Not so much a triathlon as a big step towards Ironman Wisconsin, the Memphis Marathon is the last race on my 2008 calendar.
Although a group of three of my friends said they would participate in the weekend, I ended up being the only one of us to make good on it. I did find a travel buddy in John, an ultramarathoner in my swim class. He was still tired from a marathon he did 2 weeks prior and had already qualified for Boston at the Country Music Marathon in April, so he was just going to keep up traditions.
John and I headed to Memphis right after he got off work on Friday, and we arrived downtown around 5 for packet pickup. I got a call from Ryan, my friend with whom we stayed, and discussed briefly what we were going to do for dinner; I said I'd call him back after packet pickup. After paying a slightly sketchy guy $5 for "parking," we headed into the Memphis Cook Convention Center, which was already bustling with activity.
After getting our bib numbers, we proceeded from one end of the room to the other, grabbing our race packets, timing chips and goodie bags. There was, not surprisingly, a huge runner's expo that we perused briefly. The increasingly unavoidable necessity was hunger, though, and we soon left to meet up with Ryan.
We got to Ryan's apartment and were greeted by him and Jana, his girlfriend. We dropped off our stuff and headed to the local Olive Garden for the traditional carbo-loading. The mood was light and dinner was good. I did what I could to eat as much food and drink as much water as possible. After dinner, John and I grabbed our breakfast of choice from Walmart and the four of us retired to the apartment for the night. The 2nd half of Wedding Crashers was on TV, so we all watched that. Around 11, the movie ended and we all went to bed, with nerves and expectations high.
I got about 3 solid hours of sleep the night before, which was better than I expected. I set my alarm for 5:30 assuming I'd wake up before that anyway. Sure enough, I woke up a little before 4:30 and my mind and heart were already in overdrive, so I went ahead and got out of bed (couch?). After eating breakfast, I struggled to kill the next few hours by watching whatever awful shows/movies are on a 5 in the morning on a Saturday and envisioned the day. With so much nervous energy and nowhere to put it, I quickly turned my stomach into knots and plummeted towards physically ill. Eventually the apartment stirred, lights went on and the clock ticked closer to 7. Around 7:15 we headed for the race site.
Ryan dropped us off about 3 blocks from the finish and John and I parted ways at the entrance of the stadium. The next half hour was a blur of images: trying unsuccessfully to find band-aids for my nipples (I ended up using medical tape), stripping off my warm outer layer and dropping off my post-race bag; looking for Mike at the start line; and just walking around aimlessly in a pre-race nervous frenzy.
I arranged to meet Mike Phillips at the start line near the 4:30 pace team. Mike and I regularly post on the Tri-Talk Triathlon Forum, so I knew him through that. Mike had run 6 marathons prior and had completed Ironman Louisville 2 months ago. He decided to do Memphis "on a whim," even though his ankle has been bothering him. We agreed to run the first 13 together and then one of us would inevitably drop the other.
My mind was a snowstorm of thoughts as 8:00 came and went. I positioned myself in the 9th corral and ended up starting about 8:12. The closing minutes until the start had me reflecting on all the training (more specifically, the lack thereof), what finishing a marathon meant to me (not all that much) and how much this was going to hurt by the time everything was said and done. The motto for the Memphis Marathon weekend is "Ready, Set...Let's Rock." So, when the air horn went off at 8:12, in my best Axl Rose impression, I said "Let's Rock" and began my journey.
Mike and I shared stories for most of the first 4 miles. The marathon and half-marathon courses shared the same route for the first 12 miles, so something shy of 11,000 runners covered the streets like bees on a honeycomb. I felt indescribably good for the first hour and change. The winding streets of Memphis took us through much of downtown before we headed off in God knows which direction. Eventually, we limited our conversations because conversing used valuable energy. We attempted to stay with the 4:30 pacer (by that, I mean those people will finish the marathon in 4 hours and 30 minutes) and did so quite successfully as of the first hour. Mike stopped for a bathroom break around mile 3 and had spent a mile catching back up. I did the same around mile 11, catching him in about half a mile. Other than that, the first few miles were comfortable and all together uneventful. The streets wound up and down through the "bad" part of town and eventually started heading back downtown as mile 13 approached. The roads weren't terribly well paved, and it seemed as if every single road sloped downward as it got closer to the sidewalk; I was encouraged to stay on level ground as much as possible, as the damage to the outside of my leg would soon add up.
