitious.  Little did we know that it would turn out to the the hottest.  

After dinner, we drove the route.   And drove.  And drove.  Oh my.  It was a long way.  It starts at the famous Newport lighthouse which sits in a park at the north end of the Scary Bridge.  (Said bridge is, in my opinion, fashioned from the Wicked Witch's castle, by the look of the pillars.)  

Then the route rambles around on some roads that are a blur to me now.  It heads back under the bridge and down to the old waterfront, which is a also a blur.  I do remember running on the boardwalk.  I love running on boardwalks.  The bounce is perfect.  Then it heads inland along a river.  For miles.  And somewhere around mile 15, it doubles back for an ungodly long distance before it finishes in front of our hotel.

So back to us - after pinning our numbers on our shorts and making the final decision as to which shirt to wear in the morning, we swallowed some Ambien, set the alarms, and went to bed.  I think I slept maybe 6 hours.

Bryce dropped us off at the starting line about 6:30 a.m., and headed off to find a parking spot. 

As you can see, I chose my biking shirt with the bulging back pockets, full of food-type-stuff.  Lindsay beelined to join the very long potty line to deal with some Ensure that wasn't sitting well in her stomach, and I was immediately spotted by friends from our fabulous facebook group, Runner's Anonymous (RA).  

900 participants.  It feels pretty amazing to be a part of something like this.

At 7:00 we were off.  I remembered the advice of a friend: “In the first six miles, pass no one.”  T’was good that all 900 of us didn’t heed this advice because those six miles would have kept us in one huge human-glob.  Instead, I was passed almost immediately by nearly EVERYONE, and Lindsay was out of sight in the first minute.  I didn’t see her again until somewhere around mile 15, shortly before I got to the turn-around.  

Bryce kept the camera going at strategic places, or wherever he was allowed access.  (He was and is, by the way, the most supportive spouse a person could ever hope for.)

Later I texted Bryce, “9 miles.  Feel good.”  That was about the last point I actually did feel good.  It all went down hill (my strength, not the road unfortunately) from there. 

My biggest fear was leg cramps.  They had bothered me occasionally on some of my previous runs and they are crippling.   There is no way I can run when they set in.  So I did everything I knew to prevent them.  Potassium supplements.  Plenty of water.  Plenty of food.  Walking breaks.  But somewhere around mile 12 or 13, I could feel them coming on.   When my calf really seized up, it reduced me to a hobble.   I did the only thing I could.  Pray.  “Heavenly Father, what do I do now?”

“Eat”, was my next thought.  So I did.  My bulging pockets were full of Power Bar “Energy Blasts”, those chewy things that are full of carbs and calories.  The cramps subsided and I kept going.  Throughout the entire run, each time the cramps flared up, I would continue my conversation with God.  “Help!  I can’t do this alone.  Please carry me a little.”  And I kept going.  Eat what I could swallow.  Drink every two miles.  Pray.

The water stations, manned by cheerful high schoolers, offered Gatorade and water.  Towards the end, I learned to dump water on my head and down my shirt, and drink the Gatorade.  I’m happy to say, I never got the two liquids confused.  

When I finally got to see Lindsay again, she looked great!  She reached the turn-around ahead of me, so we were running in opposite directions.  She came at me with arms out and we hugged, cheered, and yelled our I LOVE YOUs!  Then off she went and I didn’t see her again until the finish.
Bryce was waiting at the turn-around with cold juice and PB&J sandwiches.  Now I fully admit I have made claims in this blog that I can eat anything during a run and usually this is true.  But this time I was up against a horse of a different color.  I needed to eat, but it wasn't easy.  I managed to down a few bites of a small sandwich then took the remainder with me with promises that I'd finish it.  Which I did.  Eventually.  At least it wasn't an Energy Blast.

The rest of the run was grueling.  My run-with-walking-breaks turned into walk-with-occasional-running-breaks.  I had a goal to get in under 6 hours.  That meant a finish before 1:00.  I was going to do it, come hell or whatever.

The mob of runners had long ago disappeared.  There were just a few of us in sight.  I met a nice woman from Arizona who would pass me, then I’d pass her, and repeat.  Again and again.  She said she hadn’t trained, and was taking it slow.  For some reason, I didn’t hate her for that.  With all my many months of training, and her lack thereof, we were still comrades on the road.  Battling the same beast.

It got hot.  The forecast had said mid 60s.  It actually got up to around 80 which is great for just about any activity, other than running.  The heat didn’t bother me, but Bryce said it probably slowed us down.  Well, okay.  So it wasn’t my slowness and age?  It was the heat?  Works for me.   

I knew at some point the Scary Bridge would come back into sight and that would mean I was on the home stretch.  So I watched for it for miles.  Stupid Bridge!!!  WHERE IS IT??  Finally it appeared off in the distance.  Approximately 5 more miles to go.  At this point my legs absolutely refused to run.  The cramping wouldn’t allow it.  So I brisk-walked.  Hard.  I was grateful for all those years of hard walking before I discovered running, because it paid off.  I’d run for a minute or so, and walk some more.  I was watching the time, still determined to meet my under-6-hour goal.  My legs were DEAD, but I couldn’t stop or even slow down.  I’m somewhat proud to say, I passed several other walkers. 

 At one point I was about 10 feet behind another walker.  I started running and got just ahead of him then had to walk again.  

“The legs just won’t do it.” I said.  “I hear you.” he said.  That was the extent of our conversation, but we shared a complete meeting of the minds.

“Just 1.4 miles left!” the high schoolers cheered at the last water station.   Push.  Push.  Push.  Can’t slow down!  I was at about 5.6 hours.  Push.  Push.  Hurry!!  Then up ahead, Bryce appeared.  He brought much love and encouragement, a bottle of cold water which he ordered me to drink, and then he dumped the remainder on me.  

“You’re almost there!  It’s just up ahead, around the corner!”  The last stretch took us up a small hill, then descended down to the finish line.  I pushed to the top, then, by the grace of God, began to run.  No cramps.  I ran down the hill.  I heard my name shouted out -- RA friends!  The finish line, oops, no, go here .... turn right, into a parking lot.  I heard my name announced over the loud speaker.  Someone handed me the hand-made-of-glass medal and I put it on.  DONE!!  Where’s Lindsay??  There she is!!  (She got in an hour ahead of me.)  WE DID IT!!!!!  I remember the look on her face.  HUGE grin!  We did it.   My FRP and I did it.  (Note the words on the yellow shirt.)

We are MARATHONERS.