Race Report: 2015 Rock & Roll DC Marathon

Once again, the tale of the tape can only tell you so much about this race.

In case you are keeping track (and I'm sure you are), the 2015 DC Rock & Roll Marathon was my second-fastest Marathon -- only 27 seconds slower than my previous PR, which was the 2014 DC Rock & Roll. But this year the race was both better and much, much harder.

 

For starters, it rained. and rained. and rained.  It started out light, but by about mille 20, it was pouring. And forget about keeping your feet dry.

 

 

The DC R&R is strong on the logistics. Metro drops you off within 1/4 mile of the bag drop off and 1/2 mile of the starting chutes. I had brought a dry pair of socks and my running shoes in a waterproof bag, and kept my race kit covered up right until start time. Sure, my feet were going to get soaked, but it helps to at least start the race dry and warm.

Logistics Logistics. Only runners will appreciate that I did not have to wait in line at a porta-john. And I did not pay extra for "VIP" services. That's why this compelling photograph of porta-johns made its way into the 4th Discipline's official archives.

I agonized for the whole week about what to wear. Luckily, Team SunRype sent me a fantastic, rain-proof and lightly insulated running jacket that worked perfectly. I'm happy to be representing Team SunRype for another year, not only because of the cool products I get to hand out (or the great rainproof jacket), but also because of the extra motivation it gives me to give 100% in every race.

Here is the short-version of the race ...

Training - Between January 1 and race day, I only ran outside one time -- the Cloud Snapple Half Marathon. This was not on purpose. There was so much snow this winter, so much cold weather, that it was hard to do anything other than run on the treadmill. I had certainly put in enough training miles, but treadmill miles don't always translate perfectly to pavement miles. At a minimum, I knew going into the R&R that I probably wasn't going to set any records.

Mile 1 - Stepped in my first puddle. Frankly, I'm amazed that I kept my feet dry that long, but all good things must end. I even carried a pair of dry socks in my pocket for the whole race, but who am I kidding -- was I really going to stop and put them on?

Mile 4 - I caught up with the 3:10 pace group. To qualify for Boston, I needed a 3:15. I was not planning on attempting to qualify, but despite the rain and the cold, I was running very efficiently and felt strong. So against my better judgment, I decided to stick with the 3:10 pack for a while. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?

Mile 13.1 - Once I reached the halfway point, I was still trotting along comfortably with the 3:10 pace group. The back half of the R&R is really bleak, and the rain seemed to have chased away a couple of the bands that R&R promised would be playing along the course. So it was nice to run with some peers, even though I knew I was running above-threshold. A half-marathon in 1:35:46 put me about 2:07 ahead of my B.Q. pace, and about 6:30 ahead of my PR pace.

Mile 16 - Taking a cue from last year, I stuffed my face with food between Mile 6 and Mile 16 to stave off a bonk. #eatmoreSunRype. The strategy worked very well to maintain my overall energy levels, but at Mile 16 my calves began to signal some real muscle fatigue.  I stopped to walk at a water station, and when I started running again, I started losing contact with the 3:10 pace group.

Mile 20 - At this point, I was still within range of Boston Qualification. I had spent the last 16 miles drafting the perfect Facebook post to announce that I had finally achieved a life goal. I was searching my mind for Boston-area friends with whom I could stay in 2016. But at about the Mile 20 marker, the rain hit extremely hard, and at the same time, my calves simply stopped firing.

A bonk or an encounter with "the wall" does not happen all at once. Any experienced runner can feel a bonk coming on gradually, and while you cannot completely avoid it, you can usually slow it down. Muscle fatigue, on the other hand, can hit with the ferocity of a bear claw to the face. My beautiful 7:15min/mile gait quickly turned to a 9:45min/mile hobble. With the rain thoroughly soaking me, and the temperature dropping, it was very hard not to have a Paula Radcliffe-like collapse. Paula who? You remember ...