The word on the street is that the Memphis Marathon is one of the flattest and fastest around. I misunderstood their meaning. Perhaps veteran runners claim the race comparitively fast, which may very well be the case. Perhaps they refer to the second half of the marathon, which, for the most part, is true as well. But as an uninitiated marathoner, the course certainly wasn't as advertised. The first 14 miles were rife with rolling hills. There were no Heartbreak Hills along the course, but the sum of the parts equaled a draining, spirit-crushing road that proved to be unpredictable to the very end.
When Mike and I finally neared mile 12, we had slowed to the pace I was destined to hold for the rest of the race. At this point, the streets were still crowded with runners. Right after mile 12, the half marathon runners veered right and headed back towards the stadium, while the full marathon runners stayed straight towards Beale St. It was quite an interesting sight: 11,000 runners, about half of which was with me or behind me quickly evaporated into 3,000, most of which were far ahead of me. A sea of bodies became a bread crumb trail that extended as far as the eye could see. As I passed some spectators, I said "I think I'll do another loop. Why the hell not?" I had to throw out little one-liners like that to keep up my spirits.
Running along Beale Street was quite the experience. Bars lined both sides of the street as we plugged along the brick road. Although the place was all but deserted at 10:30 on a Saturday morning, there was an energy about it, a mystery. My favorite part of the race to that point, I slowly let Mike out of my sight. I had a feeling I would be the one to get dropped; it usually ends up that way. The gap opened quickly as we came to the Beale Street hill, the biggest and longest hill we would climb. It wasn't all that steep, and I knew it was coming, so it didn't hurt all that bad.
Running alone now, I passed the time by singing songs to myself and straining to find anybody I knew in the crowd. I tried playing games with myself, breaking up the remaining miles into various groups of 5 miles, 5ks, miles and half miles. Each mile and 5k were labeled, so I was more than occupied trying to figure out how much I had to go, and how best to ration my energy. I didn't have a watch on, which probably played to my advantage; no sense killing myself to salvage a decent time. It was best to just stay within myself and just try to finish. This would be the easiest marathon of my life: the only one where I'm unconcerned with time.
Having not trained with gels, I ran into some GI problems around mile 14 or so. I certainly did not mind stopping at the porto pottie and having a nice, refreshing sit. It felt good just to not be moving for a moment. I had to urinate around mile 19, and decided to sit for the same reason.
The hardest part of the day began at mile 18. I was told by a runner friend of mine that mile 18 is really where it starts. I had hoped to get to mile 21 before the real battle of attrition started, but it was fated that mile 18 would hold stage to it. It was around then that I decided to start walking. No matter how tired I was over the course of the day, I never really walked more than I ran. By that, I mean there was never a period when I would walk for 5 minutes and only could stand running for 3. I walked as much as I needed to and jogged the rest. Walking was surprisingly refreshing and gave me a moment to reassess my situation and keep myself in the right frame of reference. I did more running that walking over the next 3 miles, willing myself to the turn onto Parkway Ave. around mile 20.5. That long, lonely, straight stretch of road was the last obstacle to overcome.
Sure enough, I made it to Parkway and allowed myself some walking time. After a mile of doing the walking/jogging thing, something completely unexpected happened: I caught a second wind. I felt ready to go a little before mile 22. So I jogged into the aid station, grabbed some gatoraid, and kept moving. I jogged the entire mile and entered mile 23 with one more gel to take. I walked, slurped it down, drank some water and celebrated the little victory that I would not have to take any more GU. I had been told that you have to will yourself to mile 23, and the crowd would get you the rest of the way. With that in mind, I started jogging and promised myself I would jog until the finish line.
The entirety of Parkway, which stretches from mile 20.5 to 24.5, was a direct headwind (which was lovely). All the same, the stage was set. I knew turning on the road that the race would be all but over when I turned off of it. Just a long 5k was all that was required of me. Parkway was home to the two great moments of self confidence I felt during the last segment of the race. There was a slight climb as we reached mile (21 or 22). I did a walking stint as I approached the next aid station, obviously in peril. Right as a guy in bright colored tights and a parrot hat (don't ask, I don't know) passed me, I was passed by an older couple. The woman called out to me: "this is it! This is the last uphill! It's all downhill from here!" Hmmm, who knew? It was very soon after this interaction that I saw the Pyramid in the far distance. A look at the course map will tell you that you never actually reach the Pyramid. Moreover, I didn't really know what the Pyramid was for, other than that it was a staple of downtown Memphis. This was all I needed to fuel not only the tourist in me, but to convince me that the end was getting close.
