Just Another Long Run

First off, my condolences to EP and family who lost a matriarch this past week. Having experienced a similar loss 10 years ago, I can say with a great deal of certainty that, although a person may be corporeally inaccessible, her influence and wisdom tend to exhibit an incalculably long half life.

Yesterday's long run covered roughly 26 miles, 385 yards, which qualified as my longest run ever. The pre-run dinner I described in my past post proved to be mildly disastrous. Lesson to any reader who may be considering a marathon: avoid the turkey sausage on the eve of a marathon. There are times in which it is appropriate to experiment with wild fowl forcemeat. The night before a marathon is not of these times.

Following is a synopsis of the race day:

1. 6:15: Awoke, drank two large glasses of water and prepared a bowl of oatmeal


2. 6:25: Waited near the bathroom for nature to run its course


3. 6:35: Waited longer (see 2) before eating oatmeal


4. 6:50: Upon waiting an inordinate amount of time, I decided to scrap the oatmeal and head out to find some coffee. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And these times were "McDonald's Desperate"


5. 7:05: Ordered pancakes, orange juice and black coffee at McDonald's. Enjoyed the pancakes alongside a rag tag bunch of hobos, bindlestiffs and ragamuffins (comrades of whom would make an appearance later in the day)


6. 7:20: No movement on the natural front. Panic was starting to set in. Departed McDonald's to head to race site


7. 7:35: Arrived at race site, Louisville's Water Tower on the Ohio River. Folks were wildly negotiating adjacent fields to illegally park and avoid having to walk any distance at all. Apparently, as a force of habit, they were seeking the prime spot at the Walmart parking lot. Ironically, each of these lazy fucks was about to run/walk either 13.1 or 26.2 miles. Have I mentioned that I harbor less-than-pleasant feelings about the mental and physical habits of people in these parts (even those who are active enough to participate in a foot race)?


8. 7:40: Avoided the mess of illegal parkers and found a parking spot at Cox park (pronounced, inexplicably as COCKSIZ park) about 1/2 mile from the race site


9. 7:50: Arrived at starting line. Still waiting for some movement (see 2)


10. 8:10: Someone fires a gun. People start running. I follow


11. 8:15: First accessible bathroom (at Cocksiz Park) becomes visible. At this point, I feel a significant pressure change within my abdomen. Terrible gears start to turn. An intestinal doomsday machine has been irreversibly engaged. Forces beyond my comprehension are set into action. I make a bee line to the bathroom and enter the last stall on the right, thinking (like the parking situation earlier) that no one will think to approach the remotest spot. Bizarrely, I was wrong


12. 8:20: (Discontinue reading if you are uncomfortable with the human I/O process or thermodynamics) Ever heard of a water hammer? Before I met my wife, who once worked with nuke-uh-lur power plant cooling systems, I had not. Actually, the more general term is fluid hammer. In short, a fluid hammer is a pressure surge that occurs when moving fluid experiences a sudden change in momentum, like when a dam breaks. I become physically acquainted with the phenomenon while huddling in the last stall on the right. Unfortunately, so did a constant parade of fellow runners. Since the stall was missing a lock, no fewer than 5 men became acquainted with the concept of the fluid hammer. I lost ~ 5 minutes in that bathroom. Things were getting off to a great start
13. 8:25: After that lesson in thermodynamics, I got back out on the course and continued on, feeling somewhat relieved. At that point, I was stuck in a large crowd of walkers and slow runners. I focused my energy on passing the herd.
14. 8:55: As I slowly put the walkers and slow runner behind me, my attention was again shifted to my gut, where more dark machinations were taking place. Since I was very familiar with much of the course, I determined that the river front park, right around mile 6, would offer a bank of public restrooms. I set my sights on mile 6 and kept on keeping.
15. 9:05: As I arrived at the river front park, I veered off course to the bank of restrooms. Unfortunately these were all locked. In front of them, though, was a cache of porto-o-lets, or port-o-johns, or plexi-johns or plastic shitters that had been freshly installed to serve the participants in the Hunger Walk (an event to take place downtown later in the day). While I was disappointed to be forced to enter a johnny-house, I was somewhat delighted to find that I was the first to enjoy its amenities since its installation. I ratcheted up the volume on my ipod and tuned out the other details of my visit. However, I began to hear the distinct sounds of voices coming from just behind me. I paused the iPod and heard male voices that seemed to be coming from inside the crap-o-let septic tank, or worse, inside my own septic tank. Upon closer examination, I determined that the voices were in fact narrating the goings on inside the johnny cabin. After several unpleasant minutes, I emerged to find 3 tramps staning just outside, about 4 yards away. They were laughingly uproariously. As I ran past, they implored me to discontinue my run. Clearly, they were concerned with my well-being, but I was not to be deterred.
16. 10:05: From the debacle at the riverfront to the half-way point, I passed 0 more toilets, so I was forced to endure the wrath of the turkey sauasage. Although the pain was waning, it was still clear that the evil had not yet worked its way out. I knew that I would soon be passing through Chikasaw Park and that the grounds hosted a fine, early 20th century carriage house that had been converted into a bathroom. Fortunately, no other runners knew about this landmark. And more surprisingly, it seemed bereft of Okies and nogoodniks. It was at this place where I finally exorcised the demons.
    
