In Which Our Heroine Completes the Portland Marathon

Two weeks ago today, I set out to do the craziest thing I've ever done.  I ran a marathon.  Me! the kid who hated running with a passion.

My first memory of running in anything was an event at my sister's school field day when I was about 3 or 4.  As a "fun" event, the organizers had younger brothers and sisters who weren't yet school age run in a race.  I vaguely remember being lined up at the starting line.  I can't remember if I went willingly or not but I do remember, when the "ready... set... go" order was given, I ran.  I ran straight to my dad, who was no where near the finish line.  In fact, I think he was in the opposite direction.

Two weeks ago, when that air horn blew, I ran.  This time, I was focused on that finish line.

I took the bus downtown, along with several other runners and walkers.  Got to my corral, waited in line for the port-a-potty and then in an even longer line for the clothes check.  The one thing I had forgotten to prep the day before was my bell music for rehearsal later in the day so, it came to the marathon with me and got checked with my jacket.

No sooner had I checked my folder and jacket, then it was time for my corral to move to the start.  A few minutes wait at the start and then the air horn blast that signaled our start.  A slow jog across the start and we were off.

Down 4th Ave we ran, across Burnside and under the gate to Chinatown.  A right onto Davis and past Portland Taiko, one of the many music groups along the way.  I was excited to see and hear them and they brought a smile to my face.  I could have listened to them all the way to the finish.  Hmmm, maybe I need to add some taiko to my running mix.

Followed Naito Parkway south and then jogged through Portland State to continue on Barbur.  This part of the course follows the same course that the Shamrock Run follows.  Amazing what seven months of training can do for you.  Last March, I walked a lot of the Shamrock, a run of about 4.5 miles.  Two weeks ago, I was feeling strong, like I could run all day.

Spectators were everywhere.  A group of women ran in place in slow-motion, getting a wheezy laugh from most of the marathoners.  Signs cheered us all on.  "Dear perfect stranger, we are proud of you."  "99% can't do this.  You are the 1%."  Some would cheer us on by name, reading our names off our bibs.  It was wonderful, knowing so many were pulling for us, cheering, encouraging.  There was the guy with thundersticks who kept moving around multiple places.  The family cheering on Mindy (I was a little jealous of Mindy; I saw her cheering squad at least 5 different places).

I was able to keep a steady pace for the first two hours.  My plan of attack was to run at a fairly easy pace and walk through the water stations.  For those first two hours, I stayed at an easy 12 minute mile pace, right on target.  After the 10th mile, the course started wending its way up through Northwest Portland towards Hwy 30 and the St. Johns Bridge.  My stomach started to growl in hunger.  I started to slow a little but tried to keep my pace, leap frogging several people as they stopped to walk and then started running again.  Then came the hill going up to St. Johns Bridge.

Now, I'd been warned by several people that this was a hard hill.  It comes between mile 16 and 17; it's not particularly steep but it is long, especially after over three hours of running.  As I started my ascent, I thought I'd go as long as I could and then stop and walk.  However, as I started passing some people, ok, a lot of people, who were walking, I started thinking of the hill training I did for Hood to Coast.  I thought about running the Twin Peaks leg, watching the stars.  I thought about my Hood to Coast teammates who called me a beast.  I thought of how, when I got back in the van after completing that leg of Hood to Coast, I said, "I eat mountains like that for a late-night snack."  There was no way I was going to let myself stop after all that I had already accomplished so I kept running.

Right near the top, I nearly started to fade but I began to hear marimba music coming from the top of the hill.  It was enough to keep me going and then I was on the bridge.  I looked over my right shoulder towards downtown, just visible through the clearing mist, and I got chills.  I wish I could have taken a picture. 

Down, off the bridge, down a rather steep little hill and then up another street.  This hill, though shorter than the approach to St. Johns Bridge, felt a lot harder.  When I had crossed the bridge, I thought it was all downhill from there.  Boy, was I wrong.  Still, I refused to quit.

Past the University of Portland, past people sitting in their front yards watching the runners go by.  I saw a woman in front of her house with a giant bottle of ibuprofen, handing them to any one who wanted them.  By this time, my knees were definitely feeling the pain, but since I had not trained with ibuprofen during my runs, I was wary of taking any until I was finished.

Right before descending Greeley, I saw one of my co-workers who's wife was running the marathon.  I think she's probably a much faster runner than I am so I was touched that my co-worker would stay longer, just to cheer me on.  And I needed that encouragement because I was about to hit the wall.