Mile 23 - Hills. I had heard that the course had changed, but at the worst possible time, I encountered the new section of the course, which was comprised of several moderately steep climbs. I am normally an excellent uphill runner. It is a point of pride that I usually gain ground on other runners on the uphill portions. But I also usually have full use of my calves, and I didn't have that this time.

It is almost impossible to do complicated math in your head while you are physically tired. I kept crunching the numbers. Boston was out. But a P.R.?  It was still possible ...

In an effort to save every second, I ran right by one of the many, many porta-johns, and peed my pants. Being an Ironman gives you special rights.

Mile 26 - I am usually a strong finisher. Even in long-distance triathlons, my final mile is usually my fastest. But all the adrenaline in the world could not get me to the finish line fast enough. I was practically staring at my watch for the last long bend toward the finish line. It was going to be close ...

Finish - But not close enough. I can't be disappointed that I completed another Marathon. Or that this was my second-fastest race ever. But given how close I got to Boston-Qualified immortality, I was crushed.  And to add insult to injury, I could barely walk the 1 mile to the bag pickup to get some dry(ish) clothes.  Here I am in front of the bag pickup, disappointed, cold, beat, but happy to be done.

Note my number -- 3024 -- 3hrs 24 minutes was my previous Marathon PR. A good omen? bad omen?

 

What did I learn?

 

1. Treadmill runs do not equal hill training. Enough said.

2. Running in the rain blows.

3. Running in the cold blows.

4. Space blankets can't keep rain off.

5. Qualifying for Boston is really hard.

 

Alas, on to the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler next. As soon as I can bend my calves again.

I need a new hobby.

Want to see something gross? Ask a marathoner to see his toes. Seriously. Gross.

800 miles for 2014

Since 2009, I have exceeded 600 running miles per year, every year. This year, because of the early-season Marathon and late-season Savageman, I managed to top 800 miles for the year. I am grateful that I am still healthy enough to run at all, let alone run 800 miles in a year. I do not take these things for granted.

November 4 training run

Not every training run has to be something spectacular. But some runs clearly are.

Race Report: 2014 Cherry Blossom Ten Mile Run

Stats: 1:07:27(6:44.6/mi pace), 580/17,747, 476/7199 among men, 70/1122 in age group. 

 I ran this race on 100% pure stubbornness. After completing the marathon, I took a week off running. But since Cherry Blossom was only three weeks after the marathon, I came back to running (painful as it was) to maintain my base fitness and to attempt to work some speed back into my runs. Normally I would like to take a couple of weeks off, but the Cherry Blossom 10-miler is such a fast, beautiful course, that I didn't want to show up with anything other than my best.

About 10 days before the race, I started getting sick. A cold turned into significant chest congestion that lasted a week. Still, I ran through the sickness and told myself that I would be healed by race day. Although I felt like I had mostly recovered by Friday/Saturday, the night before Cherry Blossom, I had a low-grade fever and seemed to be getting really sick again. Sunday morning, I decided that I would run the race anyway, and if the coughing fits got too intense, I would trot the ten miles at a slower pace. I knew it wouldn't be a PR day because my lungs were not a full capacity, but it's hard to show up to a race without giving it your full effort.

Prior to the race, I doped did everything I could to mask the symptoms. Mucinex D, Day-Quil, and several hits from an Albuterol inhaler. These were all remnants from my long-running sinus infection last July, during which I had to ask my doctor multiple times for an antibiotic. (Speaking of which, I find it frustratingly stupid that I can buy gallons and gallons of antibacterial, antibiotic hand soap at the grocery store, but when I want an ingestible antibiotic to get rid of real sickness, I have to practically beg or threaten my doctor for it. Should I resort to snorting hand soap?)

