Race Report: Madison Half Marathon

In which I am thoroughly humbled...

The Madison Half Marathon was a day of firsts for me.

• First DNF


• First ride on the SAG wagon


• First trip to the medical tents


• First field-style IV

What happened? I thought that since I race 13.1 every chance I get, that it wouldn't be a big deal for me to run one - even under bad circumstances. I was wrong.

I woke up that morning after a bad night's sleep, with my stomach cramping, feeling lousy. I felt so bad that I could only eat a few bites of my breakfast. Still, I got dressed and ready for the race, despite feeling sick and knowing that it was going to be an unseasonably hot and humid day.

Not smart.

Steve and my uncle dropped me off at the starting line and I was immediately sick. Steve came and talked to me, basically waiting to hear why in the blue hell I would still want to run the race. I convinced him that I was "probably okay," and that I actually felt better after having thrown up. This is sometimes the case - maybe I could have risked going to the office that day, but again, running 13.1 miles in really hot conditions? Not my best decision.

I tried to soak in the festive atmosphere. The marathoners started their race 20 minutes prior, and the course took them through the area where we 13.1'ers were gathered. That was very cool - watching them run was inspiring and exciting, and naturally we cheered for them like crazy. After they passed, it was time to line up.

I still didn't feel good and vowed to race carefully - run slowly, take walk breaks as needed, and get in plenty of fluids. I had already taken a walk break before the first mile and was running at the edge of the course in case I had to duck off to get sick. Not a good sign.

At mile 2, I wanted to switch from sipping on the Gatorade I had in my Fuel Belt to water. It was hot, I was feeling rough, and grabbing two cups of water felt like a good choice. The water made my stomach feel sloshy and even worse than it already did. A bad cramp seized me, and I found a semi-secluded parking lot where I tried unsuccessfully to get sick.

Running made my stomach feel worse, and I was starting to feel weak from the stomach cramps, lack of food, and the heat (already approaching 80 degrees before 9:00 AM). I made a tough decision: walk to the next aid station, then drop out of the race.

I have never, ever quit a race in the 25 years I have been a runner. It felt absolutely terrible to have to say, "No, I cannot do this. I am not strong enough, and I cannot fight through this. I cannot finish what I started, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot do this thing I have been looking forward to for months." It sucked, and I felt miserable... and still sick.

I saw a volunteer on a bike and flagged him down like I was hailing a cab. I told him that I was sick and couldn't finish the race. He calmly led me to a shady area, and as he was about to radio for support, a marathoner joined us. Her name was Tiffany, and she was dehydrated and needed to drop out as well. Volunteer Steve gave me cold water and Tiffany a bottle of Gatorade from his saddle bag and assured us that there was no shame in dropping out on a day like that.

A few minutes later, a medic on a bike joined us. He said he'd wait for the SAG wagon with us, so the bike volunteer moved on to see who he could help next. The medic checked our blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. He found my pulse to be a little weak and Tiffany's a little fast, so he kept checking us to make sure we weren't deteriorating.

While I wasn't trying unsuccessfully to be sick, I talked to Tiffany. As you can imagine, it was a bonding experience. She was running her first marathon and had been kicking ass before she started to feel so terrible, running at a 3:15 finishing pace and hoping for a BQ. As you can imagine, she was heartbroken at having to quit. I assured her that she could still do it, just not that day. It was the first hot day we've had, and not having trained in hot weather made the race much harder than it could have been. I suggested she look at a fall marathon for her BQ and hope for better weather. There will be other races.

The SAG wagon arrived after an hour. The driver apparently had been quite busy picking up fallen runners around the course and was having trouble navigating all of the roads closed for the race. She finally got us to the medical tent.

At this point, I was feeling really bad. I was hot, dizzy, weak, and my stomach was killing me. I was also depressed - the medical tent was right at the finish line, so I had to watch runners crossing the finish line looking happy and collecting their finishing medals. I would not get and did not deserve one of those medals and would not get to feel the amazing accomplishment that comes every time you cross the finish line.

