It's never too late to set a goal

I arrived in Deadwood Saturday afternoon, with the Mickelson Trail Marathon scheduled for the following morning at 8:00. I found my hotel before heading over to the race expo to pickup my race packet. The pasta feed followed at 5:00.

There I met a runner from suburban Omaha and a couple from Colorado Springs. It was fun to compare notes on different races and generally talk running with the three of them. The woman from the Springs was particularly chatty. Of course, where I lived, where I was from, and the whole Alaska thing came up in the conversation. Quite sincerely, she gasped, "You are so interesting!" Aw shucks...

This same woman also told me it was obvious I was a people person. Those of you who have known me the longest probably find this as funny as I do. I know I've loosened up over the years, but to be called a people person (to my face, no less!) was quite startling. It was one of those moments where I imagined the 21-year-old version of me looking in on the situation thinking, "What the hell happened to you?" Life, I guess...

Anyway...

I woke up around 5:15 Sunday morning and the rain was coming down pretty good. This wouldn't have been a huge deal if my first marathon since 2006 wasn't starting in less than three hours. It also wouldn't have mattered much had it not been that the shittiest weather imaginable for a race unfolded during said marathon. Bad weather is no reason to throw out months of training; however, flashbacks are a bitch.

The rain had let up a bit by the time I made it outside of my hotel waiting for the trolley to take me to the rodeo grounds, where the race would finish. From there, the runners were bussed out to the starting line in Rochford.

Once in Rochford, it was still a good hour before race time. As I was stretching, two other runners approached me and started idle chit chat. One guy asked where I was from. When I replied I lived in Mission, he jokingly asked if I was the guy who won the lottery. (I wish.) The same guy then asked if I had run any other marathons. I told him one, in Juneau. To this he said, "You seem to have brought the weather with you." Wow, not only is he up on his current events, I thought, but he actually realizes Juneau is in a rain forest. Pretty refreshing considering how many times I'm asked about the extreme cold and six months of darkness.

Eight o'clock rolled around quickly, the national anthem was played, and we were off. The first mile and a half were on the road; that's when we joined the Mickelson Trail. I started near the back of the pack because I'm a slow starter. And even though I wasn't running this race for a specific time, it's certainly more encouraging to reel in and pass runners than vice versa. Even with the subtle, consistent elevation gain, I was averaging just over eight-minute miles through Mile 5.

My pace slowed after that point. This wasn't deliberate; I was actually feeling pretty damn good about how my body was performing and my overall positioning in the race. I'm thinking it was a combination of the altitude and the elevation gain that were playing tricks on me. Other than my relatively leisurely pace, it was all good.

The course's elevation peaked about halfway through at 6,000 feet above sea level. My half marathon split time was 1:53:06, which compares to the 1:32:14 I ran in Brookings three weeks ago. Not bad, methinks.

***

I think I'll mention here one of my running pet peeves: a lack of racing etiquette. I consider myself to be a nice, respectful, mannerly type of guy, both in day-to-day life and in competition. So, I tend to get huffy when I witness a lack of manners, even while running a marathon.

The Mickelson Trail was originally a railway line. This means the flat, dirt-and-gravel surface has plenty of room for a runner to complete a pass without being completely up the ass of the runner he or she is passing. I have personal space issues as it is; I really don't need another runner to bump me out of the way to save a lousy half-second off their finishing time.

Then there were the runners who thought it was a good idea to run three abreast, making a pass all but impossible. I was able to slip through one of these blockades early on, and I still managed to say "Excuse me" as I did it. (See? Manners.)

And let's not forget about the runners who made it sound as though a freight train was approaching from behind. Granted, since I run up on my toes, I'm pretty light on my feet. And, yes, there are many different running styles out there. But come on! Enough with the stomping already!

End rant.

***

The last half of the marathon was downhill, dropping about 1,400 feet in elevation. Great, I thought. Well, 26.2 miles is still 26.2 miles, even if half of it is downhill.