Owen and I renewed our 10-mile rivalry. I'm not sure that I would have run as hard without someone to shadow during the race. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, I'm not sure. The weather was perfect, the course was perfect as usual, and had I felt 100% in my lungs, it might have been a good race day. At the start, my goal was to maintain contact with Owen and try to keep miles under 7 minutes. I had a few painful coughing fits early on, but my legs felt relatively fresh. It's amazing how much effort you can shift between your body's various systems. In some races, I have leaned on my heart and lungs when my legs are weak. This race, I leaned almost entirely on my legs. At 3 miles, I was running a solid 6:45/mi, and swapped places with Owen around Mile 5. Although I didn't feel great, I felt like I was still holding back a little in my legs.

Contrary to prior years, when I was training UP TO ten miles, this year I have run over 10 miles at least 15 times. So I knew the distance wouldn't be a problem -- just the intensity. And keeping back the coughing fits forced me to focus on every single breath in ... and ... out. At mile 8, I decided to turn up the speed a bit and ran 6:35/mi for the last two.

If I said it was great to cross the finish line, I would be lying. Once I stopped running, an hour's worth of coughing fits burst out of me. It was so painful, I couldn't even enjoy the runner's high. It wasn't a PR, but I was only off my PR by 90 seconds. After the race, I had the chills. My fever had risen to 101.6. Was it stupid to run a race while running a temperature? Yes. It has probably set back my recovery by a few days (or more, still not sure at this point). But after I had forced myself back into running so soon after the marathon, and after I had trained for so many miles and so many hours, I thought it was a total ripoff that I could be derailed by something completely out of my control. Thankfully, I have quite a while before my next race, so I can dial back the mileage and focus on feeling like myself again.

Once again, Alisha came through for me.  She dragged three cranky kids out into the cold to watch me run a race that I clearly had no business running.  She endured my constant complaints about my lungs, but still cheered me on and took great photos.  And she refrained from multiple possible "I told you so"s.  She makes me feel like a winner.

Some Days a 10-Miler comes easy

Today was not some days.  Sore foot, sore legs, bad chest cold, and it rained.

But the view somehow kept me going.

Race Report: 2014 DC Rock & Roll Marathon

Official Time:  3:24:32 (Rank: 188/2722 overall; 24/254 age group)

My pace chart only tells part of the story, and even that story has been cleaned up into a minutes-per-mile average:

 
































The reality of the DC Rock & Roll Marathon was not quite as tidy, but it was good enough for a personal record by ONE MINUTE.  I should be content with the new PR, especially since my previous marathon PR was set back in 2000, but it's hard not to think about the race that could have been (and was, for the first 11 miles).

I had heard plenty of horror stories about the Rock & Roll Marathon in DC.  Yes, it costs nearly twice as much as when it was just the "National Marathon."  But people had warned me that the second half of the Marathon was poorly marked, "bleak," and "spectator unfriendly."  They complained that there was no chocolate milk left at the finish, not enough support at the water tables, and that the "bands every few miles" referred only to the money-making portion of the race, the first 13.1 miles.

For the most part, the R&R people seem to have corrected these problems, if they were problems to begin with.  The start was surprisingly orderly.  I moved myself into corral #2, which was for runners aiming for a 3:20 marathon or 1:40 half.  Corral 1 was released right at 7:30, and Corral 2 was held for about 90 seconds to create a little space.  The effect was that although I still had to navigate around some people who clearly didn't understand how to do math (including a couple of ladies jogging along at about 10 min/mile, exchanging a muffin recipe), I only slowed down a few times during the first mile (7:30/mi pace).

Here I am just before the start, enjoying the sunrise in the nation's capital.

The race started out even better than I had hoped.  I aimed for about a 7:30-7:40 pace, which would have put me on track for a 3 hour, 15 minute marathon.  Instead, I found myself running with the 3 hour 10 minute marathon pacer.  In fact, I maintained contact with him for the first 10 miles.  Of course, every time the Garmin beeped at me, I told myself, "you're probably going out too strong," but I still felt like I was holding something back.  My mile 10 split was 6:45 -- fast for a half-marathon, let alone a marathon -- but it's been so long since I've run the full distance, I just don't have the feel for the race anymore.  (Ironman doesn't count because you don't feel compelled to run the whole marathon.)