17. 10:15: With my stomach feeling better and a pocketful of gels and Sharkies, I marched on towards the finish and focused on replenishing any energy spent through metabolism or exorcism.
18. 10:45: At about the 19 mile check point, I was approached by a young man who was bounding along at a good clip. We began to chat a bit and matched pace for about 3 miles. After about a mile of running together, it occurred to me that this young man's name could only be Chris. Upon parting ways at mile 23, I extended my hand and said something like "good to meet you Chris and good luck with the final 3 miles, I'm going to go ahead to see if I can find a finish line somewhere." To which he responded, with a puzzled look, how did you know my name was "Chris?" And it was a good question. I think the evil that had taken hold of me earlier in the morning left me with a bit of clairvoyance.
    
19. 11:20: At the 23 mile check point, I decided to pick up the pace a bit. I knew I wasn't going to come anywhere close to my goal of 3:20, but knew I had something left in the tank (thanks to 2 gels and a pouch of sharkies).
    
20. 11:35: As I approached the 25 mile checkpoint, the course grew lonely. There was an older man (probably in his 50s) about 30 yards ahead, but I was unable to catch him at first. Still, I dug in and accellerated a bit. The man at the final fluid station handed me a water and a cup of sports drink. I attempted to slow to deposit the cup and bottle in a garbage bags, but my legs sort of swayed uncontrollably and I nearly lost my footing. The man near the garbage bag instructed me to focus on getting to the finish line. I heeded his advice.
21. 11:40: I began passing a few more folks in the final half mile. A young woman smiled and waved and wished me luck, to which I responded "Same, um, uh...to luck to you too," which makes little sense , but hopefully expressed my enthusiasm for her potential finish.
    
22. 11:44: As the finish line drew near, I fought the dull pain in my quadriceps and bounded down the slight incline towards the finishing chute. Upon passing the line, a man appeared asking for the microchip strapped onto my ankle. As I bent down to detach it, he yelped, imploring me to stand and allow him to do it. As I nearly buckled upon standing back up, I realized that his advice was sensible.
    

So, that was about it. An eventful morning. I milled about after the race for a bit. I cheered on the Chris fellow, ate a banana, drank some water, Heed (the official energy drink of the race, which tastes like water filtered through vanilla cake icing)and Jackson's Organic coffee, then began the long walk to my car. While my legs were a bit burny and sore, the walk was a good stretching opportunity.

The rest of the day was pleasant and involved a brunch at Lynn's Paradise Cafe (biscuits and gravy and grits) and a 3 hour nap.

Today (the day after) has been fine as well. I'm struggling a bit with stairs, getting in and out of chairs. However, each pain response is accompanied by a tinge of pride for having run 26.2 miles.

I've already started to plan out my 0-week plan, my 4-week recovery plan and my next marathon. Mentally, I'm ready to go. On Saturday, 25 April 2009, I plan to run the Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon in under 3 hours and 20 minutes. It's an ambitious goal, but I plan to take advantage of hill work, tempo workouts, fartleks, interval training and, hopefully, some white magic.