In the tent, doctors and nurses quickly got me settled in. The gave me a bottle of water, put a bag of ice under my neck, checked my vital signs, and asked me questions about how I was feeling. Dr. Smith asked how long it had been since I was sick (hours at that point) and since I'd had anything to drink (also hours at that point). He said I needed to get some fluids in me and suggested that I either try drinking some water, or they'd just give me an IV. I said I'd try for the water and see how it went. He agreed that was a good decision.

Like so many things for me that day, that didn't work out for me. A few minutes later, I was dramatically sick. Dr. Smith calmly said, "Okay, an IV it is," and sent a nurse over to hook me up. Not surprisingly, she had trouble getting a vein because I was so dehydrated and admitted that there was more blood than she would have liked. My race team singlet now has blood stains to remind me of this day.

The IV had me starting to feel better. Other things that made me feel better were learning that the course conditions were so bad that the race director called the race 4 hours in. That lots of other runners had to quit as well. And the point that one of the doctors made, which was that although it was unfortunate that I couldn't finish this race, what was really important from a health standpoint wasn't the race, but all of the training I'd put in.

With the hydration of two IV bags came some clarity. I should never take my ability to run - at any distance - as a given. No matter how well conditioned I am, some days my body is just not going to cooperate, and I have to be able to accept that. And the reason I can accept that is that any single race is not the be all, end all of my running experience. As the doctor said, what's important from the point of view of my health is my training. I love the challenge and accomplishment of racing, but there will always be another race. Tiffany will finish her first marathon, and someday, she will qualify for Boston. I will race my next pikermi ("half marathon") in a few months, and when I do, I'll get to the line feeling healthy and knowing that I can finish the race strong.

Steve arrived to take me home just as I was realizing my other important lesson: the doctors who volunteer at medical tents at major races are, across the board, really hot. I am grateful for the humility and perspective this lousy experience has given to me. I am grateful that my husband will be there for me to hold my hand when I'm feeling sick. I am grateful to the volunteers who helped me - the guy on the bike, the medic, the woman who drove the SAG wagon, the nurse who gave me my IV, Dr. Hot Asian Guy, Dr. Abercrombie and Fitch Model, and Dr. Seth Meyers Only Even Hotter. I will be back, and I will be smarter.

Race Report: Quad Cities Distance Classic

Mother's Day was the third time I have run the Quad Cities Distance Classic, and the race has always been good to me. In 2008, it was my first ever pikermi (race of 13.1 miles, for the uninitiated), and despite some of the worst running weather nature could invent, gave me a time of 2:05 that made me very proud. In 2009, I had a perfect running day. Everything came together for me, and I ran a PR of 1:56:51.

I had high hopes for this year's race. I have just come off running a hard-earned personal worst of 2:10 at the Lincoln Memorial Race and knew I could do better. If I got to the starting line healthy and rested, I should be able to blast that bad time away.

Then, work heated up in a way that's very good, but very busy at the same time. I spent the past week waking up, grabbing a cup of coffee, and immediately sitting down at my computer to get in an hour or so of work before time to leave for the office. I'd work steadily, eating food of sporadic nutritional value, then come home and work some more.

Still I thought I had it under control (ish) until Thursday. I was in a meeting and had more and more changes piled up on the project I was working on, making it more and more clear that I was going to have to stay up very late to get it all done before going in to work on Friday. "That's fine," I told my boss, "But have you all forgotten that I have a race to run on Sunday? This is going to cost me a PR." Sure enough, Thursday saw me working all day, taking a break to volunteer to stuff race packets, then coming home to work until 2:00 AM, grab 4 hours of sleep, then work over coffee at 6:00. Not the best way to get ready for a big race.

I slept well on Friday and Saturday, then Sunday brought fantastic weather for running - cool and sunny. I ran over the course several times in my head, thinking about how I would tackle each section of the familiar miles, and picturing my goals.

Gold: 2:00
Silver: 2:05
Bronze: Beat the Lincoln Memorial time of 2:10

With a tough week of work tempered with ambition and good running weather, I felt reasonably assure of a silver - but set Paula Garmin to lead me to a gold.

Just like last year, and despite my repeatedly reminding myself to relax, I zipped through the first mile too fast, coming in at 8:35. In miles 2 and 3 I got on pace, clocking in 9:06 and 9:04.

