Getting a PR despite my own stupidity

My new nutrition plan was a bust. Without getting too graphic, it was painful and explosive.

There is a racing axiom: don't try something new on race day. In my enthusiasm, I lost my senses and did it anyway. Three days of carbo-loading before the race and massive amounts of carbs the night before.

The morning of the race, I woke at 3 a.m. to eat first breakfast: 3 weight-loss shakes, a double bowl of raisin bran and 32 oz. water. At 5 a.m., I was supposed to eat more, but couldn't. I sucked down a chocolate milk and hoped it was enough. Whenever I think of second breakfast, I think of hobbits. At 6 a.m., an hour before the race, I had a banana and 16 oz. water. That was it until 10 minutes before the race, when I had 10 oz. of Gatorade.

And we're off. I'm running with my young and speedy friend Nick. It's Nick's first marathon and he's busting at the seams with enthusiasm. I'm busting at the seams with carbs, but I feel okay at this point.

His enthusiasm calls him, like a siren, to what I feel will be his doom: 15 seconds faster than our planned race pace. I lose him by mile 3. He will go on to finish in 3:23. It's going to be a lonely day. My day becomes a lot lonelier as soon as I realize that I need to go to the bathroom. Number two.

I'm able to hold out for a while. I see my lovely wife and kids at about mile 6. I hit a set of public restrooms. What's behind door #1? I can't tell 'cause it's locked. Damn. Door #2? Locked. Door #3 holds the prize: a stainless steel toilet with no sink. I guess I'll use my left hand to grab water and Gu.

I check my watch to see how much time I'll lose. It ends up taking me about 90 seconds. Damn. My splits so far: 7:52, 7:49, 7:47, 15:47 (for two miles), 8:01, and 9:09 for the bathroom-interrupted mile. That's okay. I'm still on pace for sub-3:30.

I get back on the course and fight the urge to make up time. 7:50, 7:49, and I can't believe I have to go again! Same drill with the restrooms, but this time it's behind door #2. This delay is almost two minutes. I hit the button for mile 10 and come in at 9:25. The bad news is that my stomach still feels upset. The good news is that I'm otherwise right on pace, so I should still break 3:30.

Back on the route. My stomach's bothering me. I'm also a little worried about my calves because they feel tight. I have the iPod Nano on now. "Love Song," the 311 remake. I play it twice because it reminds me of my wife. 7:42, 7:43.

I see my father, who is attending one of my races for the first time. He was lamenting the fact that he had no pictures of me running, so I invited him to take some. I try to look cool despite my stomach, bowels and calves. I fake it okay, because I don't look like I'm in pain in the photo. At mile 13, I really have to go again. I can't believe it. Not a bathroom or portable toilet in sight. 7:50.

At the next turn, the 1,000 marathon runners have joined the 10,000 half-marathon runners. It's bad. I'm weaving in and out of people, trying to hold everything in, thinking about my calves. Why is it that walkers tend to walk five abreast, taking up a full lane?

I'm starting to wonder if I took a wrong turn because I can't see anyone with a marathon number. I only see half-marathoners. This is not the psychological edge I was hoping for. It's hard to run with full effort when you're wondering if you've gone off course. This goes on for a quarter mile until I see another marathoner. I still have my doubts until I see a second, then a third. I reach a mile marker, "Marathon. Mile 14." Whew. 7:58.

Now my stomach is killing me. My calves are still bothering me. I've really go to go. I see the portable toilets, but there's a long line of people. Probably walkers, damn them. I pass it up, trying to remember where the next pots are. I'm hurting so bad now I have to alter my stride.

And there she is: the walker talking on her cell phone. Where do these people come from? It's not exercise if you can simultaneously make a phone call, lady. 7:58.

I'm miserable now. The sun is out. It's warming up. I'm on a slight incline and I can't keep pace because I'm afraid of what might happen to my shorts. There are half-marathoners and walkers everywhere. And cell phone talkers. 8:08. 8:01.

During mile 17, I see them: pots without a line. I find an open one and look at my watch. I finish and look again. Almost two minutes. A 3:30 just went down the pot, but there's hand sanitizer here.

I get out of the pot and I can't believe it: my stomach still hurts. It's even worse now. I hit the 18 marker. 9:42. The next mile is downhill so I can make up some time. I'm running as fast as I can, but I can't reach the pace I want. My legs aren't slowing me. My stomach hurts so badly it's cramping up. 7:46.

I'm in a park now. It's warm, but trees here and there shield me from the sun. I wish my stomach didn't hurt. Every stride is killing my midsection. And I have to go again. I see some restrooms in the park, just a little off the course. Break #4. Just over a minute. I hit the 20 marker at 9:07. I try not to get discouraged. At this point, I'll be lucky to hit 3:35.

The next couple of miles have a lot of uphill. I am now starting to feel fatigued. Miraculously, my stomach no longer hurts. Will that be my last stop? I'm hopeful, but I'm slow. I'm pushing and pushing, but I'm consistently over 8 minute miles. 8:17, 8:35 on the long uphill, 8:10.

Now I turn the corner for the home stretch. It's flat. Incubus's "Drive" is playing, my favorite running song. I hit the repeat and pick up the pace. If I run 8-minute miles, I think I can salvage 3:35.