So for almost 11 miles, I thought there was a strong possibility of qualifying for Boston (which would have required a 3 hour, 10 minute marathon).  Then at the mile 11 marker, just before a water table, I ran around an uneventful corner and felt a stabbing pain in my right foot.  I didn't roll the foot, didn't step on an uneven surface, or do anything out of the ordinary.  A bone in my foot just decided to send an extremely painful signal all the way up my right leg.  I actually hopped on one foot to the water table, and limped the distance of the table.  I watched the 3:10 pacer group run away from me, but at this point I was concerned about whether I could finish 13 miles, not 26.2.  After a minute of carefully walking on a throbbing right foot, I began limping back into a light jog, hoping that my foot would improve. 

After another mile, I was still running in a very unbalanced manner, but my foot pain leveled off to a manageable level.  At this point, I decided that if the pain got no worse by mile 13, I would continue onto the marathon, and walk it if I had to.  At mile 13, the half-marathoners peeled off to the left, and I turned to the right.  I knew that not many marathoners would be in front of me, but I wasn't really prepared to run almost a full 13 miles without someone next to me.  I suppose it is not the fault of the race organizers that the marathon is so lightly attended, but there was one time when I wasn't sure which way to turn to continue the race.  Between mile 14-18, there really weren't any spectators, bands, or anything.  Just my uneven paces and a lot of empty space before the next water table.  

At mile 19, as I came across the bridge into Anacostia, I could feel a bonk coming on.  Again, I don't have a good feel for the full distance anymore, and I apparently wasn't consuming enough calories.  It took a couple of hard miles of running on empty before my energy levels balanced out again.  By the time I hit mile 23, I figured out that I had to average sub-8 minute miles to the finish, or I wouldn't beat my previous best.  But I turned myself inside out (relatively speaking), and ran up and down the rolling hills in Anacostia until Mile 25, where my family was waiting for me.  

What was the highlight of the race?  It wasn't the finish.  It was seeing little Genevieve's pink coat from a quarter mile away, and running up to give her a hug.  But she said in her little quiet voice: "Mom said I could run with you for a while." 

So off we went, Genevieve and me, for about a half block.  You can see her timid smile as the people around us cheered.

For the remaining 1.2 miles, I had a little extra spark, and made up a little more time than I had hoped.  The finish area was well-designed so that marathoners had a clean chute to run through (rather than fighting through 23,000 half-marathoners who were bottlenecked in a separate lane).  I came across the finish line and howled, "YEEEAAAAHHH!"  Not because I felt great, but because I beat my personal best.  And what's wrong with my sunglasses?  Did my eyes suddenly slide up my forehead?

Note that as the Garmin flies, the race was 26.50 miles, not 26.2.  But that may have been from my zigzagging around with a bum wheel.  The man handing out medals to marathoners was actually another SunRype teammate.  It was fun to swap hellos before I turned into a beaten, limping old man looking for an ice bag.  Again, to the credit of the race organizers, there was plenty of chocolate milk and potato chips at the finish, and the bag check took all of 30 seconds.  Within a few minutes of finishing, I was walking toward the minivan, which was parked a block away. 

The weather couldn't have been nicer that afternoon.  Although I was quite warm by the finish, I took a space blanket anyway, because I knew the kids would have a fun time playing with it.

I was right.



Alisha was so good to me all day.  I had tried to keep the marathon secret from her for months, but eventually she was in on the secret.  And even then, I encouraged her to stay away.  But she showed up, and it meant a lot to me.  Then after the race, while I enjoyed (not really) an ice bath, she brought me a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a super sized Diet Coke.  I'm lucky 100 times over.

Next race is the Cherry Blossom 10-miler in 3 weeks.  If I can recapture the magic from the first half of this marathon, I'll be in good shape.  But first my right foot needs to stop hurting like the dickens.