I sped up at mile 4, thanks to a sweet downhill - 8:54 - and apparently let it carry me for another mile of 8:54.

The middle miles of the course take you from a dicey neighborhood to a park and a path by the river. It's scenic, but challenging for me. You don't have the thrill of "I just started" and have not yet hit the great "almost finished" feeling. I ran those miles trying to relax and focus.

Mile 6: 9:07
Mile 7: 9:11
Mile 8: 9:19
Mile 9: 9:11

It was at mile 9 that I started to feel really tired. With only four miles to go, I started bargaining with myself. I should absolutely hold on until 10, and I didn't want to run after 12. I decided that at mile 11, it would be okay to take a short walk break. Until then, I bribed myself with music and jelly beans.

When I got to the 11 mile mark, I started to walk and, as Ron Burgundy says in Anchorman, "I immediately regret this decision!" As soon as I started to walk, I realized in a way I hadn't before just how dead tired my legs were. If I had just kept running, I don't think it would have been so apparent. I picked a curve in the road ahead and willed myself to run again when I hit it.

Then I looked at my watch and realized that if I kept a reasonable pace, I could still finish in 2 hours.

"Just hold on," I told myself. "Just hold on."

I passed a volunteer who was clearly a fellow runner. Instead of just saying, "You look great! You're almost there!" he said, "Pick the person in front of you, pull on them, and pass them. Then get the next one." Hey, that's some advice I could use! I started to do just that when my iPod kicked on my favorite running song, "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers. It was perfectly timed, with the lyrics, "If you can hold on. If you can, hold on."

I held on. Up a short hill, around a corner, and through a parking lot, heading to the track, I held on. Once I got to the track, I knew I'd be fine.

Sure enough, Steve and Jack were right there, cheering for me like crazy. I handed Steve my Fuel Belt Batgirl Running Utility Belt and he grabbed it as smoothly as if we'd been practicing. Jack yelled, "HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY" and I turned the corner. There, my mom and stepdad were waiting, a very nice surprise.

I chicked a guy ahead of me and sprinted to the finish. Dale, the race director, called out my name as I crossed the line.

The result? 2:00:54. Gold medal finish!

Inspiration is everywhere

Running my personal worst time for a pikermi (also known as a half marathon) should have me feeling down. But the fact of the matter is, it felt great to get out there and race hard, no matter what the end result.

The experience has inspired me to train harder for my next pikermi, which is on May 9. I'm adding more speedwork, plus hills every other week. Predictably, this has been kicking my butt... though in a good way! Then on Sunday, I ran with my running club and totally rocked out a ten miler.

I'm being realistic - I know that a PR might not be in the cards for me this spring... but it could happen in the fall. I am just happy to be training hard.

In the meantime, I have a 5K to run on Saturday, one I haven't done before. There is a kids' race as well. I signed Jack up, since not only does my boy love to race, but it's free for kids. Can't say no to that. Jack's race is a half mile, which will be the longest he's raced before.

When I registered Jack, I had every confidence that he could run 1/2 a mile... but that it might not be pretty. Like any kid, Jack isn't exactly the best at pacing himself. He likes to go out running like a maniac, arms waving wildly, which is not your best long distance strategy.

So, last night, Jack and I went to the track together so that he could see what half a mile feels like. Sure enough, he raced out as fast as he could, then slowed down a lot after the first 100 meters. He'd slow down, then surge over and over again. At the end, I think he understood that for a distance that long, a bit of strategy is important.

We took a water break, then Jack begged me to let him run another half mile. I said okay, but only if he'd run my pace, then kick it in when I told him to, no sooner. Jack ran with me at a more comfortable speed, with a few reminders to run relaxed and strong. With 100 meters to go, Jack kicked it around the final curve, happily crossing the finish line.

Living with someone who takes such joy in running, how can I not feel excited about hitting the track myself? That's my plan for tonight, and I am going to love every minute of it.

Race Report: Lincoln Memorial Half Marathon

Let's get this out of the way first of all: I ran the Lincoln Memorial Half Marathon (Pikermi/Trisko/13.1) in 2:10:31, scoring a new official Personal Worst at the distance... and am very happy with how I ran.

