Up That Hill

I'm tired, but it's time to post race details.

***

4:30 am came way too early for me, let me tell you. I guess I hit the sheets at Whit's place around 10:30pm.

I was nervous, and woke up often.

I'd arranged and rearranged my clothes for the race four or five times. I'd dreamed about it, trained for it, and heck, even planned a song list for it for months.

It was becoming reality.

***

We zipped down the freeway, listening to Ray Charles and cutting up. You know, anxiety didn't overwhelm me at any point. We went into the George R. Brown Convention Center, went through a couple pre-race formalities, then headed outside.

We were in the "back corral," aka the "slow people's section."

I was shivering from the cold as I waited there. Whit disappeared for one last toilet run, and you know, I should have gone with him.

***

The starting gun was LOUD, and half the folks in the back corral looked around, asking whether that was IT. I was sure it was, and in a moment we were in motion. Probably took a couple minutes to actually reach the starting line.

I'd tried to find that "ready" feeling inside of me that morning, and it just hadn't happened. In the days before I'd had fleeting glimpses of it, moments when a voice inside of me seemed to be saying I was ready.

On that morning, though... nothing.

When taking that first step, I did at least manage to put out of my mind that I'd be in motion for over two hours.

***

The sight of the sun rising to our right was glorious.

***

I had never run more than eight miles, and Whit hadn't managed to go farther than, I believe, two or three in his training. My calf injury had kept me from stretching my distance farther, and his asthma had hampered him.

13.1 miles seemed reachable one moment, and a pipe dream the next.

***

Whit and I were shoulder-to-shoulder there in the crowd. He was in his t-shirt, hat and gloves, and I was in my great Easton compression shirt and some black shorts. Had the iPod at the ready.

Early on, Whit and I were cutting up, talking a bit. I knew that wouldn't last.

And the sonofagun kept SPEEDING UP. I mean, our pace was fine, but when there was an opening in the crowd he'd dart forward, and I'd have to turn on the jets to catch him. I knew I was wasting energy, and it would come back to haunt me later. I jokingly chastised him for it, but really, we largely stayed together for about 10 miles.

***

The turnout was great. The temperature at the start of the race was around 50 I guess, and folks were on the curbs in jackets and blankets, holding up signs, yelling and slapping our hands. It was awesome, and I don't mean to use that word lightly. 10 miles into the race the cheers were still giving me chill bumps.

I felt great for quite a while. At about the six mile marker I was thinking that I would CERTAINLY be doing this again someday.

There were bands here and there, runners in crazy getups, folks handing slices of orange to runners, and of course, blessed drink stations.

Henley has told me about the heightening of senses that occurs when running, and let me tell you, the Gatorade was as sweet as cane syrup. It was incredible. Overhwhelming even.

***

Someone who smelled like patchouli passed me.

It wasn't funny.

In fact, there were a lot of funky smells along the course. Lots of sewer odors here and there, and under one overpass was the biggest pile of manure I've ever seen. It could have concealed a minivan. Couldn't the landscaping project have waited until AFTER the race? I didn't appreciate smelling THAT.

***

Standing in the median at one point was a little old lady holding a sign that read, "Freaking Awesome!"

I had to laugh.

I was surprised at how many folks were having mixed drinks as they watched us go by that morning.

***

At 10 miles I was telling myself I'd NEVER do something like that again. My lower extremities were in a lot of pain. The calf was holding up, bothering me much less than I'd expected. But my feet hurt, my knees hurt, and I was getting tired.

I was slow, but I was passing walkers everywhere. I moved, I chugged, and with the help of the iPod, I managed to lose myself in the run here and there.

And then, just past mile 11 came an incline.

And I STOPPED. Crap.

I couldn't run up that incline. I started trying to fathom what was going on, whether I'd reached the end of my stamina. Runners passed me left and right, and I stumbled along, defeated by the incline.

I walked about 1/8 of a mile. Once it leveled out, I began running again. That last stretch was cruel, but I made it.

***

I finished at... 2:29:48 if I recall. I'd averaged nice 11-minute miles for a while, but at the end I was mostly quite slow.

Mostly. I went into a sprint somewhere during the last 100 yards. I put everything I had left out there, and I ran as fast as I could.

It wasn't very fast.

The gun time was about 2:31:00 when I crossed. Watching the video tape, one of the on-air folks describes, at that moment, a man in a grey shirt sprinting the final 100 yards (no shot though). I was in a grey and black shirt, and I wonder if he was talking about me.

***

Whit finished 6-7 minutes ahead of me. He had to battle the asthma, and despite having to stop to catch his breath several times, he simply ran faster.

***

Walking was immediately difficult. We must have looked like the president and vice president of the Fred Sanford fan club as we hobbled to the parking garage, cursing steps and curbs. We changed clothes in the van and headed out to get some noodles. You should have seen the staff at the restaurant laughing as we limped around, grunting and groaning. We must have been a sight.

***

I'm tired, and not doing justice to this experience. It was really one of the greatest of my life.

Yes, I think I'll do it again.

Next time I'll make it up that hill.