(Note: *Half-a-man because all of my brothers have run marathons, and I have finally run a half)

For those who just want the facts and figures:

• 624th overall
• 118th in my age group
• 2:05:36 overall time
• 9:35 minutes per mile

Full results here:
http://www.coolrunning.com/results/09/nh/Nov8_Seacoa_set1.shtml

Fun facts:
I was 1st out of all “Rorys”
Only two people from my town beat me, and they were not in my age bracket.
I beat 434 people, plus 36 race walkers.
No one over 70 beat me.
I beat that guy wearing jeans.
I saw a bunch of seals sunning themselves on the rocks off the beach.
I have never run further than 10 miles.

Not fun facts:
100% of people from my town beat me, and they were both at least 10 years older than me
The oldest person ahead of me was 65. (Oldest woman, 63)
Youngest was 16.
Two race-walkers beat me.
Every mile after 11 was pure agony.

Approaching the finish line

Run summary:

12 weeks before: I start a program for ramping up my mileage to race day.

7 weeks before: I meet my orthopedic surgeon about knee pain. He diagnoses a partially torn patella tendon, advises 4 weeks rest. I rest.

3 weeks before: I start running again, but only about twice a week, 6 miles maximum.

Pre-race: I started to get a little nervous around Wednesday. You see, most advice online says “try these tactics during training” so you aren’t surprised on race day. My training has been severely limited by a knee injury, so I haven’t tried much of anything!

I eat the traditional pasta and bread the night before, heavy hydration all day. Banana in the morning (should have had a lot more in retrospect)
Approximately 1200 people are registered for the race. I have only run 3 races in my life, and none with more than 100-150 people. It’s a crowded start, new experience.

Gun goes, and it takes me about 45 seconds to pass the starting line. Downhill, crowded, weird. My goal is 2:00 hours, and I know that 10:00 minute miles will get me in at 2:11. After running 7:30s for 6 miles about two weeks before, I figure I should be able to run faster than 10:00 minute miles (note to self: 6 miles is much shorter than 13.1)

I run at about 9:30 per mile through 2, where seeing my girlfriend cheer me on keeps the spirit strong. Feeling no pain, and feeling good physically.

Next five miles loops us along a gorgeous stretch of ocean, makes me wish I was sitting on the beach with a good book. Around mile 5, the bottoms of both feet feel like they are burning. At mile 7, when I see my girlfriend again, I flash the universal sign for “Timeout” and explain that everything feels great, but my feet are killing. Around the corner, I take off both shoes, adjust socks, and feel much better. I had also just passed the only water station with “Gu” available. This is a high energy snack that real runners probably use, but I had never tried it and didn’t want conflict in my stomach. Big mistake, because I realized I was out of energy about a mile later.

I was thrilled that my bum knee was feeling fine, bummed about the apparent sock/shoe issues, but generally still feeling on track. Around 9 miles, I realized I really needed to pick up the pace to beat 2 hours. I picked it up, but was obviously kidding myself. I ran a fairly fast mile in about 8:00 minutes, but around the 11 mile mark, my legs started to get sloppy. Not only had I not eaten enough, but I did not drink enough water. My feet were still burning, and when I stopped to adjust the shoes and socks for about the 4th time, my calves cramped up. This freaked me out, and was the first time I really wondered if I might not be able to finish. Pain wouldn’t stop me, but muscles refusing to function would be hard to ignore.

Despite hitting 11 miles around 1:45, leaving me close to hitting 2 hours with two fast miles, my goal had shifted to finishing. I jogged for a while, walked, jogged, stretched my calves. In a cruel twist, the only real hill on the course is the last mile, and I ran it like a fragile shell of the person who started the race. It’s hard to run in a fetal position, but I did my best to do just that. That said, I actually plowed through the last two miles in about 22 minutes and made the finish without dying, which was nice.

Post-race:
I had some trouble eating post-race, but got two waters and a banana down while walking around outside. Inside, they had a nice spread of food for the runners. After eating half a pizza I was good to go. Iced my knee when I got home, but with only two blisters and sore muscles, I feel pretty good.

Today:
One day after, I am very stiff, worse than yesterday. I feel like I have become stiffer as the day has gone on. I did take a short walk today that felt good while doing it, but may not have helped. I hope to get back in the gym tomorrow or Wednesday, but I have no plan to run again before the spring. Ski season takes precedence, despite being the source of the knee injury in the first place.

