Mohawk-Hudson Marathon: Race Report

 "If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!"

-Rudyard Kippling

At 8:20 on Sunday morning, 850 runners lined up in Central Park in Schenectady, and awaited the gun that would mark the start of the 2010 Mohawk-Hudson Marathon. Conditions were perfect. At 8:30 the gun went, the race started, and we ran...

As for the race:

I positioned myself at the front and ran the first mile in 6:35. Too fast. Maybe 10 people were before me, the rest behind. The second mile went by with only 13 something expired and I hadn't slowed down. By the third mile my calves were tight.

I finally pulled back to 7:15, but had already strained my muscles. The remainder of the first half was spent mostly alone. Of the 850 runners, 30 in the front pack were out of sight and the other 820 or so were behind me. 13 miles went by more or less like this.

My half split was 1:32:54: over 2 minutes ahead of pace. The tightness in my right calf and left quad was was mild but steadily worsening. The main struggle of the half was my uncertainty with the condition of my legs.

At 18 my calves started cramping badly. It occurred to me that I might not finish the race. This was when everything began to change. Before, the prospect of my legs failing was a possibility, but now it was happening. My breathing became labored and runners began passing me. I had 8 miles to go.

In an endurance race, the first 2/3 of the race seem almost a prelude to the real race. You spend 2 hours getting to the 18th mile so that you can test yourself and your training over the remaining miles. Anyone can get to 18 in their projected time. What matters is the toll that those 18 take on your body as you enter the final 8. You train to absorb those miles, to deflect those miles. You train so those first 18 don't eat you. The struggle in the first 18 is the mental gamble: how much can you give and still have something left?

I was ahead of pace though it seemed unrealistic to maintain it. But my strategy from the start was simple: hit my splits for the first 20 miles at any cost and deal with the final 6 when they arrive. 2 miles more was possible, so I kept running.

In Once A Runner, Quentin Cassidy describes the third lap of the mile to be the most difficult because your legs scream, you're against the clock, and yet you must leave something for the final lap. In contrast, the fourth lap is simple because you don't have to keep anything in reserve; you open up and your body takes over.

Miles 18-20 were my fourth lap. I banked on the unlikely possibility that something metaphysical, unnatural, unearthly would take me from mile 20 to mile 26.2, and I went all in. And I made it to 20, and I was still on pace.

By mile 20, my form had fallen apart. A runner would pass me, then another, and another. I had now caught the half-marathoners and was having an impossible time distinguishing between marathoners and half-marathoners, which somehow made everything more difficult. I struggled to extract my cheat sheet from my pocket to check my splits and found that once it was out, I could no longer focus my eyes enough to read it.

By 23, all I could feel was a fog of vague, intense pain pervading my lower half. Where before I could isolate pain to my right calf, my left quad, my right arch, now I could only sense an opaque and ubiquitous cloud of overwhelming discomfort. I remembered something about adrenaline taking hold in the final mile and thought that if I could make it to 26th mile, this "adrenaline" would pull me through. By now, the only connection between my mind and body was pain sensation. I felt that I could control my legs only by tossing them forward with my hips, and so I did that. And I continued to hit my splits.

I left myself over 8 minutes to run the last mile. Despite my exhausted condition and unspeakable form, my strategy had so far worked. But adrenaline never kicked in, or at least I left it nothing to work with. I heard people yelling, "Half mile!". Finally, I could hear my dad yelling and I saw the finish line and next to it the the clock read 3:10:24. I was in the final chute and had 35 seconds to cover the remaining distance and it was time to go.

And now there occurred a pure, unadulterated push. I cannot describe it or quantify and I can't remember it. The struggle was the thing, and my taking part in it seemed secondary, if I even took part at all. A three hour marathon concentrated into a 30 second effort...

To qualify for Boston I needed to run 26.2 miles from Schenectady to Albany in 3:10:59. I crossed the finish line at 3:11:07. Three months of training, three hours of running, three weeks of missed training - all came down to 8 seconds.

I averaged 7:18 and came in 54th out of 850. I was the first name in the results without an asterisk next to it to indicate a qualifying time for Boston.

