Endurance sports are frustrating. Performance benchmarks and achievements make the results of endurance competitions indisputable, exact and pure (assuming no performance enhancing drugs). Consider two questions. Who was the better player in their prime, Michael Jordan or Lebron James? Who was the better high school runner Steven Prefontaine or Allen Webb? Unlike the argument that might ensue over question one, question two can be answered and quantified fairly accurately with track times. Exactness is great, it doesn't lie but it also means every time you go to race, you know exactly where you stack up to that of your competition and maybe more importantly, to your own past performances.
To this point I had ran a personal best every time I had raced the half marathon. This was my fifth attempt at the distance. Despite my inconsistent workouts, increased weekly mileage volume and a course change that added several formidable hills I was positive going in.
The writing is on the wall, the shit hit the fan... not really sure how best to articulate this except being blunt about it. If you have the shits during your warm up and BEFORE the race, it probably isn't going to be the best day. Two miles in it was my legs that were feeling like a pile of shit.
I was wrong when I judged all the competition to be in the marathon. In fact the half had a nice field up front including: Marube (1st), McCarthy (3rd), Bunker (4th) and of course, the rando outta state dude no one knows who shows up on whim(2nd)! At about four miles I realized it was going to be a long day when I found myself running side by side with the marathon leader and eventually winner, a man that needs no introduction but will get one just the same, the golden boy of Maine running, the founder of the fast food challenge, a guy that leaves no wounded soldiers or burgers, Bob Rob Gomez.
One of the highlights of my 'race' was probably the two miles I ran with Rob. We talked a bit, as the half marathon turn around came into view I gave him a good luck COUNT IT fist bump. Then he let me put down an unanswered surge so I could keep some pride and reach the half marathon turnaround before him. (See Rob's
blog for details of his marathon victory!)
Running alone, my pace slowed. Everyone behind me was now passing on the other side yelling and cheering as they went. For the first time I began to pay attention to a nagging feeling I had had for the last couple miles. The urge to take a shit.
Just as I was feeling super ass sorry for myself Chris Harmon darted out of the crowd and joined me. He had been suffering from another near hernia and had ditched the idea of running the marathon and was now just jogging the half with a friend. I quickly alerted him of my intentions to stop at the next bathroom.
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| Thanks to Maine running photos for these! |
It was a good thing I didn't hold my breath. Race pamphlets always say something like "with portable toilets located conveniently along the course..." conveniently located my ass! We passed two water stops and almost three miles until we reached mile ten and I darted into a toilet for some sweet relief.
The last three miles were my fastest three of the day and amazingly no one passed me during my pit stop. All told I was a matter of minutes from where I wanted to finish. My failed race, quantified exactly by every minute and second I was off my goal. Over the years I have come to realize that the best thing to do is to forget and move on quickly. What better way to forget your race day woes than some beer! I headed out for some lunch and brews with the gang and found an evening full of fun.