So I jogged starting at mile 22, and was determined to keep jogging. It was about mile 24 that I started catching people. I mean, really catching them. Reeling them in one by one. I repassed the parrot guy some time after mile 24 and we had an exchange. "Man, you came back from the dead." "Yeah, aren't second winds just the best?" I felt better than I had felt in the last 3 hours. This was almost over.
As I had said earlier, I'd been told that you have to will yourself to mile 23, and the crowd would get you the rest of the way. I specifically heard "you pass the hospital, and you can't walk in front of the hospital." You actually pass the hospital twice, once after mile 24 and once right before mile 26. What he meant was that some years, seeing as how this is the St. Jude Memphis Marathon, they will actually bring out St. Jude patients to cheer on the runners. Patients, families and hospital staff line the road and provide some much needed motivation. What did I see as I passed the hospital? Another building and more empty streets. In fact, I did not see anyone other than police and the occasional solitary spectator waiting for their loved one to round the corner until I was inside the stadium. Too bad, I really could have used some excitement.
Mile 25 was the worst of the whole race. Mainly, because it was listed too soon. Running the last 10k, I had come to terms with the fact that I was not going to finish the race in less than 5 hours. Only, mile 25 came up really quickly. Not only that, the time clock read 4:55. That means, I had something like 20 minutes (I started about 12 minutes after race start) to run 1.2 miles. Mile 25 just went on forever. I had no problems running the last 1.2 miles, except that it stretched on for something like 2 full miles. Still in this headwind, I plugged along another downhill under an overpass and back up it. So much for no more hills... I ran and ran and ran. Had I known it would be this far, I would have done some walking. Eventually, we turned off of Parkway out of the wind and out of the sun. I knew it had to be close. Except that there was almost a full mile to go before I got to mile 26. And when I got to mile 26, the clock said something like 5:17. Had it been a mile, that mile (which I ran the whole way) took me over 20 minutes. It was clearly marked incorrectly.
A very puzzling element to the marathon was the fact that you couldn't really see much. Every runner knew that the run finished in Autozone Park, but you never really do SEE Autozone Park. While running downtown, you can see stadium lights about 5 blocks down, but it's in a direction seemingly opposite to where you are going. You know the run is over in a quarter mile, you can hear the faint roar of the crowd and the unmistakable sounds of someone talking through a loudspeaker, where the hell is the park?
When I saw those glorious orange cones leading you into the stadium, I just started laughing. I don't really know why. But hysterically laughing. In the midst of the laughter, I felt my eyes start watering up. Oh, no, none of that. We'll save those for Wisconsin. But the smiles continued. I saw Ryan in the stands cheering me on as I neared the finish line. I saw Denise and the kids, too, they had driven up to see me finish; a sentiment I wasn't capable of understanding. Having already taken off my gloves and sunglasses, I raised my arms up and smiled as I crossed the finish line, hoping to make a worthwhile picture. I allowed the volunteers to remove my chip, place one of those crazy aluminum blankets on me and slip my finisher's medal around my neck. My next thought: $#!+, I have to climb these stairs!
Finish time: 5:07:24; 11:44/mi
After some sweets, pizza, beer and congratulatory conversations with Mike and Parrot Guy, I was as ready as I could be to change into warmer clothes and get back to the apartment. All I wanted to do was lay down and nap. I couldn't eat anything until about 3 hours later, when my stomach was threatening system shutdown. I ended up taking a nap on the bare floor while the rest of the crew (Ryan, John, Ryan's roommate and, eventually, Jana) watched the SEC Championship game. My body didn't seem to mind.
So, I guess that's it. The marathon was a lot more painful than I gave it credit for. It's roughly as painful as a half ironman, but it hurts in a much different way. It's now 5 days post-race and I'm just now not feeling tight and sore. Still don't have my 26.2 sticker. I went by Fleet Feet and had this whole story figured out: I would limp in without saying a word, grab a 26.2 sticker and slap it on the counter...and smile. But, they were sold out. Ugh, it's always something...
