As “luck” may have it, three weeks prior to the Miami marathon, I injured myself seven miles into my long run and was diagnosed with a severe calf strain. Medical advice escorted me to the sideline with at least four weeks of no running! Upset and angered by my fate I resorted to physical therapy, massages and a prayer for a minor miracle, but by the time race day came around I did not feel at all encouraged to successfully taking on the challenge at hand. Twice before, in Dublin and Ottawa, I had been in similar predicaments and miraculously pulled through at the end, so could there possibly be a “three times is a charm” outcome in Miami?
At the Miami expo I purchased some calf compression sleeves and decided that I would try out these ugly black neoprene support hoses and see if they could carry me to the finish line. For this race my objective no longer included a new personal best or a qualifying time for Boston. This time there was neither time nor distance pressure as the big test was reduced to whether or not I could run part of the marathon course let alone finish the whole enchilada.
Not well rested with only four hours of sleep the night before the race I showed up at 5:30 in the morning at the Bay front Park for the start of the Miami marathon with 9,000 other marathon and half marathon runners. Thirty minutes before the race the forecasted rain started to come down and shortly thereafter turned into a tropical downpour. By the time the start gun went off we were soaked to the bone and waded through two inches of standing water towards the start banner on our way to the Macarthur Causeway linking downtown Miami with South Beach.
I had hydrated well and carb loaded with pesto pasta at La Gastronomia, a cozy authentic Italian restaurant in Coral Gables and spent my final waiting time before the start of the race doing my newly acquired MIHP yoga stretches. Curious bystanders looked at me bewildered wondering what in the world I was trying to do. Nan, a local friend and massage therapist had treated me to a final deep tissue massage two nights earlier at Jerry’s famous Deli over a dish of eggplant penna pasta and a Corona garnished with a fresh slice of lime, and nothing that could have possibly be done to ease the pain had been overlooked.
Highly conscience of my temporary injury and the possibility of further injuring myself I started the foot race insecure of myself, analyzing every step of the way! The runner crowd at the start was constrictive but contrary to the New York marathon this was actually a good thing, forcing me to a slower pace. As we turned the corner I survived my first hurdle a slight bridge incline, with flying colors and on the down slide could see the three mile long Causeway contoured by a string of purple lights reflecting off the waterway. It was still dark and the silhouettes of four majestic cruise ships towering over the port of Miami painted an exotic maritime picture.
Half way across the Macarthur I was still standing and running and in the distance could faintly see the shoreline with its art deco pastel green, blue and pink high-rise buildings. The rain had subsided and the darkness gave way to the dawn’s early light. Some sunrays streaked through the clouds over the Atlantic Ocean and temperatures were a humid sixty degrees. My shorts were still drenched and clinging to my legs, and my feet were squeaking in my soaking wet socks and new Cumulus Asics running shoes. I wore an orange singlet with matching bib and shoelaces in sync with the ING color scheme. A few onlookers were out on the sideline consuming their coffee and donuts and as we got closer to the half way mark the crowds grew both in size and sounds!
Somewhat pleased to still be running I zoned in on the course ahead looking for the orange mile markers while at the same time circumventing the puddles of brackish brown rainwater in potholes, around corners and low spots on the road. At six miles I was feeling no pain but my time was atrocious! Could I have gone faster? Should I perhaps click it up a notch? Somewhat tempted but undecided on what to do I kept within my comfort zone! At the ten-mile marker I clocked in at ninety two minutes, ten minutes slower then what I was accustomed to. Annoyed and disgusted with the results, reality finally set in what I had already known from the onset but not really wanted to accept. This race was over before it began and now any miracle glimmer of hope of finishing with a Boston qualifying time dissipated into the humid morning sky! While the legs were doing its thing the psychological warfare took over with questions of “what if” scenarios.
By eight o’clock the Floridian landscape had come alive and the volunteers at the hydration stations were enthusiastic and plentiful serving up Gatorade and water at every mile along the way. The Miami River glistened and rippled gently underneath the Venetian Causeway and around the five Venetian Isles as we continued on the return loop towards the half way marker at Bay front Park. The ING Cheering zones were a spectacle of orange mambo jambos. A tumultuous sea of supporters face painted from top to bottom in Royal Dutch orange and decked out with ING thunder sticks and noise makers. An adrenaline rush for sure! At the second cheering zone and close to the half marathon break away point I encountered my dedicated support group of two. Anne and Chaim were waving from the sideline, camera ready and holding up a cheering sign saying: Ruuuuuuudy Go!! And lo and behold I found some extra rocket fuel to boost my gluts and hamstrings into CHI running orbit!
