I think I need to invent the three-quarter marathon. Half marathons are popular, but for those who want to step up to the full, there’s no interim event. Running 13.1 miles is hard enough, but doing it twice is ridiculous. The preparation is intense, filled with increasing double digit mileage training runs over the course of a few months. It’s exhausting work. I think an official 19.65 mile event — the mid-point between 13.1 and 26.2 — would be a useful milestone for the aspiring long distance runner. It would provide great validation and positive reinforcement, and, more importantly, it would give me a chance to get more race swag without ever having to run another full marathon. Last Sunday, I realized that twenty miles is my limit.
Sunday was the day of the Capital City Marathon. It was my seventh marathon overall, and the second time I’ve run in that particular event. This time, along with my running partner, Sally, I was participating as an official five hour pacer, which means I was responsible for holding a steady pace for anyone who was hoping to finish in five hours. As it turned out, I was, in reality, the pacer for those who were hoping to finish in five hours and seventeen minutes. Ugh.
The run started great with overcast skies, a gentle rain, and an ambient air temperature of 55º. While most people think that weather is ideal for staying inside, runners recognize those are Goldilocks conditions for a 26.2 mile journey: not too hot, not too cold, just right. Wearing bright yellow singlets and taking turns holding a wooden dowel topped with a yellow sign that read “PACER 5:00,” we were mobile beacons for other runners. Our pace was steady, and we hit our split times as planned. At the halfway point, we had banked about two extra minutes, which was part of our strategy, knowing that the dreaded Eastside hill was lurking at mile twenty-two. The Capital City course designers have a sadistic bent that led them to decide a mile-and-a-half uphill stretch in the last quarter of the race would be a delightful punishment for weary runners. It was our intent to walk most of that hill, and the extra time we saved would be cashed in on that awfully inclined stretch of pavement. In the end, I did walk up Eastside hill, but I did it without Sally. My wheels came off at mile twenty, and I asked Sally’s forgiveness as I handed her the yellow pacer sign. She was understanding and reminded me to take off my yellow singlet so I wouldn’t mislead anyone who might be inclined to follow me, only to discover I was guilty of false advertising. She continued on at a steady eleven minutes and twenty-six seconds per mile, while I shifted into first gear and walked at something closer to a fourteen minute per mile pace.
It was a depressing moment. I had every intention of finishing at the appointed time, but when we crossed the twenty mile marker, I was done. I had nothing left physically or mentally to carry me forward at the expected pace. My slower rate of travel gave me a lot of time to reflect.
I thought about those first twenty miles and was astonished at how unfamiliar the course seemed. I had completed this marathon three years ago, but it all seemed new. I had certainly forgotten about all the hills along the way. I had also forgotten how lonely the stretch from mile four to twenty is. Those miles are located largely out in the country, and for most of them, Sally and I were running by ourselves. We weren’t exactly the Pied Pipers of Hamelin, as there were no rats, children, or runners interested in a strict five hour marathon pace. It was just the two of us, and after fifteen miles, we were out of things to talk about. We were left with the sounds of our footfalls and breathing. Regardless, I don’t think a scintillating conversation would have bolstered my spirits enough to overcome the enervation I felt at mile twenty.
I thought about the other people on the course, few and far between as they were. As I walked up Eastside hill, I came across a woman who had started an hour and a half earlier than the rest of us, because she knew she would be walking most of it, and the race organizers accommodated her. She told me she was recovering from a bad cold and facing up to the fact she hadn’t trained enough, but she was still there. Later that day, I saw her at the finish. By my math, she had spent about seven hours on the course. One could argue that she was very slow, but I think she was the embodiment of perseverance and determination. Very slow and very cool.
I thought about failure, and I rejected the idea completely. While it was incontrovertible that I had failed to maintain the five hour pace, I was not a failure. It took a little longer than I planned, but I still finished my seventh marathon. I was disappointed I let down Sally, but I was proud of myself.
I also thought about the wall I hit at the twenty mile mark. Reflecting on my training, and further back into my marathon memory, I couldn’t remember a time when I was still having fun running after crossing the twentieth mile. With that data in mind, I think I need to officially retire from running full marathons. Of course, I’ve said that before, so I’ll never say never. For example, if someone gave me the chance to run in the Boston Marathon — the Super Bowl of marathons — I would do it in a heartbeat, even if I had to walk up Heartbreak Hill, conveniently located at mile twenty. Aside from that, I don’t plan to run any more full marathons. It’s sublime to cross the finish line, but I don’t have a lot left to prove. In fact, I’ve got nothing to prove. Running marathons doesn’t make you amazing, but working hard and seeing things through is pretty cool, even if you have to take off your metaphorical yellow pacing singlet along the way.
I bet running three quarters of a marathon would be pretty cool, too. I can picture the finisher’s medal now, in the shape of a pie with a quarter slice taken out and the words “Just 6.55 Miles Short of Greatness” printed on the back. You have to have a sense of humor about these things.