JW Run Blog 9: Return of Med Tent Jeff

Return of Med Tent Jeff

Bay State Marathon 2014

I signed up for another go-round with coach Lowell to chase another Boston qualifying time in fall 2014. This time, however, I insisted on trading one of my easy-run days for a bike workout, wary of what another 6-day-a-week regimen would do to me at age 49 (especially after having run a marathon in the spring). The rest of his training was the same mix of long speed workouts and high mileage that had worked for me in the past. 

This race would not go the way of my other Lowell-led races. My Boston qualifying time was still 3:30, but I knew that I’d have to run faster than that because of the cut-off times that the BAA had started instituting in 2012. Race day was in the 50’s and cloudy--terrific weather. I ran with T. Martin, who is younger and faster than me, until about mile 13. My pacing was a bit erratic: 7:27 for mile 3, 8:02 for mile 8. I knew, based on how I was feeling for the first half of the race, that there were challenges ahead. At mile 14, my eyesight started to get a little blurry. I had experienced this before on long, tough runs in colder weather. But on this day, it worsened to the point where I was running in a cloud bank. On the last mile, I could barely read my watch, and I had to follow other runners because I couldn’t see the signs. My pace at mile 21 dipped into the 8:00-per-mile range and hit 8:55 for mile 23. When I saw that split, I knew I needed to dig deep. 

All runners have a relationship with pain. During a regular run, the pain is generally kept at bay, and I run and let my mind wander or chat with my friends. But the races generally involve pain. The pain from a short race is different from the pain of a marathon. In a short race, which is mostly anaerobic, the pain comes from pushing the pace. In a marathon, which is mostly aerobic, the pain comes from the pounding over 3+ hours and the body wearing down. How do I deal with the pain? Sometimes I just avoid it by running a less aggressive pace. When I am pushing the pace and feeling the pain, however, I have conversations with myself. I tell myself to be strong. I tell myself “Hang on, the pain will go away.” I lose the battle sometimes--ease up, decide not to suffer so much. 

I did 8:20 for mile 24 and kept pushing. My brain just kept telling me to go, go, go. I eked out 8:44 for the last mile, knowing that I had banked time earlier in the race, but not knowing if it was enough. I finished in 3:27:20. I crossed the finish line, walked a few steps, and lay down. I was done. I had never put that much into a race. The folks at the finish line put me onto a stretcher and carried me into the med tent. I don’t remember much of what went on there, except that Jen (a member of the club and a medical professional) helped me. At some point I got an IV of saline and managed to drink a couple of Gatorades. My vision was still very blurry. After about 45 minutes in the med tent, my friends helped me walk out. 

I had driven to the race but was clearly in no shape to drive home, so I gave Jen the keys. She made the ride home more memorable by getting pulled over for speeding on Route 128. (To her credit, she used the pathetic state of those in the car to get out of a ticket.) When I got home, I was telling Sharon what happened and, while doing so, peeled off my shirt. Stuck to my chest were a bunch of electrical leads. This was a surprise to me. I guess I had been hooked up to an EKG machine in the med tent. That discovery turned into the punchline of my story about the race: “You know you’ve had a tough race when you . . . discover electrical leads stuck to you.” 

Bay State was not my best marathon time, but it was my best marathon. I don’t consider myself someone who’s had to dig deep too often in my runs. I’ve seen others suffer much more than I have. But that day I dug deep.