From the beginning, I knew this race wasn't going to be a PR. My stress fracture last fall scared me, and I've been very cautious about easing my way back into training. Not only have I been devoted to the 10% rule, but I have also been careful about not upping the intensity too much. I want to run faster, but more than anything, I want to run. If it takes a while to get back into the shape that let me PR last spring, so be it.

The week prior to the race, I hit another stumbling block: the first beautiful days of spring. You'd think this would be good news, but not for me. Those first beautiful days of spring mean my allergies are at their absolute worst. Despite drugging myself within an inch of my life, I couldn't breathe, couldn't sleep, and felt dry headed and miserable for the four days before the race. It was to the point that I was blowing my nose so often, it started to chafe. (FYI: Body Glide helps with this, too.)

So, let's just say that when I toed the line, I wasn't feeling like a million bucks. I felt like about a buck fifty. Instead of having a time goal, I decided to have an effort goal. And that goal was based on my new hat. Check it out:



It's from Endorphin Warrior (not compensating me in any way for promoting them, not that I'd mind if they did!) and I love it. The message is RELENTLESS but because of the colors of the letters, it also tells you to RELENT LESS. I was determined in this race to give it everything I had and to relent less.

So, the race is in Springfield, Illinois, and pretty much everything is all about Abraham Lincoln. The race course goes past a number of Lincoln sites - the Lincoln home, the new library and museum, the old and new State Capitol buildings, and Lincoln's tomb. An actor portraying Lincoln started us off with an in-character speech, then a group dressed as Union soldiers fired their rifles to start. The course was very pretty and well marked. It got challenging at the end as the formerly flat course turned hilly. I started to get worn out, but I kept remembering my goal: RELENT LESS.

When I crossed the finish line, I knew I'd left everything I had on the course. 2:10:31 was my slowest ever time, but it was also the absolute best I could have done on that day, and that is an accomplishment I can be proud of.

To mark my accomplishment? A finisher's medal shaped like a giant penny. What better momento could you ask for?

13.1 Miles and Semantics

Run 13.1 miles and you'll find yourself searching for the right words to describe the experience. "Half marathon" seems really inadequate; running a 13.1 mile race is an accomplishment, not half of an accomplishment. Plenty of runners have been batting around alternative names for a race of 13.1 miles. I have favored "trisko," a play on the fear of the number 13.

Last week, I was standing at the starting line of the St. Patrick's Day 5K, and I noticed the t-shirt a woman in front of me was wearing. It declared that she was a member of Team Pikermi and had this picture on it:



I was intrigued enough to hit my computer pretty much as soon as I got home to learn more. Sure enough, Team Pikermi is a group of runners who are enthusiastic about the 13.1 mile distance, but think it needs a better name. And I am not afraid to admit, the name Pikermi is much cooler than trisko.

Why?

Because Pikermi, Greece is midway between Athens and Marathon. Pikermi, as a name, has the same historic significance as Marathon does for the 26.2 mile distance. I like to think that when Phedippides hit Pikermi, he was still feeling pretty good. Maybe he had some Gu, checked his Garmin, and thought he'd be in great shape after 13.1 more miles - we've all had that feeling. I can also say with confidence that if old Phedipp had finished his run in Pikermi, not only would he not have collapsed and died at the finish line, but he would have felt just fine after a shower and a good lunch.

I challenge my fellow lovers of 13.1 miles to join Team Pikermi and help give this distance the respect it deserves.

I ran into a different semantic debate about running 13.1 miles last week, with my husband. We were getting ready for bed, and he asked, as he often does on Saturday nights, "How long are you running tomorrow?" I told him 13.1 miles.

"But... that's a half marathon!"

"Well," I explained, "My training program has me at 13, so I like to throw in that extra .1 for fun."

Steve was astonished. "You're running a half marathon tomorrow."

"No, I'm running a half marathon distance tomorrow. It's not a half marathon," I said.

"What's the difference? That there are no guys in yellow vests telling you which way to turn?"

"I guess that's part of it," I said. "I also didn't pay any money for this, don't have a bib number, no official timer, no race director, no t-shirt, no one else runnign it with me, the course hasn't been certified..."

"Whatever," Steve responded. "You're running a half marathon tomorrow."

As I turned out the light, I muttered, "Half marathon distance."