Fast forward to race day, a cold snowy March morning on the Biltmore grounds. I'm getting geared up outside my car listening to The Gambler on the radio. A runner again. I'm feeling confident in a low or sub 3hr finish time. Mostly due to some recent early season 5 and 10k races that have gone much better than expected. Training has been adequate, but not perfect, primarily due to a cranky left foot and only one twenty plus mile long run. Low volume training for a marathon, but I tell myself that doesn't matter because I've got a few years of ultras and high volume running under my belt. In my mind I'm visualizing the last miles of the days race , picturing myself relaxed and fast; mostly just trying not to get too caught up with pre race anxiety.
The race is delayed to 7:15, and we finally take off eager to generate some body heat. It's predictable early on. A pack of about 5 front runners, a pack of 5 chasing the front runners. We spread out by mile 6 and I'm on the tail end of the front runners. Mile 11 the guy in sixth position steps to the porta-john and I move up a spot. Mostly alone, feeling good. I hit the 13.1 mark in 1:28:00, perfect for maybe dropping the hammer on the final flat miles and gaining a position or two late. My quads are a little fatigued, but no more than I'd expect. I have mentioned that it was cold, but not how much. Temps were low 20's with the wind chill somewhere in the low teens. With that being said, the only guess for what happened next is maybe mild hypothermia. Near mile 16, I zombie ran off the course by about a quarter of a mile. I stood confused and disgusted at a gravel cul de sac a few moments and decide there is nowhere to go but back. Positions 7 and 8 had just passed me prior to getting off track, position nine scooted by as I retook the course. Things were going to hell. My left foot started aching, then I started to favor it heavily, and then in some sort of spiral effect my right butt cheek and hip felt like it was being ripped off. I also realized I couldn't feel fingers or toes. I've been in bad spots before, I told myself to keep digging, knowing eventually I'd come out on the other side. But I never did.
Near mile 19 you get funneled back in with runners only a few miles behind. They ran by me like I was some lost walker just getting in their way. A guy in an angry birds beanie, old guys, women... all of which I ate their dust. This is when I decided to just endure the cold, slow down, and have as much fun as I could. The rest of the run I treated like any other day, not a race. I congratulated and rooted for people when they passed, shot the breeze with aid station volunteers. Stopped and ate numerous aid stations cookies.
Eventually I crossed the finish line in 3:30, not feeling any of the normal accomplishment or excitement that usually accompanies finishing a race of this distance. My only feelings were ones of relief that it was over and that I didn't have to take the shuttle back to the start. So to say this was no glorious return to the world of marathoning would be a gross understatement. What I will say about this race is that it reminded me that running can always surprise you, no matter how much or for how long you've been doing it. That what you think will be routine may, for better or worse, be nothing at all like what you expect. It's exciting to know that every time you toe the line at a race you may be in for a dose of either agony or nirvana.
The race is delayed to 7:15, and we finally take off eager to generate some body heat. It's predictable early on. A pack of about 5 front runners, a pack of 5 chasing the front runners. We spread out by mile 6 and I'm on the tail end of the front runners. Mile 11 the guy in sixth position steps to the porta-john and I move up a spot. Mostly alone, feeling good. I hit the 13.1 mark in 1:28:00, perfect for maybe dropping the hammer on the final flat miles and gaining a position or two late. My quads are a little fatigued, but no more than I'd expect. I have mentioned that it was cold, but not how much. Temps were low 20's with the wind chill somewhere in the low teens. With that being said, the only guess for what happened next is maybe mild hypothermia. Near mile 16, I zombie ran off the course by about a quarter of a mile. I stood confused and disgusted at a gravel cul de sac a few moments and decide there is nowhere to go but back. Positions 7 and 8 had just passed me prior to getting off track, position nine scooted by as I retook the course. Things were going to hell. My left foot started aching, then I started to favor it heavily, and then in some sort of spiral effect my right butt cheek and hip felt like it was being ripped off. I also realized I couldn't feel fingers or toes. I've been in bad spots before, I told myself to keep digging, knowing eventually I'd come out on the other side. But I never did.
Near mile 19 you get funneled back in with runners only a few miles behind. They ran by me like I was some lost walker just getting in their way. A guy in an angry birds beanie, old guys, women... all of which I ate their dust. This is when I decided to just endure the cold, slow down, and have as much fun as I could. The rest of the run I treated like any other day, not a race. I congratulated and rooted for people when they passed, shot the breeze with aid station volunteers. Stopped and ate numerous aid stations cookies.
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| How it looks on paper |
Eventually I crossed the finish line in 3:30, not feeling any of the normal accomplishment or excitement that usually accompanies finishing a race of this distance. My only feelings were ones of relief that it was over and that I didn't have to take the shuttle back to the start. So to say this was no glorious return to the world of marathoning would be a gross understatement. What I will say about this race is that it reminded me that running can always surprise you, no matter how much or for how long you've been doing it. That what you think will be routine may, for better or worse, be nothing at all like what you expect. It's exciting to know that every time you toe the line at a race you may be in for a dose of either agony or nirvana.
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| What a day |
More photos at Carolina Snapshot
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