I constantly replay the race in my mind, and I search for where I could have picked up 8 seconds in all of that 3 hours, 11 minutes, and 7 seconds, and I keep coming up blank. And though I feel disappointment, I feel no regret, because I don't think those 8 seconds were anywhere to be found on the course that day. And I gave everything and that was the first time I've done that, and it felt good.

Mohawk-Hudson Marathon - October 10

"It was a run indeed now, and what Joe called, in the only two words he spoke all the time, "a Winder." Down banks and up banks, and over gates, and splashing into dykes, and breaking among coarse rushes: no man cared where he went."
- Charles Dickens

For 15 weeks now I've been training for the Mohawk-Hudson Marathon on October 10th. This was the first time that I read books, took notes, and designed a training plan for a race. I wanted to use this race to qualify for the Boston Marathon in spring 2011.

Most marathons are open to anyone, but Boston remains one of the few races you must qualify for by hitting a certain time in another marathon. 27 year old guys have to run 26.2 miles in 3:10:59, or in other words, 26 miles at a 7:15 pace. The Mohawk-Hudson Marathon in Albany is a fast race and it's in my backyard. This would be my qualifying race.

I dedicated myself completely. I woke up early for pre-work runs. I did 15 mile runs at midnight when I couldn't fit them in earlier. I did doubles. I did tempos. I did aerobic and lactate thresholds. Intervals, fartleks, long runs, medium-longs, blah blah blah. I never skipped a mile. I ate dinner at 10 p.m. after runs on most nights. I never had an afterwork beer, because I had to get the miles in. I didn't answer my phone and didn't return phone calls. I didn't see people. I ran all the time.

My decisions were made always with consideration paid to the schedule. I mostly went easy when I was supposed to go easy, and I was surprised that I remained injury free, despite jumping my mileage from 50-60/week before training to 90-100/week during training.

But three weeks ago the miles caught up to me. At first I thought it was a stress fracture in my left foot, but I've since re-diagnosed myself with posterior tibialis tendonitis. No health insurance means no doctor means online forums for medical advice and self-diagnosis. The forums told me 8-10 weeks of rest for full recovery. But it was only three weeks to the marathon.

I took two weeks off and spent the time biking when I could, but mostly hiking and camping. I took a complete break from running and was relieved from the routine but mostly stressed and depressed because of wasted time. Within 10 days, I felt like I couldn't remember the mechanics of running. I'd drive down the street and see a runner on the sidewalk and it was difficult to imagine myself running.

This past weekend it occurred to me that the marathon was in 9 days and I hadn't run at all over the past two weeks and had cross-trained minimally and in fact had sort of forgotten about it but probably mostly repressed it. I have no idea what this does to my fitness. How quickly do you lose it all? I was pretty thoroughly disinterested in the race. My foot was hardly improving. I had planned to overnight the Escarpment Trail from Saturday to Monday, 25 miles through the Catskill Mountains on my last weekend before the race just to keep my sanity.

But I decided to take the remaining 9 days until the race, and do everything I could to make a last attempt at hitting 3:10. I already invested 3 months of my life to this stupid race. I cancelled the hike. I unrolled the yoga mat and have been doing futile, copious, painful pushups and situps every morning and night. I iced and ibuprofened and elevated. On Tuesday night I went for an easy 3 miles at 6:44 pace and, despite some tenderness in my foot, felt amazing. I had a new pair of legs.

I'll run once or twice more for 3-5 miles before Sunday, mostly for confidence. And on Sunday at 8:30 a.m. I'll run from Schenectady, out of Central Park and east along the Mohawk river until it hits the Hudson River. Then I'll turn right and head South and run alongside the Hudson River until I cross the finish line at the amphitheater in the Corning Preserve in downtown Albany.

And I have no idea what to expect. I have my plan: 7:15 pace for 20 miles, then open it up for the last 6. And if I have anything left at 20, I'll qualify for Boston. And if I run out of steam, I'll try next year. And if my foot fails along the way, I'll pull out. Either way, Monday marks the start of something new.