My first marathon

With a little more than two months to go before the Dublin city marathon, it was time to get in shape. Having had no long distance running experience, my goal was to simply finish in five hours flat. An eleven-minute mile. Nothing too extreme, just one foot in front of the other! The hundred day training schedule was cut in half to meet the October 28th deadline. With an already busy work and workout schedule every minute awake needed to be spent getting ready for this Irish event on the October Day holiday. Ignoring some of the major "don'ts" in the marathon rulebook, ten days into my training program I was on the injury list. The operative word being "o-v-e-r-training", not uncommon among newcomers to the sport, but nothing a week of rest could not cure! After three weeks of ice pack treatments without gaining the desired results my marathon career appeared to have come to an abrupt halt. With air travel booked and marathon application in hand the thought of having capitulated and being sidelined left me cranky at best. "To run or not to run" that's the question! Advice from concerned family members and friends not to run helped me make up my mind. Run and finish!!! Now that’s the spirit. Bring on the sneakers!

The flight to Dublin through New York and Paris had me running from arrival gates to departure terminals to meet my tight airline schedules. The dingy baggage claim area in Dublin was filled with marathon runners from all over the world and soon I was engaged in conversations with, in my eyes, veteran runners. Questions on training schedules and "my best" times and techniques were cleverly circumvented from being answered. I simply had none! Here was a gathering of wealth of experiences and proven practices and I needed to pick their brains, never mind how well prepared I was.... Information I had picked up from running books was regurgitated to keep the conversation slanted towards my curiosities. By the time the last piece of luggage came of the belt, I had picked up some valuable tips and pointers...

Still jet-lagged I awakened at 2:30 in the morning on "race day". Water, potatoes and pasta had been on the menu for the last 24 hours. Mix that with power bars and electrolyte drinks and it is easy to argue why we should have all gotten medals! This is fun? The day before race-day had been cold and blustery but now the weather had definitely turned in our favor. The winds for the most part had subsided and the temperature was a cool and crisp 10 degrees Celsius. Ideal running weather once warmed up! We left the hotel at 8:30 in the morning and walked for almost two miles to drop our bags off at the finish line. The side streets towards the starting line up were already crowded with runners. Eight thousand in all from fifty-three different countries had signed up. They were busy stretching and preparing for the challenge ahead. Not my thing ... Many of them were wearing gloves and black garbage bags over their running clothes to keep from freezing to death. Could have been my thing but too late now ... The airport veterans had never mentioned it! What else am I missing out on?? Although still several blocks away from the starting line, the voice over the loudspeaker started the minute count down… then the moment we had all been waiting for... The top runners from Kenya and Russia were off to position themselves ahead of the masses. From two blocks away we could see a solid mass of runners turning the corner at the speed of light. "Mein himmel, look at them go!"

Being in the back of the pack we started to "queue up" to move towards the starting line up, and the masses, however slowly, were set in motion. The electronic chip affixed to our shoelaces clocked us in as we crossed the starting line, six minutes after the first runners had past. We were off and the race was on. My injury seemed to have subsided and it felt great to be in motion. This running with the crowds was not ideal. If this was the Pamplona-running-with-the-bulls event it would have been life threatening! Trying to pass and going around slower paced runners became too much of a hindrance and soon I found myself running the sidelines. Much better until, … the corners. Running on the left side while going into a right turn would add “mileage” to the course. So weaving in and out of the mainstream became my strategy, and the occasional body bump followed by a sincere “xcuse me” got me running at a comfortable pace.

The first two miles went through the center of town and the crowds were truly amazing. Country flags, sponsor banners and colorful poster boards were waving in the air and the support groups were screaming and cheering on their teams to complete the audio-visual. The field started to open up and running became less constricted. I found myself mostly passing rather than being passed. Mile marker three was the first water station and I learned quickly that running and drinking without spilling all over, or choking to death, requires some real coordination. After finishing half the bottle I nonchalantly tossed it with the rest of its content to the side of the road where thousands of other ones littered the pavement, and started to feel like a real pro!! Pretty cool! Mile marker six, fifty-four minutes? My G-d I am running way under my 11-minute mile. Didn’t the airport veterans advise me to start off one minute slower than goal pace for the first few miles or so? Doing just about the opposite ... well what do they know!! Feeling great and running tall with solid strides. What else would you want? All my fears of re-injuring myself and not being able to finish the run were gone. What a Great day!! By mile marker nine I was running a comfortable pace and felt really in the groove, passing runners left and right! My ankle and knee joints were without an inkling of pain. That goop I put on before the start of the race is doing its job. Good stuff, reeeeeal good stuff… Running is just great! At the half marathon marker I was running a solid 9-minute mile and clocked in at 118 minutes. Two miles later at mile marker fifteen we had our first Lucozade station. Need that for sure now that I had at the last minute decided not to use energy gels. And that stuff did not taste too bad either, if you plug your nose and swallow fast!! So bottoms up and here we go again. No “wall” in sight! Slight burning of the “quads” maybe, but will run it off. While running I pulled out a small container with goop and generously massaged the bluish “miracle” substance on my upper legs. This should do the trick!! One-foot-in-front-of-the-other. Nothing to it, nothing to it!!

