It has a dramatic flare but I enjoy the writing process. Plus I don't run marathons that often. Sorry Mahurin.
I decided to go for it. Could I maintain a 6:29 per mile pace? If my breathing was labored or the turnover not coming easily I would abandon that goal. It was after all, a dream goal, one you hope for but don't expect.
As the opening miles go by things feel as they should be in the early throes of the marathon; easy and comfortable. And with that the dangerous thought that the dream goal may be a possibility. It's an easy trap to fall into early in the race and I do my best to suppress it, but it's like stopping a faucet leak with your hand.
More miles click by: 6...7...8. My pace is a little faster than I like so I partly open my palms and mutter the word “patience." There's still a long way to go and I'm trying to stay balanced on the tight rope that is the dream goal and not fall into the abyss of failure. I try not to look down.
The halfway sign of 13.1 miles marks the end of the hills, or at least that's what I remember from five years ago. “It's like a downhill San Vicente!" I told others. Crossing the half in 1:24:3x, my ability to bury those optimistic thoughts weakens. The proverbial small faucet leak is now anything but. I can't let myself get ahead, however. The disappointment would be overwhelming.
Maybe my head needs to be examined. The Sav V grade I remembered doesn't seem to exist. The hills keep rolling and I'm waiting for the long gradual downhill to the finish (I'm still waiting, by the way). No matter, I need to hold myself together until at least mile 20. What were once miles on cruise control become more labored. The legs start to feel achy. I have to engage my mind. “Keep your form. Keep your pace." Mile 20 can't get here soon enough.
Much to my chagrin, what was once a race of patience turns into a need to increase effort to maintain pace. The miles of near 6:30 somehow continue, but time seems to have slowed. The miles no longer fly by. I spy the mile 20 banner in the distance. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. The real running is about to begin. Every mile is going to be a battle. Every second counts. I question if I can hold on the last 10km.
My breaths increase in frequency. One mile now feels like three and my arms start to become more engaged, imploring myself forward. Last gel down.What I thought was pain was nothing compared to what 22 to the end saved for me. Doing everything I could to maintain turnover, I start audibly grunting. I need an outlet from the inescapable pain because I have to go through it. As perverse as it sounds, it's a gift to be able to. We so rarely do except in these moments.
My mile times start to drift upwards by several seconds above pace but I have no energy to worry. I'm giving everything I have. Seconds slowly tick by. Another 6:33. My grunts now come with every exhale. I want this bad and I don't know if I'll have an opportunity like this again. I can't give in.
The crowds and cheers on the course start to increase and I try to run the tangents the best I can. I don't want to run one more step than I have to. A 6:45 mile. “Come on!" I scream at my legs. But there is a reprieve. It's mile 26. I summon those last reserves for the final 320 meters. I have tunnel vision and all I can see is the finish line timing mat up ahead. Both feet cross the finish line and the incredible relief of not having to run one more step washes over me.
2:49:33. At the moment it's just a number. What is most satisfying is making it through the fire that is uncertainty and doubt. Within seconds, lightheadedness and pain demand my attention. I can barely stagger over to receive my medal. “Are you okay?" a concerned volunteer asks as they keep me upright. I lean into their body, eyes glazed over and whisper the only thought I can muster: “I had a dream run."
Michael
Average Finishing Time: 2:53:33.4
Average Per Mile Pace: 6:37.2
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