3:55 am – alarm goes off to Kelly Clarkson with another alarm set for 4:00 am to the tune of John Mayer.
3:58 am – Em’s alarm goes off and says, “honey, did you sleep in past your alarm”?
4:12 am – Hot shower goes on
4:25 am – Em comes in to see what’s taking me so long to get out the door. I think she should run part of the race to ease her stress levels. She really does stress over the race more than I do.
4:40 am – We board shuttle van to go to bus loading area. No salt packets to be found. Start eating banana and bagel and we notice that it’s raining outside.
4:50 am – Go to Rec Center to meet anyone else (Adam, Spencer, and Taylor). John’s brother and sister are there and while John is in the “can”, they tell us how as a kid he used to have to take all (read = ALL) his clothes off to go to the bathroom. Matt goes in as well and confirms a lot of clothes are hanging over the stall door.
4:57 am – Head to find a bus to board and wonder how long the rain will last.
5:05 am – On the way up the canyon. Started eating Powerbar and finished last of water. The buses windshield wipers are going the whole way up.
6:02 am – Step off bus to see rain pouring down in flood lights. I tucked my clothes bad into my hat so rain stays off my head. I was glad I was with John and Matt because I didn’t know that our green #’s got us into the “elite” runner’s area. Instead of 30 people in one line for the potty, there were 3. I sat in there for a while each time to stay out of the rain.
6:37 am – Over the loudspeaker it is announced to have “John Stockton approach the aid station, not the John you’re thinking of though”. It is later confirmed this was Matt’s doing. I don’t care what you say, it’s still funny. It brought quite a few funny looks when it was announced that Steve Young was running the Salt Lake Marathon last April.
6:45 am – The wheelchairs take off. It’s announced that the clothing bag bus will wait to leave until 6:55 am. It doesn’t really matter as the only thing that’s dry are my socks at this point. I had to low-ride my pants to keep the shoes covered. And that won’t last much longer at the rate this rain is coming down.
7:00 am – It’s a go, only took us 22 seconds to get to the start line. It’s really raining now that we’re not grouped so tightly together. First mile check and we’re doing about 7:45 per mile. I wondered if we’re going to slow. Someone says take it easy the first few miles. I think we can’t waste the downhill and I start going at 1.5.
Mile 3 – I can see reflections off the puddles in the road and start to run on the lane markers so I’m not in puddles. I then go to edge of road because I’m getting splashed from other runners going through the puddles.
Mile 4 – Forgot about some of these little uphill sections, can’t see the motorcycle caravan for the race leaders anymore.
Mile 5 – Getting in a groove and found out I’m ahead of the 3:10 pacer with the red/white balloons. I stopped to visit little boys room (by room, I mean a sagebrush just past the aid station) and as I came back onto the road the pace group passed me. They were cruising. In fact, someone next to me said they were going at about a 6:45 pace so I let them go ahead thinking I could catch them after the hill at Veyo.
Mile 7 – Just came down the big hill through the town of Veyo. Hit the aid station and heading up the hill. I can see the pace balloons just in front of me so I figure I’m in good shape.
Mile 8 – Looked at my watch and saw 12:-- so I must have missed the mile 8 marker.
Mile 9 – 16:14 to do 2 miles including the hill. Slowed to eat my 1st GU and visit little boys room. I can still see the 3:10 balloons in front of me. As I walk back onto the highway I realize the sloshing of water in my socks. Good thing they’re the totally boss Ironman socks from WRC. I guess there’s no point trying to avoid the puddles. In case you’re wondering…it’s still pouring. In fact, a guy next to me said it would be nice to be up with the pace group so we don’t have to battle this wind on our own. Good call, time to reel them in.
Mile 11 – Still climbing up Dammeron Valley, barely under 8 minutes, and yes – it’s still raining.
Mile 13.1 (Halfway point) – Finally past the uphill grade. I can see the 3:10 balloon ahead of me as I come to the aid station. I decided to have a bite of banana and I can see the halfway clock coming too. It reads 1:40:05 as I pass, which means I have to do a negative split of 10 minutes. That’s runner-speak for running the 2nd half faster than the first half. Fairly tough since you are more tired at the end and tend to slow down a bit, but not at STG, the 2nd half is when the “bottom drops out”. I will have to run the end in 1:30:00 (that’s an average of 6:52 per mile!), thus a 10 minute negative split.
Mile 14 – I see the balloons go around a bend but I’m stuck in between groups with no protection from the wind. I keep thinking of David Millar on a day in the Tour de France when he got stuck between to echelons (riders form columns across the road or side-by-side instead of in a strait line when the wind is blowing sideways) and for about 400 yards his heart rate was at 95% as he battled to fight both the head wind and the cross breeze. Anyway, I start to think if I can catch a little group ahead of me I can draft behind them until just past 15 when the hills really start.
Mile 15 – I can see Dan Smith ahead of me and I end up passing him right past 15. We chat for a second (as much as you can chat when running a marathon) and I mention we need to catch the balloons. He responds, “I gave up on that miles ago”. Not me, “good luck Dan, see you at the finish”.
Mile 16 – Here’s the lookout viewpoint that spectators can come to. People are spread out for almost half a mile. Right towards the end I hear a woman’s voice say my name. As I turn around to try and see who it is, all I see are two ladies who look to be in their 60’s. Guess I’ll add being hit by seniors to my list of accomplishments. Turns out it was Sherry Dalton and her sister (Dick’s wife) watching for all of us. J
Mile 18 – There’s a slight uphill as you go towards an overpass along some new subdivisions. I fell in behind this guy who was cruising and literally let him ‘pull’ me up the hill. Right at the top he slowed down to have a GU or something and I thanked him (silently of course, there’s too much energy involved in speaking out loud) and took off for the hills.
