Finally, here came the end of all the months of training, trading tips, comparing techniques and planning for the big day. Back in May, it seemed like an academic discussion, an interesting puzzle to figure out. I never for a minute had considered that I really could complete a marathon. A year ago, a plodding 10k was the outer reaches of my running talent. I really credit the power of our Wake OBX group for being able to succeed on Sunday. All the OBXers, including those who had to bow out along the way, contributed to building my motivation and resolve to see this through.
Being a *typical* librarian, I obsessed about the details. I’ve always gone with the credo that if you focus on the fine points, the big stuff will take care of itself. So, I occupied myself with sticking to my Galloway training plan, deciding on exactly what to eat when during the race, the optimal heart rate to maintain, what run/walk ratio to adhere to and, of course, my illegal MP3 play list.
Nutrition was #1 on my plan for Sunday. I always eat oatmeal pre-race, but was worried that the one shared microwave in the hotel lobby would be overrun with all the other racers cooking their own oatmeal. So I hauled my slow cooker to the OuterBanks and made a big batch of crock-pot oatmeal. It cooked all night and most of the OBXers came to our room for an early morning breakfast. It was just the right meal, for me, at least. Since everyone said they liked it too, here’s the recipe:
1 cup steel cut oats
1 cup dried cranberries
1 cup dates, chopped
4 cups water
½ cup half and half
Spray inside of slow cooker with nonstick cooking spray. Combine all ingredients in the slow cooker, cover and cook on LOW for 8 to 9 hours. Stir well before serving. 4 servings.
The race instructions described the shuttle system to get us to the race, and then cautioned us to use private transportation and NOT the shuttle. Mark drove the half-marathoners to their start point while Mary drove the marathoners. After a somewhat frustrating trip dealing with traffic and bad directions from volunteers, Mary delivered us safe and sound to the start site.
The final pre-race prep any racer wants to do is use the porta-john one last time. Forty minutes before the start, there were hundreds of racers in line to use 22 johns. We (Erik, Craig and I) luckily secured (separate) booths at last, hearing the national anthem play as we took care of business. Then we hurried to the start line, lined up by predicted minute per mile rate and off we went. There were 1500 marathoners who took off at the gun.
The first half of the marathon was a
fantastic route, starting by winding through neighborhoods filled with cheering Outer Bankers (?) who had decorated their yards, made signs, and encouraged each racer on. The initial few miles were peppered with racers slipping off into the bushes; I figure they are the ones who never made it to the johns. I saw men with “50 States, 50 Marathons” shirts, racers who stopped to snap photos, heard runners discuss how they had just run another marathon in the past week. We ran along the Memorial Trail on the edge of the Albemarle Sound, through the Wright Brothers Monument, as well as the Nags Head Woods Nature Preserve. Craig and I met up around mile 9 and ran together for the next four miles, until we crossed the half-way point. That was at Jockey’s Ridge. The weather forecast called for really bad rain and wind, but it had held off except for misting until the second half of the run. Then the sky let loose and it rained heavily with a solid headwind. My main worry was that my MP3 player would zap out, but it played on like a champ!
I went with a plan of running to each mile marker (where stations were set up), then walking for a minute to 1 ½ minutes. This worked really well for most of the race. A side comment on the mile markers: they were first class signs. Most races have cardboard signs on a wooden post. These were metal ones that looked permanent, nicely designed (They must have taken money from the porta-john fund to afford these).
The rain also ran the local cheerers inside, but many rooted for us from the balconies on their million dollar houses along the golf course. The big challenge now came from the puddles and potholes. It was important to keep a close watch so I didn’t twist an ankle. I did enjoy a neighborhood entry sign “Craig’s Finish”. I just knew he’d go past it and wish that was his finish line!
I was full of energy through mile 17. Then my legs started to offer up their opinion that I was abusing them. My cardiovascular conditioning was great; never a problem on that front, but my muscles definitely took a beating.
When I crossed the Washington-Baum Bridge, I experienced my slowest mile split time. That bridge seemed like Mt. Everest! It took me almost 17 minutes to go between mile 21 and 22 (I've since read that mile marker 22 was further than a mile away from 21 so that was a relief. They must have decided that they couldn't mount a station on top of the bridge where 22 would be). But I was passing people by this point, they were fading, I was actually maintaining. It did bother me when I spotted one of the OBX blue t-shirts with a race number attached, wet and abandoned on the shoulder of the bridge, as though its occupant had either jumped off the bridge or been blown out of his shirt as the wind swept him into the sound……So you see, I was starting to feel very sorry for myself at this point and was thinking I’d never make it.
But I did get over the bridge and once I hit the 23 mile marker I decided the run/walk was over and I was just going to run it in the last 3 miles. It wasn’t a question of whether it felt better walking or running….Everything hurt, so I decided that running all the way in would get me there faster. During the last mile I passed a half-marathon wheelchair racer. It really humbled me to think how he had run his race. He wasn’t a young athletic guy, but he persevered. How could I bitch about how hard the bridge was when this athlete had wheeled himself over it?
As I entered the high school stadium and put my sights on the finish line, I heard our group of OBXers cheering me on. I gave a final push and crossed the finish line in 5:03. Not bad for a librarian 2 weeks from her 55th birthday, huh? I am happy to state I am no longer a marathon virgin!
