Marathon #2 is complete.
I got just over three hours of sleep on the night prior, but I think that I was so nervous that it didn't phase me mentally or physically. All that I wanted while waiting in my corral from 6:00AM until the 7:30AM gun was to find the 3:45 pacer (I'll refer to him as "Stick") and stay glued to the back of his feet. That would mean maintaining an 8:35 pace for 26.2 miles.
Just before 7:30AM, Thunderstruck blared from the speakers lining Broad Street in Columbus. I really don't like AC/DC, but Thunderstruck is so awesome that the feeling of nervousness was exchanged for pumped-up-ness. Then there were awesome fireworks, which got me even more excited--what kind of lamebot doesn't love explosives?
And then they played some Bruce Springsteen. "Born to Run" is nowhere near as awesome as "Thunderstruck," but I got the reference and accepted it.
And we were off. I did some bobbing and weaving to maintain close proximity to Stick. Spectators for this race were exceptional from the start, cheering us on as "3:45." I felt awesome and according to said spectators, I looked awesome. Quite a few of them were wearing Ohio University gear, so I called out a lot of "Go, Bobcats!" At one point, another runner close behind me roared a nice "OU! Oh yeah!," which got me a little carried away and ahead of Stick. I always pulled myself back.
Mile 1: 8:44
2: 8:26
3: 8:28
4: 8:26
5: 8:22
6: 8:23
I think it was in mile 7, right before taking my first Clif Shot, that I asked Stick about our pace. I knew that we were supposed to maintain 8:35, and nearly 15 seconds faster than that is pretty significant for a pace group. Stick told me not to worry and that I shouldn't trust the instantaneous pace on my Garmin. I was skeptical, but didn't argue because I was feeling good. I killed a chocolate Clif Shot just before gliding through a water station to wash it down. I was still feeling awesome. So awesome that when I saw a member of my training group who was running the half about 200 feet ahead of me, I decided that it was a good idea to haul ass and catch up with him. After all, it was mile 12.5 and it would be my only chance to say "hey" before he finished his first half marathon. I gave a little pep talk, then pulled myself back to Stick again.
7: 8:31
8: 8:36
9: 8:16
10: 8:33
11: 8:20
12: 8:35
We hit the halfway point and were finally at our goal pace. I was feeling a little beat from using all of that gas to catch up with the guy from the training group, so I perked myself up a bit by busting out a quick "Whoa, we're halfway there! WHOA! Livin' on a prayer!" Stick appreciated it and commended my energy and singing skills. Then right around mile 14, we hit our first significant ascent, which Stick stated would be only of the entire race (lie). I was immediately relieved on the descent. Somewhere between miles 15 and 16, I felt like I had lost a toenail. I was fine with it until it felt like the toenail was jostling around in my sock. I stopped twice within about a minute to take off my sock and shoe to inspect my foot, only to discover that all of my toenails were still intact. As it turns out, the discomfort was just some nasty rubbing-together of toes. I lost the pace group and saw Joe run by, caught up with him, and then tried my hardest to get back to a reasonable pace. At this point, I lost my stride and I wouldn't see the pace group again for the rest of the race, but that was okay.
13: 8:10
14: 8:24
15: 8:28
16: 9:43
17: 8:48
18: 8:43
Mile 18 took us through the stadium where Ohio A&M plays. Despite my disinterest in that school, it was cool to run into a big stadium. Perhaps the coolest part was the steep hill down on the way into the stadium. Of course, that was followed by a steep hill UP to get out. Around mile 20, I grabbed a Dixie cup of PBR in pure baller fashion and washed it down with a few bites of a Twizzler. I really don't like Twizzlers, but I think Twizzlers, like PBR, are a hipster thing, so I figured, "When in Rome..."
19: 9:27
20: 10:03 (I blame the PBR)
21: 9:23
22: 9:22
23: 9:12
24: 8:56
The last 2.2 miles were a roller coaster. The first was not bueno at all. A short way into mile 25, I could see a huge inflatable arch in the distance. "Is that the finish?," I asked a guy to whom I caught up for that purpose. He wasn't sure. I was starting to feel good and I turned on the gas to give the spectators a strong finish. As I got closer, I could see no mat, no photographers, and no one handing out medals or mylar blankets.
"You're almost there!"
That's what the arch said. The cruelness caused my eyes to water, but I held myself together. Then I thought that I was going to puke, I think because of the overwhelming emotions, so I walked for about 5 seconds. Then I realized that walking sucked more than running at that point, and I didn't want to look like a chump in the last mile. Also, I knew that I was so close to a PR and that I would be disappointed in myself if I finished any slower than my first marathon (3:53:20). I pushed myself to only run to the finish. High fives make me feel awesome, so I ran the right margin along the willing spectators, lots of them shouting my name and seemingly pumped that I was showing them some love. I made the turn for the last .2 and crossed the finish with my arms in the air. Although my finisher photo shows defeat, I felt like a baller.
25: 9:38
26: 9:17
26.46: 3:47 (8:11 pace)
Finish: 3:53:03
I PRed by 17 seconds. SUCCESS!
Two days later, I'm really happy with marathon #2 I know that if I train well this winter, I will have a huge PR in the spring. I can't wait.