The word on the street is that the Memphis Marathon is one of the flattest and fastest around. I misunderstood their meaning. Perhaps veteran runners claim the race comparitively fast, which may very well be the case. Perhaps they refer to the second half of the marathon, which, for the most part, is true as well. But as an uninitiated marathoner, the course certainly wasn't as advertised. The first 14 miles were rife with rolling hills. There were no Heartbreak Hills along the course, but the sum of the parts equaled a draining, spirit-crushing road that proved to be unpredictable to the very end.
When Mike and I finally neared mile 12, we had slowed to the pace I was destined to hold for the rest of the race. At this point, the streets were still crowded with runners. Right after mile 12, the half marathon runners veered right and headed back towards the stadium, while the full marathon runners stayed straight towards Beale St. It was quite an interesting sight: 11,000 runners, about half of which was with me or behind me quickly evaporated into 3,000, most of which were far ahead of me. A sea of bodies became a bread crumb trail that extended as far as the eye could see. As I passed some spectators, I said "I think I'll do another loop. Why the hell not?" I had to throw out little one-liners like that to keep up my spirits.
Running along Beale Street was quite the experience. Bars lined both sides of the street as we plugged along the brick road. Although the place was all but deserted at 10:30 on a Saturday morning, there was an energy about it, a mystery. My favorite part of the race to that point, I slowly let Mike out of my sight. I had a feeling I would be the one to get dropped; it usually ends up that way. The gap opened quickly as we came to the Beale Street hill, the biggest and longest hill we would climb. It wasn't all that steep, and I knew it was coming, so it didn't hurt all that bad.
Running alone now, I passed the time by singing songs to myself and straining to find anybody I knew in the crowd. I tried playing games with myself, breaking up the remaining miles into various groups of 5 miles, 5ks, miles and half miles. Each mile and 5k were labeled, so I was more than occupied trying to figure out how much I had to go, and how best to ration my energy. I didn't have a watch on, which probably played to my advantage; no sense killing myself to salvage a decent time. It was best to just stay within myself and just try to finish. This would be the easiest marathon of my life: the only one where I'm unconcerned with time.
Having not trained with gels, I ran into some GI problems around mile 14 or so. I certainly did not mind stopping at the porto pottie and having a nice, refreshing sit. It felt good just to not be moving for a moment. I had to urinate around mile 19, and decided to sit for the same reason.
The hardest part of the day began at mile 18. I was told by a runner friend of mine that mile 18 is really where it starts. I had hoped to get to mile 21 before the real battle of attrition started, but it was fated that mile 18 would hold stage to it. It was around then that I decided to start walking. No matter how tired I was over the course of the day, I never really walked more than I ran. By that, I mean there was never a period when I would walk for 5 minutes and only could stand running for 3. I walked as much as I needed to and jogged the rest. Walking was surprisingly refreshing and gave me a moment to reassess my situation and keep myself in the right frame of reference. I did more running that walking over the next 3 miles, willing myself to the turn onto Parkway Ave. around mile 20.5. That long, lonely, straight stretch of road was the last obstacle to overcome.
Sure enough, I made it to Parkway and allowed myself some walking time. After a mile of doing the walking/jogging thing, something completely unexpected happened: I caught a second wind. I felt ready to go a little before mile 22. So I jogged into the aid station, grabbed some gatoraid, and kept moving. I jogged the entire mile and entered mile 23 with one more gel to take. I walked, slurped it down, drank some water and celebrated the little victory that I would not have to take any more GU. I had been told that you have to will yourself to mile 23, and the crowd would get you the rest of the way. With that in mind, I started jogging and promised myself I would jog until the finish line.
The entirety of Parkway, which stretches from mile 20.5 to 24.5, was a direct headwind (which was lovely). All the same, the stage was set. I knew turning on the road that the race would be all but over when I turned off of it. Just a long 5k was all that was required of me. Parkway was home to the two great moments of self confidence I felt during the last segment of the race. There was a slight climb as we reached mile (21 or 22). I did a walking stint as I approached the next aid station, obviously in peril. Right as a guy in bright colored tights and a parrot hat (don't ask, I don't know) passed me, I was passed by an older couple. The woman called out to me: "this is it! This is the last uphill! It's all downhill from here!" Hmmm, who knew? It was very soon after this interaction that I saw the Pyramid in the far distance. A look at the course map will tell you that you never actually reach the Pyramid. Moreover, I didn't really know what the Pyramid was for, other than that it was a staple of downtown Memphis. This was all I needed to fuel not only the tourist in me, but to convince me that the end was getting close.