So, will I do it again? Probably. I would like to prove that I can do it with less drama, and maybe under 2:00. Despite finishing, those last two miles showed me that I wasn’t ready, and I don’t like that feeling. However, with the little training I was able to do, I should be satisfied just to finish, but that’s just not who I am.

Footnote: The title of the post was from some running advice I read that stated that you can feel hung-over post-race due to dehydration. I definitely experienced that yesterday. Now, I just feel like someone whacked my legs with a sock full of quarters.

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And now, on to the main event:

*****************************************************

I am not exhausted.  My calves are a little sore, and I need a shower, but I’m not exhausted at all.  This is amazing to me.

A little background for starters:  Since leaving my last corporate role, and losing the subsidized gym that was included, I have been making do with my basement gym that consists of a NordicTrack and a treadmill.  Neither of these inspires me to be all that I can be, and my workouts have been noticeably flat lately, as opposed to my stomach.

About a month ago, on a beautiful spring morning, my girlfriend suggested I might like to run outside.  I was hesitant, but figured what the heck?  I might as well be outside, and it always feels like a better workout out there, not to mention there is nothing on TV on Sunday morning anyway.  I ran our local 3.1 mile loop, and felt pretty good.  I don’t think I even timed it, but guesstimated about 30 minutes or so.

A few days later, I did the loop again, and added a jog up a side street, maybe stretching the run to 3.3 miles.  Again, felt good.  A few days later, I did 4.25 miles, adding a new loop.  That added some serious hills.  This time, I was beat up by the hills, but was self-impressed once I measured it after the fact.  More days out, and I eventually went out and did 6.25 miles.  A few days later, I broke the eight mile barrier.  And since then, I have run two 10 mile days.  Twice this past week I have broken the 8:00 minute mile mark on runs of over eight miles.  Some time over the past month this ceased to be about the workout, and became about the act of running itself.  This whole thing is amusing to me, because I’m not a runner at all.

I come from a family of four siblings.  I am the only one who has not run the Boston Marathon.  One ran it last year at 43 years old.  Two of them have run 10 miles in under 6:00 minute miles.  Even if you don’t run, you might recognize those as impressive stats.  Like many people, I am inspired of the Marathon footage every April, and amazed that anyone can run that far, and even foolishly think I could do it.  But then I remember high school.  I was a member of the Cross Country Ski team.  However, I went to school near the coast of Massachusetts, so we had very little snow.  I definitely remember at least one season when we only put our skis on once, for the championship race at the end of the season.  Anyway, those with snow: ski.  Those without: run.  This was torture for me.  I seem to recall walking in the back with a fellow teammate, complaining of shin splints, generally trying to avoid running with all my might.  Truly believing I was not made for running.

Before this spring, I had never run farther than four miles.  The few times I had run that far, it was for races in support of charities, and I was sore for days.  I have also had some knee issues and have had some overuse injuries in the past.  But over the past month, I have realized that I really enjoy running.  I like knowing I’ll be outside and away from my computer.  I spend seven days a week at my laptop, but I can’t check email out there.  I can’t write blog posts.  I can’t do anything but think and run.  Some days I use the time to write a post in my mind like today.  Others I just purely focus on the run itself.  Most people use an MP3 player, but I am still in the honeymoon phase, enjoying the purity of the act itself.  My breathing, birds, Sunday morning softball games, yard sales.  I’m also on some busy roads of course, so self-preservation comes to mind as well.

So what have I learned this month?

• I shouldn’t run more than 6 miles without a water break.
• Check your route before you run.  If the road is busy, thin, and has no sidewalks, try somewhere else!
• Roads that appear flat from the driver’s seat of your car are not, in fact, flat.
• People are friendlier when you are running.
• Recycling is great, but running by a local paper recycling plant is not (it stinks!)
• Running is more fun if you have a lot of choices.  I run a big loop that offers countless options for expanding my run.  I don’t know how far I am going to run until I’ve hit my last leg.
• Fill up a water bottle before you leave so it’s ready when you get back. (I know this, I just don’t do it)
• You can really surprise yourself when you least expect it.
• I have a lot more to learn.

I will never run as fast as my brothers and I don’t know if I will ever run the Boston Marathon.  Maybe it’s a cliché, but it truly is about the journey, not the destination.  Was I able to run all these years, and just didn’t know?  It goes to show; it is never to late to try something new.  Whether it is a career change at 50, or a new sport at 70, you may have no idea what you can do until you try.

Ok, I may not be exhausted, but my knee might hurt tomorrow…

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