Admittedly close to the half marathon break away point thoughts of calling it quits and finishing the run on a half marathon distance crossed my mind. When setting out for a half marathon the famous Penguin saying: “Half the distance twice the fun” is certainly appropriate because that was the objective, but conversely once committed to “Twice the distance half the fun” the same rule must apply. And so with already two hours under my belt I began my second half!
The mind over matter decision quickly faded once I passed the fourteen-mile marker point. I remembered one of my Alaska running cruise mentors tell me once that not every race can be a good one and to capitalize on those that feel good and back off and enjoy the ride on the others. His Paris marathon was one of those blooper runs and consequently he hopped on and off the course at corner cafes to enjoy some European mélange and fine pastries. He eventually crossed the finish line and lived to tell about it. With that advice in mind I decided to do exactly that and take-in the scenery, socialize with other runners and at one point ended up giving a helping hand to a fellow runner that had crashed into the concrete due to some leg cramp. Together we walked off his malady and before long he was running again. The blind leading the blind sort of speak.
The weather had warmed up to a balming seventy-five degrees and at eighteen miles my quads began to fill up with lactic acid making my legs uncomfortable and heavy, a phenomenon I hadn’t experienced during my last three marathons. The course took us through the beautiful and lush residential neighborhoods of Coral Gables and Coconut Grove. Poinciana palm trees were part of the local flora and provided for some occasional reprieve from the hot and muggy morning sun. The locals were out and about sitting in lawn chairs, some offering cool refreshing water running from their garden hoses and others still in bathrobes with “men’s best friend” tight on a leash watching the field of runners go by.
The twenty-mile marker point was the turning point to the finish line and around the corner a brass band staged behind the bleachers was playing “When the Saints come marching in”! Further down the road a pair of Bongo players provided for some rhythmic interludes and as the drumbeat faded in the distance I could finally start counting down the miles one by one. With the downtown high-rise buildings coming in sight I braced myself for a final sprint up the Brickell Bridge and down the stretch to the finish line. Tired, disappointed yet pleased with my “spinner” finisher medal I turned in my timing chip, had an oatmeal cookie and jumped on the metro mover to the car parking lot. After a hot shower at the Intercontinental hotel, our comfortable base camp, I put my legs on ice for a while! That night we met up with Nan at Versailles, one of the top rated Cuban restaurants in “little Havana” and feasted on a scrumptious local culinary dish. Back in Michigan the weather had snow and cold freezing weather in the unforeseeable forecast. And so Marathon number twelve had come to an end with the quest for Boston to be continued!
At the Miami expo I purchased some calf compression sleeves and decided that I would try out these ugly black neoprene support hoses and see if they could carry me to the finish line. For this race my objective no longer included a new personal best or a qualifying time for Boston. This time there was neither time nor distance pressure as the big test was reduced to whether or not I could run part of the marathon course let alone finish the whole enchilada.
Not well rested with only four hours of sleep the night before the race I showed up at 5:30 in the morning at the Bay front Park for the start of the Miami marathon with 9,000 other marathon and half marathon runners. Thirty minutes before the race the forecasted rain started to come down and shortly thereafter turned into a tropical downpour. By the time the start gun went off we were soaked to the bone and waded through two inches of standing water towards the start banner on our way to the Macarthur Causeway linking downtown Miami with South Beach.
I had hydrated well and carb loaded with pesto pasta at La Gastronomia, a cozy authentic Italian restaurant in Coral Gables and spent my final waiting time before the start of the race doing my newly acquired MIHP yoga stretches. Curious bystanders looked at me bewildered wondering what in the world I was trying to do. Nan, a local friend and massage therapist had treated me to a final deep tissue massage two nights earlier at Jerry’s famous Deli over a dish of eggplant penna pasta and a Corona garnished with a fresh slice of lime, and nothing that could have possibly be done to ease the pain had been overlooked.
Highly conscience of my temporary injury and the possibility of further injuring myself I started the foot race insecure of myself, analyzing every step of the way! The runner crowd at the start was constrictive but contrary to the New York marathon this was actually a good thing, forcing me to a slower pace. As we turned the corner I survived my first hurdle a slight bridge incline, with flying colors and on the down slide could see the three mile long Causeway contoured by a string of purple lights reflecting off the waterway. It was still dark and the silhouettes of four majestic cruise ships towering over the port of Miami painted an exotic maritime picture.
