JW Run Blog 12: Nope

Nope

Mohawk Hudson Marathon 2019

I end my marathon stories with a failure. 

I targeted 2019 for a last shot at running a qualifying time for Boston (in 2021 at age 55). I hadn’t focused on running a fast marathon in a while. (In 2016, I had decided to start doing triathlons in order to give my body a break from all the running.) Since my best marathons were accomplished with the aid of coach Lowell Ladd, I went back to him again. He developed a plan for me that would hopefully keep me from getting injured yet allow me to qualify. I gave up all of the biking to focus on running, but his plan did allow me to keep swimming on the days I didn’t run. The plan didn’t involve quite as many miles as it had previously, but it had many of the same familiar features. In particular, I was back on the track running long intervals. 

My Boston qualifying time at the beginning of training was 3:40, which realistically meant that I’d have to run faster than that to actually get in, since the BAA had started using “cut-off times” for qualification. A month or so before the race, however, the BAA announced new qualifying times. They shaved 5 minutes off of my age group (55-59), so I’d have to run 3:35 to qualify (assuming there was no additional cut-off time). The possibility of me running that fast given my age and fitness level would be a challenge. 

I set my sights on an 8:11 pace, which (besides being oddly specific) would get me across the finish line in just under 3:35. In my favor was the Mohawk Hudson course, which is as friendly as possible (point-to-point, slightly downhill) and one which I had run three times previously. The weather that day was in my favor--44 degrees at the start, rising to mid-50’s during. My pace for the first half of the race was solid, if not a bit fast. My splits ranged between 8:00 and 8:15. I felt strong, but could also feel that the pace was taxing. My pace into the 20’s was strong, but I was really pushing it. Mentally I was saying, “Go, go, go.” But I started getting shooting cramps in my calf muscles. Each cramp caused a hitch in my stride. I had one last gel left, and I awkwardly gulped it down. Even that was a struggle, getting my damn hands to work. In mile 24, the cramps were on both sides, coming frequently. BAM! on the left, BAM! on the right, BAM! on the right again. I was listing, limping. Finally it was too much. I walked. The emotion poured out. I would not reach my goal of 3:35. I willed myself back to a slow run and crossed the finish at 3:39:34. 

What could I have done differently? I probably could have run a few more training miles. In trying to avoid injury, Lowell and I had probably been too conservative. But hindsight is 20/20. I may have gotten injured with more miles. The cramps may have been from a lack of salt, but the gels I used had plenty of sodium, so I’m not sure salt tablets would have helped. My failure to reach the goal wasn’t from a lack of mental fortitude. My brain was pretty foggy toward the end of the race, but it didn’t fail to keep pushing me. I ran strong, and I was proud of that. I wasn’t able to hold that pace, which I knew would be a challenging one. My body just gave out.  

As it turns out, the cut-off time for Boston 2020 was 1:39, so I would have needed 3:33:21 to get in. And that race didn’t end up happening anyway because of the pandemic. What about 2021, the race I had originally set my sights on? That race (run just a week ago) had a field of only 20,000 and a cut-off time of 7:47. My consolation for Mohawk Hudson was that I had managed to run under 3:40, my original qualifying time, despite the issues at the end. 

And I keep running. When it feels good, it really does feel good. When the running comes easy on a nice cool spring day, with the sun just coming up, I am glad to be alive. My mind wanders over this and that, not really able to concentrate on any one thing for long because the effort of the run takes over. It’s a kind of meditation. Sometimes I go solo but often with others. The collective aspect of the run is dear to me. I could just run alone, and sometimes I enjoy that, but running with someone else is almost always better. Sometimes we talk, mostly we don’t. But we pull and push each other and collectively we get there. And then we smile and we acknowledge a good run. 

Where does “runner” rank among the pantheon of other words that define me, like “husband” or “father”? Good question. It probably ranks higher than it should. I’ve mused previously about whether running is mostly a selfish endeavor or whether it contributes anything to the betterment of others. Well, certainly if I’m happier and healthier, that must be better for those around me, right? I suppose. Sometimes in the thick of training for a race, I’m tired and sore for weeks on end. I’m tired and sore, and when I start to recover, I go out there and beat myself up some more. Ultimately there is a strong compulsive aspect to my running. I’m afraid to break the cycle of effort. If I compromise here, what is next? Discipline has been a strong part of me since I was young--the ability to force myself to complete something, or to keep doing it. Is that healthy? In some ways, probably not, but it’s enabled me to accomplish a variety of things. It’s just part of me, this compulsiveness. Every runner I know has this in them--they keep showing up, keep running. 

I realize that someday I will not be able to run. There will be a day when I take my last run. I envision many different ways my running could end. They are all various versions of death: it could come suddenly and dramatically, or it may be a slow undramatic petering out. Some part of me would die without being able to run. I hope I can channel the “run” in me in other ways when that time comes--channel that life energy into something equally fulfilling. But until then, as running legend Johnny Curran says, “Any day I can lace ‘em up is a good day, brother.”