Honorable mention should go to the crowds, as they lined the streets everywhere along the 26.2-mile course. They were all bundled up in scarves, hats, gloves and overcoats, some pushing strollers, others carrying infants. The neighborhoods were empty and everyone was out and about! By the thousands they had come and gathered near the sidelines. What a morale booster and in such great spirit and support. Some supporters generously handed out candy sugar boosters. Others were applauding while saying …well done ... well done … as if the race was already finished. Children were holding out their hands to the runners for a “high five” and were seemingly pleased when responded to. Over there, three nuns with father Sarduchi, modestly clapping and being cheerful. Their bright red noses and flaming red ears starkly offset their pale faces. And look, over there were four old ladies standing on an island in the middle of the road with rattles and ratchets making noise as if their life depended on it. I could not help but chuckle and cheer THEM on!! What a SCREAM!!

At mile marker eighteen my quads started to really burn as if to tell me “You‘ve done enough chap. This is the farthest you have ever run at one time and we have had enough of your non-sense! Give It UP!!!” Admittingly the running had become painful and uncomfortable but with “only” eight more miles to go nothing could stop me now! Or could it??… This lactic acid is evil! Plain Evil! The road to Phoenix Park at mile marker nineteen was on a respectable incline to make matters worse. The crowds were ringing bells and clapping their hands while saying … “running well … keep it going … you’re almost there … well done… well done”! All the sudden a woman running next to me cried out: “Can some one tell me why the hhhell we are doing this?”… Dead silence! Only the sound of rhythmic running. I cracked a faint smile! Yes my dear, this is torture, real torture and we paid some big bucks to do it to ourselves!! As we meandered through the park the faint-bladdered among us converted trees and bushes near the side of the road into public rest stops. Men in full view and women discreetly behind the foliage!! By mile marker twenty-two more and more runners started to walk or were on the sideline overcoming their leg cramps! I was told that nothing can prepare you for the last six miles and was beginning to understand the meaning of that statement. My pace was steady but slower, my legs were becoming heavier and stiffer and pleaded for release only to be pounded by every step on the pavement. This is hell! Pure hell…I hate running!

To stay motivated and keep going at a reasonable pace I now needed a mind-over-matter approach. My time seemed reasonable and I did not want to give up too much. The four-hour half-marathon pace was shot but I was still way under my five-hour goal. This was serious business and I just needed to get the job done. That’s all there is to it. JUST DO IT! As we came out of the park the road back to the finish line was on a downhill and with that a different set of muscle aches was set into motion. The good news: Only three more miles to go. The bad news: At least another 30 more minutes!!! Trotting along I all the sudden remembered having looked up the word Marathon in Webster when I first became interested in the sport. “Mar-a-thon (mar’e-thon) a foot race so called in allusion to the story of the Greek runner Phidipidis who ran one-hundred-and-fifty miles from Marathon to Athens to tell of the victory over the Persians (490 B.C.E)… and than dropped dead!!!!” … As my mind continued to wander, I remembered having seen a documentary on Kyriakides, the Greek runner who had narrowly escaped execution during the Second World War and due to malnourishment was never to run again! Yet, in one of the all time running dramas he saw victory in a come-from-behind win in the “Boston”, the most prestigious foot race of them all! An awe-inspiring story, but after almost twenty-four miles, the only thing keeping ME in motion were visions of crossing the finish line.

The last two miles seemed much longer but what a rush!! Turning the final corner onto Nassau Street I almost fainted. Look at them all! Hundreds of leprechauns were sitting on mushrooms on the sidelines with rainbows and pots of gold spanning the sky. Green shamrocks were raining down on us like in a New-York ticker tape parade and ice cool Guinness draft beer was spouting out of several fire hydrants on both sides of the street. What a party … but then I was reeled back into reality and for the first time saw the finish line in the distance. I was still running and standing but burned, bruised and humbled by the experience. Four hours, thirteen minutes and twenty seven seconds had passed since we first crossed the starting line. And now it’s over and done and all I could hear in the back of my head was the crowd saying in chorus … well done …well done … well done!!