8:16 at mile 24. I estimate my finish time. I'm at 3:16'45. 2.2 miles at 8 should take me about 18 minutes. Push.

Mile 25 is 8:06 and my cumulative time is 3:25'52. I'm trying to calculate two-tenths of 8 minutes and I don't have the brain power. Just run like hell, but not like last year when you ran like hell for the last mile and ran out of gas with a half-mile to go. Run like almost hell.

I see my buddy Nick's wife and wave at her. I recognize her, in part, because she's wearing the same brown sweater she wore last night. She looks at me like she doesn't know me, but waves back. Wait, she's a woman, so she would not be wearing the same sweater she wore last night. She doesn't know me because she's not Nick's wife. Hello lady, from the delusional but friendly marathon-running stranger.

I hit mile 26. 8:11 for the mile and 3:33'03 overall. Is it fewer than two minutes for .2 miles at this pace? It has to be. I think. I hope. I can see the finish line with its balloon arch. It seems really far away.

Running as fast as I can now, which isn't all that fast. Race volunteers keep saying, "Half-marathoners stay left, marathoners to the right." It seems to have no effect on the half-marathoners. Damn them. Push. And try to look cool as you finish.

I can see the official clock now. It is getting dangerously close to 3:35. I know my time is less than the official clock because it took me several seconds to get to the start line after the gun. Still, it gives me something to shoot for. I see my wife and kids cheering me on.

I run as hard as I can as the clock ticks, 3:34:56, 3:34:57, 3:34:58, 3:34:59, and I hit the finish line. 3:35:00 from the gun, 3:34:46 start to finish, PR by 17 minutes. I'll take it.

A different qualifying time

Every year I run the Baker to Vegas Challenge Cup Relay. I use "every year" loosely, because I started running in early 2004. I guess "every year since 2004" would be more precise.

Baker to Vegas is a 120-mile relay from Baker, California, to Las Vegas, Nevada. My office has fielded a team since 1995. To qualify for the team, you must be one of the top 20 finishers on the qualifier course.

The course is about 5.7 miles, 1.5 uphill. To qualify, you have to run it in about 46-48 minutes. The fastest runners in the office can finish in 35-36 minutes. My threshold the past few years has been 40.

When I first started running, there was something magic and unattainable about a sub-40 qualifier. It seemed to be the mark of "serious" runners in the office.

My first year, I fell far short. My best qualifier was 43:42. I decided I would improve the next year and made 40:04. I planned to break 40 my third year.

Early on my third season, I posted 40:15. I knew that with 3 months to train, I would reach my goal. Of course, a combination of injury and sickness prevented that.

This year, it's been tough to find time for a qualifier. The marathon schedule has interfered. I've also been waiting for the right conditions (cool and overcast), so I can make my goal.

Today I decided, "To hell with the schedule. I'm gonna see how I run." It's lunchtime when I get out. 73 and sunny. Damn. I give up on the sub-40.

I run about a mile-and-a-half warm-up to the start of the course, and I certainly warm up. Time for a heart rate run. 175-180 bpm and see where that puts me.

Go.

First mile: 174 bpm and 6:55. It's warm. Let's see how the next mile goes.

Second mile: High 170s and 7:13. What? My 2-mile landmark must be wrong. Or I must be slow today. I felt like I picked it up that mile.

Third mile: This one's always my Achilles heel. For some reason, I often lose 30 seconds this mile. I don't know why. I need to finish it by 21:00 to break 40. Or is it 20:00? Crap. I wish I kept better track of these things. 6:37. Wow. That mile 2 marker must be wrong.

Fourth mile: start of the uphill. How high do I let the heart rate go? I shouldn't let it go too much over 180. It's not a race. Marathon's in ten days. I switch the watch from split time to total elapsed time. 28:20. It takes me 13-14 minutes from here to the finish. Or is it 12? I'm definitely not making sub-40. I'm not trying to.

Fifth mile (kind of): It's not quite a mile. It's .8 miles of uphill, then almost exactly a mile from the apex of the course to the finish. So it's really the 4.8 mark. I can't remember how long it takes me to get up this hill. I really need to keep better track of these things. I hit the top. 34:04. 34:04? I do know it will take me just over six minutes to get to the finish. So close.

Sixth mile: First half is downhill. Let gravity do the work. Bottom of the hill and on the flat. Don't look at the watch, just run. Okay, I gotta sneak a peek. 38 and change with a quarter-mile to go. Crap this hurts. Don't look down.

Finish-hit-the-button. Look down.

39:58.

OC Half Marathon 1/7/07

My last race was supposed to be a training run. I ran it with a friend, Nick. Nick is younger and faster than I. His youth and speed make him hard to hold back on a training run. We were supposed to run 7:49/mile, but we ran 7:28. Not too much the worse for wear. I matched or set a PR with this half. I didn't even run it as a race. Not bad.

I say matched or set because I'm not sure about my previous PR. Last summer, I ran a half that was so badly organized that the runners were sent about a mile off the course. After we figured out we were lost, we turned around and eventually found the course. Because I wanted to know my time for 13.1 miles, I went back to the starting line and began again. I ran 1:37, but the race's poor organization gives me little confidence that the course was the right length.

At least now it's official. I ran 1:37:46 chip time and 1:38:22 from the gun. A legitimate PR. I can't wait for this marathon.