Where to begin... I've been creating this blog post in my head since we returned from our mid-west travels. Every time I sit down to write the post, I lose all energy and motivation to complete said post. Just thinking about our experience has me exhausted. But I'm eating a freshly-baked peach muffin and drinking a cup of coffee, so I'm feeling ready to take this on...
Our vacation plan was as follows: drive to Duluth, camp out, run the race, head to a glorious cabin on a small lake for a few days to recover, drive to Sioux Falls to see family and be at Steve's brother's wedding, and return to Sheridan. Travels began on Wednesday evening after work, at which point we drove just outside Dickinson, ND to camp. Thursday morning we awoke, not entirely refreshed due to late-partying neighbors, and began our road trip to Duluth. Weather was fantastic the entire drive. Then we arrived in Duluth. And Mother Nature decided to be the fickle bitch she is. Skies turned gray, fog rolled in, temps dropped to cool - too cool for late June.
Fast forward to race day... We're both nervous and sleep-deprived - throughout the night, the skies released a torrent of rain, thunder, and lightening. Being in a tent and listening to the downpour only added to the anxiety. Here we had just returned from a race in California in which the rain was never-ending; we were so desperately looking forward to warmth and sun during our Minnesota race. Our alarms rang too early and in the drenching rain, we dressed in our race gear and broke down camp. If we weren't so stubborn and hadn't put so much blood, sweat, and tears into training, we might have bailed. Seriously. Our motivation and excitement levels were running at an all-time low. We made our way to the finish line, where we were to catch a train to take us to the start line. Half-marathoners took buses, marathoners boarded the scenic train to take us up the shore line to the start. Rain continued pelting the train as we wearily attempted to calm our nerves and occasionally nod off for a few more minutes of sleep. So long
super cute running skirt that was going to bring me in the finish line in record time. The weather posed too cool and I had to opt for the Robin Hood-look of black capris with pink compression socks. I looked ridiculous. But I was too tired and nervous to care.
We arrived at the start line with not much time to get ready - rushing to use the porta potties before the starting gun shot off. Neither of us were feeling very confident. Steve was not feeling well and I, in the rush of the morning and ensuing nervousness, never managed a BM. One of the first rules of running, especially long-distance running, is to get your guts cleaned out before you run. Otherwise you're almost guaranteed issues.
But I'll come to that lovely tidbit later in the race recap. We bolted to find our goal race times - most big road races ask people to line up by estimated race time - Steve going for 3:10, myself going for 5:00. I vaguely remember hearing the starting gun and the crowd (very slowly) surged forward. Approximately 6 minutes after official start time, I crossed the start line and my chip beeped as it clocked the beginning of my race. At this point, Mother Nature took pity, halting the rain and giving us a steady but encouraging tailwind.
Many marathon races provide pacers - a lead runner that maintains a steady pace and ensures any runner that chooses to run with the pacer they will complete the race in a particular amount of time - and I found the pacer for the 5:00 finish, sticking close to her like a scared child with it's mother on the first day of school. Not everyone utilizes the pacers, but each pacer had a small flock of runners, like a mother duck leading her ducklings. What better than to put the responsibility of meeting a finish time in the hands of a well-seasoned runner? Following a pacer takes the pressure of remembering mile splits out of your tired head and allows you to focus on your running. The pacers hold a sign the entire race with the goal finish time printed in large print, allowing runners to pick them out in a crowd.
The pace felt great. Somewhat slow, but I knew by the time I hit 20+ miles, the pace wouldn't feel so slow. The first 10K flew by and our pacer kept it light-hearted by asking her runner groupies questions. But a small voice in the back of my head kept reminding me that something wasn't
quite right. Between mile 7 and 8, my body presented a loud and clear signal that my goal race time might become a pipe dream. My GI tract went into full-fledged mutiny. I slowed to a walk. Took a deep breath. And realized I wasn't going to make it to the next porta potty. What the french, toast?? I bolted to the woods (thank goodness we were still in a remote area, away from housing developments) and prayed to any God, Goddess, or Higher Being to not let another runner see or hear me. At some point, all runners will experience such a moment. It's like being in a secret society. When a fellow runner asks how your race went and you reply "had some stomach issues," they will look at you with a depth of empathy that can only be understood by experiencing a similar, humiliating moment.