So I jogged starting at mile 22, and was determined to keep jogging. It was about mile 24 that I started catching people. I mean, really catching them. Reeling them in one by one. I repassed the parrot guy some time after mile 24 and we had an exchange. "Man, you came back from the dead." "Yeah, aren't second winds just the best?" I felt better than I had felt in the last 3 hours. This was almost over.
As I had said earlier, I'd been told that you have to will yourself to mile 23, and the crowd would get you the rest of the way. I specifically heard "you pass the hospital, and you can't walk in front of the hospital." You actually pass the hospital twice, once after mile 24 and once right before mile 26. What he meant was that some years, seeing as how this is the St. Jude Memphis Marathon, they will actually bring out St. Jude patients to cheer on the runners. Patients, families and hospital staff line the road and provide some much needed motivation. What did I see as I passed the hospital? Another building and more empty streets. In fact, I did not see anyone other than police and the occasional solitary spectator waiting for their loved one to round the corner until I was inside the stadium. Too bad, I really could have used some excitement.
Mile 25 was the worst of the whole race. Mainly, because it was listed too soon. Running the last 10k, I had come to terms with the fact that I was not going to finish the race in less than 5 hours. Only, mile 25 came up really quickly. Not only that, the time clock read 4:55. That means, I had something like 20 minutes (I started about 12 minutes after race start) to run 1.2 miles. Mile 25 just went on forever. I had no problems running the last 1.2 miles, except that it stretched on for something like 2 full miles. Still in this headwind, I plugged along another downhill under an overpass and back up it. So much for no more hills... I ran and ran and ran. Had I known it would be this far, I would have done some walking. Eventually, we turned off of Parkway out of the wind and out of the sun. I knew it had to be close. Except that there was almost a full mile to go before I got to mile 26. And when I got to mile 26, the clock said something like 5:17. Had it been a mile, that mile (which I ran the whole way) took me over 20 minutes. It was clearly marked incorrectly.
A very puzzling element to the marathon was the fact that you couldn't really see much. Every runner knew that the run finished in Autozone Park, but you never really do SEE Autozone Park. While running downtown, you can see stadium lights about 5 blocks down, but it's in a direction seemingly opposite to where you are going. You know the run is over in a quarter mile, you can hear the faint roar of the crowd and the unmistakable sounds of someone talking through a loudspeaker, where the hell is the park?
When I saw those glorious orange cones leading you into the stadium, I just started laughing. I don't really know why. But hysterically laughing. In the midst of the laughter, I felt my eyes start watering up. Oh, no, none of that. We'll save those for Wisconsin. But the smiles continued. I saw Ryan in the stands cheering me on as I neared the finish line. I saw Denise and the kids, too, they had driven up to see me finish; a sentiment I wasn't capable of understanding. Having already taken off my gloves and sunglasses, I raised my arms up and smiled as I crossed the finish line, hoping to make a worthwhile picture. I allowed the volunteers to remove my chip, place one of those crazy aluminum blankets on me and slip my finisher's medal around my neck. My next thought: $#!+, I have to climb these stairs!
Finish time: 5:07:24; 11:44/mi
After some sweets, pizza, beer and congratulatory conversations with Mike and Parrot Guy, I was as ready as I could be to change into warmer clothes and get back to the apartment. All I wanted to do was lay down and nap. I couldn't eat anything until about 3 hours later, when my stomach was threatening system shutdown. I ended up taking a nap on the bare floor while the rest of the crew (Ryan, John, Ryan's roommate and, eventually, Jana) watched the SEC Championship game. My body didn't seem to mind.
So, I guess that's it. The marathon was a lot more painful than I gave it credit for. It's roughly as painful as a half ironman, but it hurts in a much different way. It's now 5 days post-race and I'm just now not feeling tight and sore. Still don't have my 26.2 sticker. I went by Fleet Feet and had this whole story figured out: I would limp in without saying a word, grab a 26.2 sticker and slap it on the counter...and smile. But, they were sold out. Ugh, it's always something...