Half way across the Macarthur I was still standing and running and in the distance could faintly see the shoreline with its art deco pastel green, blue and pink high-rise buildings. The rain had subsided and the darkness gave way to the dawn’s early light. Some sunrays streaked through the clouds over the Atlantic Ocean and temperatures were a humid sixty degrees. My shorts were still drenched and clinging to my legs, and my feet were squeaking in my soaking wet socks and new Cumulus Asics running shoes. I wore an orange singlet with matching bib and shoelaces in sync with the ING color scheme. A few onlookers were out on the sideline consuming their coffee and donuts and as we got closer to the half way mark the crowds grew both in size and sounds!
Somewhat pleased to still be running I zoned in on the course ahead looking for the orange mile markers while at the same time circumventing the puddles of brackish brown rainwater in potholes, around corners and low spots on the road. At six miles I was feeling no pain but my time was atrocious! Could I have gone faster? Should I perhaps click it up a notch? Somewhat tempted but undecided on what to do I kept within my comfort zone! At the ten-mile marker I clocked in at ninety two minutes, ten minutes slower then what I was accustomed to. Annoyed and disgusted with the results, reality finally set in what I had already known from the onset but not really wanted to accept. This race was over before it began and now any miracle glimmer of hope of finishing with a Boston qualifying time dissipated into the humid morning sky! While the legs were doing its thing the psychological warfare took over with questions of “what if” scenarios.
By eight o’clock the Floridian landscape had come alive and the volunteers at the hydration stations were enthusiastic and plentiful serving up Gatorade and water at every mile along the way. The Miami River glistened and rippled gently underneath the Venetian Causeway and around the five Venetian Isles as we continued on the return loop towards the half way marker at Bay front Park. The ING Cheering zones were a spectacle of orange mambo jambos. A tumultuous sea of supporters face painted from top to bottom in Royal Dutch orange and decked out with ING thunder sticks and noise makers. An adrenaline rush for sure! At the second cheering zone and close to the half marathon break away point I encountered my dedicated support group of two. Anne and Chaim were waving from the sideline, camera ready and holding up a cheering sign saying: Ruuuuuuudy Go!! And lo and behold I found some extra rocket fuel to boost my gluts and hamstrings into CHI running orbit!
Admittedly close to the half marathon break away point thoughts of calling it quits and finishing the run on a half marathon distance crossed my mind. When setting out for a half marathon the famous Penguin saying: “Half the distance twice the fun” is certainly appropriate because that was the objective, but conversely once committed to “Twice the distance half the fun” the same rule must apply. And so with already two hours under my belt I began my second half!
The mind over matter decision quickly faded once I passed the fourteen-mile marker point. I remembered one of my Alaska running cruise mentors tell me once that not every race can be a good one and to capitalize on those that feel good and back off and enjoy the ride on the others. His Paris marathon was one of those blooper runs and consequently he hopped on and off the course at corner cafes to enjoy some European mélange and fine pastries. He eventually crossed the finish line and lived to tell about it. With that advice in mind I decided to do exactly that and take-in the scenery, socialize with other runners and at one point ended up giving a helping hand to a fellow runner that had crashed into the concrete due to some leg cramp. Together we walked off his malady and before long he was running again. The blind leading the blind sort of speak.
The weather had warmed up to a balming seventy-five degrees and at eighteen miles my quads began to fill up with lactic acid making my legs uncomfortable and heavy, a phenomenon I hadn’t experienced during my last three marathons. The course took us through the beautiful and lush residential neighborhoods of Coral Gables and Coconut Grove. Poinciana palm trees were part of the local flora and provided for some occasional reprieve from the hot and muggy morning sun. The locals were out and about sitting in lawn chairs, some offering cool refreshing water running from their garden hoses and others still in bathrobes with “men’s best friend” tight on a leash watching the field of runners go by.
The twenty-mile marker point was the turning point to the finish line and around the corner a brass band staged behind the bleachers was playing “When the Saints come marching in”! Further down the road a pair of Bongo players provided for some rhythmic interludes and as the drumbeat faded in the distance I could finally start counting down the miles one by one. With the downtown high-rise buildings coming in sight I braced myself for a final sprint up the Brickell Bridge and down the stretch to the finish line. Tired, disappointed yet pleased with my “spinner” finisher medal I turned in my timing chip, had an oatmeal cookie and jumped on the metro mover to the car parking lot. After a hot shower at the Intercontinental hotel, our comfortable base camp, I put my legs on ice for a while! That night we met up with Nan at Versailles, one of the top rated Cuban restaurants in “little Havana” and feasted on a scrumptious local culinary dish. Back in Michigan the weather had snow and cold freezing weather in the unforeseeable forecast. And so Marathon number twelve had come to an end with the quest for Boston to be continued!
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