No toilet paper. Damnit. Found some leaves, made do, there was a porta potty within a half-mile that I could utilize. I jumped back into the race, but my 5:00 pace group had long disappeared. I was crushed. But I had to keep moving. To really bring yourself crashing back to humility and humbleness, use the bushes in an emergency bathroom break and then realize, after you've redressed and started your marathon, that you have a leaf stuck to your bottom. Not stuck to your clothes.
Inside your clothes. Clinging to your ass. Lord have mercy.
I almost dropped. Right then and there. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Was I going to let an unavoidable incident destroy my hard work? Helllllll no. I allowed myself to slow down, but kept running. The miles ticked away, some good, some not so good. Between miles 12-17, a spring returned to my step and all was calm in my world. I was slower than I hoped and never able to catch my pace group, but was still managing to move forward at a rate that would bring me into the finish line only 10 minutes slower than desired. Mile 17 brought a bout of nausea, forcing me to desist eating solid energy chews, resorting to alternating between Powerade and water. A few walking breaks gave my rebellious GI tract time to recover and I managed to return to a shuffle. A few tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes and I felt an emotional breakdown on the horizon, but I knew I couldn't turn back time and return to a 5:00 finish time, so I had to buck up and be happy that the rest of my body felt well-prepared to continue running. A lady walking nearby saw me slow to a walk between mile 17 and 18, asking me if I planned to walk the rest of the race because she was hoping to find someone to walk the rest of the way. Through my blurry eyes, I felt bad telling her "no, I plan to keep running," but I couldn't let myself get caught up in the sympathy of a fellow racer and not run when I knew I was perfectly capable of running.
The rest of the race proved uneventful. I pushed negative thoughts out of my mind as I watched my 5:00 time goal quickly slip into oblivion - especially when the 5:30 pace group caught up to me and proceeded to pass me. I managed to shave 8 minutes off my first marathon time, which is a small victory. My training was spot on and looking back to the race, my legs felt well-prepared. Even by mile 20, when the body (legs especially) begins to struggle to keep upright and continue forward movement, I felt surprisingly solid. Not to say I wasn't tired - if anyone ever tries to tell you they weren't tired at all during or after a marathon, they are big fat liars - but my training was obviously exactly where it needed to be to keep running (er, shuffling) at the very end, including a small kick at the finish line.
Because we're too cheap to pay exorbitant amounts of money for race pictures (seriously, they are ridiculously overpriced), check out
MarathonFoto and look us up by last name (Lipetzky) and race (Grandma's Marathon & Half 2011).
Following the race, Steve and I tucked our tails between our legs and scurried off to our cabin on the lake (rented through vrbo.com) and spent the next five days and four nights recovering with lots of sleep and lazy afternoons by the lake. Someday I will break 5:00 in a marathon. Grandma's Marathon was not my day. You live and learn and move on. Next time I'll bring toilet paper.
Whenever the opportunity arises, I jump at the chance to load up the hairy beasts we lovingly call our dogs and walk around the WY prairie in search of tasty little birds. The sage grasslands that surround Sheridan are home to a number of native upland game birds; sharptail grouse, sage grouse, chukar partridge and hungarian gray partridge to name a few. The chinese ringneck pheasant, although not native to the area, was introduced in the mid 1800's for the purpose of hunting; and has established wild populations throughout the Rocky Mountains. Though more prevalent in the Midwest, yea SoDak!!, there are wild populations in WY. Around Sheridan, most of the wild pheasant live on private land, i.e. not accessible to Steve. However, the WY Game and Fish has been operating bird farms to rear and release ringnecks and other game birds for the enjoyment of hunters. The "farm-raised birds" are born and reared on the game farms and released throughout the hunting season (Nov-Dec). Although not as much of a challenge to shoot as "wild-birds", they still offer an opportunity for those blaze-orange wearing, scatter-gun carrying, dog-whistle blowing upland bird hunters in who's company I belong.
Most of my hunting time in the fall is spent in pursuit of bigger animals, however I cherish the time I have in the field with my dogs chasing birds. The heart pounding surprise when a bird flushes from a copse of grass is a rush that is a mixture of fright and excitement. The challenge to compose yourself enough to level a shotgun and shoot true, at a moving/flying target, is truly a test; and one I will continue to pursue with the help of my hairy beasts!