First up came the urgent bathroom break. Now, you probably don't want to hear all about my bowel movements, but I'm just going to throw it out there. I can't really think of many worse situations than being miles from home (or, in this case, the finish line) and having your innards act up. Man, I can tell you stories of the emergencies I've had here on the rez, miles from home, out on the Dump Road. (hahaha)

But this had never happened to me in a race before. I think it's because, subconsciously, my body knows that bathroom breaks are not to occur during a race. Well, my colon didn't get the memo this time around.

It was at about Mile 14 that I had to go; it wasn't until Mile 17 that I encountered the next set of porta-potties. There was no way I could have completed the race without going. Plus, it's not like I was worried about my time. After a slight battle with the toilet paper dispenser and weird eye contact with the runner next door through the vents, I was out the door. I had only lost five minutes.

Not long after the bathroom break, I began to feel run down. My lethargy ramped up quickly. I had been so concerned about making it to the bathroom that I completely skipped the food at the last aid station. I trudged through the next three miles, which were by far the most difficult of the entire race for me. Thank goodness they were all downhill.

I made it to the aid station at Mile 20, where I filled up on Powerade, a banana, and some M&Ms. It's amazing how fast my body recovered. The burst of energy had me in good spirits, even though my legs had begun to cramp up by this point. But before I knew it, I was at Mile 23. My watch read 3:30, so I knew I had to average just under 10-minute miles to finish under four hours. I could do this!

Speaking of calculating pace times, can I just tell you how difficult it is to perform mental mathematical operations after running for several hours? Jesus. I pride myself on being a math nerd; however, I had the damnedest time multiplying and dividing, trying to figure out where I was relative to a nine-minute pace.

Anyway, my new goal in mind, being within striking distance of a sub-4:00 marathon and amidst the hustle and bustle of Deadwood had me feeling great. That's why I was surprised when Mile 24 rolled around with my watch reading 3:40. Hmmm... Evidently, 10-minute miles aren't so easy to accomplish after all.

This is when I started talking to myself. Something along the lines of, "Damn it Bri. You're too close to not finish under four hours." Deciding a stay in the hospital was worth it if I could just meet my goal, I made it to Mile 25 at a time of 3:49.

Okay, the goal was in sight. The only thing I had left to worry about was the last 1.2 miles (oh, how I hate those two-tenths). But I couldn't coast just yet, since I was calculating based upon a 10-minute mile. That meant 12 minutes to go, which just wasn't going to work. (Multiplying by 10 is so much easier on the fatigued brain. Just move the decimal point. Simple!)

Before I knew it, I passed the Mile-26 marker and dashed for the finish line. As I crossed, the clock did show that more than four hours had elapsed. However, I had started my watch when I had crossed the start line, not when the gun went off. (Hooray for chip timing!)

After crossing, I received my medal (very, very nice) and shook hands with a couple of the race organizers, who thanked me for running (very, very classy). And then my friends found me.

The most amazing part of the whole race was how I felt immediately afterward. Sure, my thighs and knees were sore, but I was in really good spirits. I mean, I've felt a sense of accomplishment after many of my races, but I was downright giddy. I think it was strange mostly because of how I felt after the marathon in Juneau in 2006. Upon seeing the finish line during that run, I almost broke down and cried. I could not believe I had finished. But this time? I was practically ready to do cartwheels - assuming my knees wouldn't have given way, that is...

The weather during the run wasn't so bad. Talk about a typical day in Juneau! Gray skies, low ceiling, mist, and a somewhat-muddy trail were my companions throughout the first half of the race. But by the time I made it to Deadwood, it was definitely still overcast, but dry and not as cold.

Before heading back to the hotel to shower and pack, I walked over to where the results were posted. And next to my name and hometown: 3:59:46. Oh man, that felt good. I did it!

***

Here it is Wednesday, and I feel really good. I was sore Monday and Tuesday, making going up and down stairs difficult. I still made it to softball last night, where I shockingly had a Hall-of-Fame night. I'm even thinking about doing a light run this weekend.

I had a blister on my left big toe, which I drained Sunday night. Besides that, I really need to remember to apply some Vaseline the next time I run a marathon. I've already talked about my bowel movements, so I'll spare you those details. This is a family blog after all.