You would think that running downhill would be easier.  Gravity is working with you and all that.  Ha!  The hardest part was running down Greeley.  At this point, my knees were screaming and my pace slowed to an over-17 minute mile.  By the time I got to the next flat stretch, it felt like I had no knee caps.   It was almost a relief to reach the flat of Interstate and the slight uphill approach to Broadway Bridge.

Coming off of the Broadway Bridge, I saw a friend that I hadn't seen in several months, walking with a friend.  After saying hi, he asked how I was feeling.  My response was "I'm not stopping, I'm not!"  Although I did walk through one more water station, when I got to the final water station, which was about a half mile from the finish, I refused to stop.  If I had stopped there, I'm not sure I would have started again.

When I turned onto Taylor, I started lengthening my stride and pushing my pace.  I was determined to finish well.  As a rower, I was trained to leave it all at the end, expend every last bit of energy in the final sprint.  Turning left onto 3rd, the finish was only about fifty feet away.  I dug deep and pushed hard and sprinted, passing a couple of people in the final seconds.  I heard them call my name, I crossed the finish line and I was done.

I was given my finisher's medal, a space blanket and I continued on to the food.  GU is no substitute for real food; it had staved off my hunger, kept me going but I was ready for food.  I took one of everything.  Cheese, yes.  Bagel, yes.  Chocolate, yes. Juice, yes.  And it tasted good.

I texted my sister and brother and a friend, "Finished!" and walked, slowly, to the gym to get ready for the rest of my day.

And, just like I caught the Hood to Coast bug, I'm now hooked on marathons.  I don't plan on running a marathon every year but maybe every other year.  I think after doing the Portland Marathon again, I'd like to run the Tokyo Marathon.  Who knows where I'll run next?

Marathon Time

The hotel was a a maze, literally.  Up a ramp, up a stopped escalator, down a moving escalator, down another escalator, around the corner, down a long, steep ramp and all the way to the end and there it was, the table where I picked up my race number for Sunday.  I know, I've been saying that the marathon was like going to school, something that I was excited about but also really nervous.  Today, I felt like the new kid at school.  I must have looked like it, too, 'cause a lot of people took one look at me, sympathetically nodded their heads and asked, "First marathon?"

I didn't linger at the Sports Health Expo where I picked up my number and shirt.  It felt too crazy, too intense.  I've been to the Health Expo during Race for the Cure weekend (where an entire convention hall is doused in Pepto-Bismol and Cadillac pink), I've been to bridal shows, and neither of them felt as intense as the Running Expo.  And, believe me, bridal shows can be intense.  I blame part of the added intensity on the location, trapped in the bowels of the Hilton.  The ceiling felt so close and I don't usually get claustrophobic.  Of course, the shortness of breath could be the general nervousness I've been feeling for the last week.

There's nothing more I can do to prepare.  I had my last long run two weeks ago and then promptly tapered as I should.  My last long run wasn't as long as I wanted and felt harder than anything I had done before.  It was shoe-horned in between church and bell rehearsal.  I was not prepared mentally for that run.

I had my last run yesterday, a short 2.5 miles made a little bit longer by the Occupy Portland protest.  They were blocking my regular route so I detoured slightly.  I was just going to run on the other side of the street but that would have involved running past a line of cops and that just seemed disrespectful for some reason.  So, I ran up another block and cut over.  No big deal.

After leaving the hotel today, which was quite a feat of navigation (for a few minutes, I was going in circles in the Hilton's grand ballroom trying to find the exit), I quickly headed off to finish my last minute marathon errands.  To the running store to get my GU (energy gel) for the race and something to carry it in.  Since water is provided on the course, I don't want to run with a water belt but I need something to carry my GU.  By the way, energy gel isn't as gross as you would think it would be, but it's certainly not something you really want to eat for fun.  Eating doesn't feel like the right word since you can't chew it.  Besides, it just sounds funny to say "I ate GU."  Go ahead, try saying it.  Doesn't feel right, does it?  Drinking doesn't sound right either, especially since it is much more viscous than water.  It's a mystery.

I'm now in my final carb-loading and hydration phase.  Tomorrow will be spent prepping for the marathon, packing and delivering my post-race bag to the gym so I can shower afterwards and proceed to church for our new pastor's installation service and bell choir rehearsal.  There is actually some method to my madness.  Better to be standing, moving, doing stuff than crashing on the couch for 6 hours and then crawling down to bed.  Or, at least, that's what I've been telling myself.

On the other hand, I could just be crazy, a glutton for punishment, and unable to admit I can't do everything.