Mile 19 – I’ve needed to make a pit stop for quite a while now. I grabbed some Gatorade and went over to the edge of the road. I noticed my watch said 55.39 seconds as I come back on the road. That pit stop could have meant the difference.
Mile 20-ish – Just past this is where the “bottom falls out”. My slowest mile split from here on out is 7:10, flying for me especially at the end of the race. This is where the real race starts for a marathon. They say your body can store enough glycogen (sugar in muscles and kidneys – otherwise known as fuel) to get you about 20 miles, so now is about where people tend to hit the “wall” and run out of gas. I’ve done this both physically and mentally (both different types of bonking) and it’s no fun to have gone so far and have so little left to do. Today is a different story though. I put it in perspective for myself, only a 10k left or 6.2 miles. What’s my fastest 10k time? Like 40 – 42 minutes or so. I’m at 2:28:30 now, so 42 minutes equals …….(wait for it)……. (is the anticipation building)……… (here it comes) ……. 3:10:30. Technically I need 3:10:59 and I’ll qualify, but 30 seconds isn’t much of a cushion. And my pace guide says I’m 3 min 30 sec behind. RUN!
Mile 23 – We’re basically at the bottom of the hills and the first stop light is just ahead. I can’t see the 3:10 balloons at all, but I’ve been ‘chasing’ a girl with a pink top (no one else had pink so she was easy to keep an eye on, that and she was fast enough I never caught her) who’s not too far in front of me.
Mile 24 – We turn off the highway and onto Diagonal Street. Funny thing, there’s the PVC pipe contraption of mist-ers runners can run under to get cooled off. Of course, no one’s runner through them as it’s still pouring on us. I see I’m at 2:56:13 (only 2 minutes off my pace guide – I’ve made up 2 minutes in 4 miles!) which leaves me 14 minutes to run 2.2 miles. It’s going to be close.
Mile 25 – There are volunteers handing out wet washcloths (to drop water on your head and wipe sweat off your face) and runners are actually taking them. Do they not notice the rain falling on your head to cool you off and clean off any sweat? I actually start to feel kind of warm and I take off my jacket and tie it around my waist. One girl in front of me slows down and starts to walk. As I get up to her I say, “don’t slow down now, we’ve got less than a mile”. I don’t have energy or time to say to her, but here’s my situation. At the 25 marker I was at 3:03:11, so I have just under 8 minutes to go 1.2 miles. This will be freakin’ close.
Mile 26 – The marker is right before the last turn of the course, a sharp 90 degree left hand turn. Normally this wouldn’t be tough, but when you’ve been going straight for 26 miles, suddenly going sideways can be taxing. I take the turn wide and pass a guy right afterwards. I saw I was at 3:10:01, which leaves 59 seconds to go .2 miles. I don’t want to look anymore so I just sprint for all I’m worth. This is the longest .2 miles I have ever seen. I split time looking for Em behind the ropes and count people who haven’t started their sprint yet. I motioned to Em that I’m close. I actually feel good, usually I’m praying no one notices how bad my cramps are or pray the cramps subside so I can look somewhat photogenic at the ‘glory moment’. I bet I passed 30 people on that stretch; no one wanted to beat the clock more than me.
Finish line – Now I can see the gate of balloons…and the clock L It’s at 3:11:2- something. The last 20 yards or so I let up in somewhat of anguish mixed with sadness and regret. No pain, just the feeling of being SO CLOSE. I remember untying my jacket and kind of throwing it to the ground as it came off around my waist and then getting my picture taken right as I walked through the finish line. I wondered later what I looked like in the picture.
Finishing area – The stopping has stopped blood flow too, and I can barely move my legs. I’m not in any real pain, I just literally feel like my legs don’t move. I try to get some bread and something to drink, but quickly realize I’m not ready to eat anything. I go to put on my jacket and then just lay on my stomach for a minute or two to try and grasped the gravity of what happened.
Now I’m getting cold. I see someone with a blanket so I walk over to the tent thinking it’s a finishing area, turns out it’s the First Aid tent. Someone hands me a blanket and a Gatorade and I notice a couple people on cots with IV’s, youch. Then John’s calling my name and I see he’s on a cot with someone rubbing ice on his calf. He pulled a 3:20:--. That’s amazing because he hadn’t run the last week and a half with plantar fasciitis.
After I sat in the first aid tent for a minute or two drying off and trying to get warm I realize I better go find everyone. One of the cool things at St. George is they have a tent where volunteers have these wands where they can scan your chip and a little machine spits out your time on a label. Here’s the moment of truth. It comes out 3:11:33. Literally I was 34 seconds too slow or 1.8 seconds per mile. Two weeks ago I set a new personal record (PR) of 8 minutes faster than my previous best. Now today I beat that by 7 minutes. For a year I’ve wondered if I could take off 15 minutes, and I whittled it down to 34 seconds. Yet it doesn’t satisfy at the moment.
I guess the one satisfaction I can take is with the Grand Slam. Technically I was 2nd in my age group, but the guy who was first was first overall…so I move up and become first in my age group (20 – 29). There were only 4 in my age group that finished so at first I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Then Matt reminded me of a detail that really put the feat of running 6 marathons in one year. He asked me how many started out (including John and Matt) attempting the Grand Slam – answer, like 50 or 60. How many finished (including John and Matt – oh, they didn’t finish) – answer, like 30. So finishing first in my age group in an event where only 5 people even completed the race is a pretty daunting task. Daunting enough to not know if I want to do it again, but rewarding enough to go after those dang 34 seconds!
