Rocky Top: My Knoxville Marathon Race Report
I did it.
That’s what I kept saying to myself, out loud, after I ran through the finish line. I kept looking for my husband and saying to myself “I did it.”
On Saturday afternoon we departed to head north to Knoxville, the great land of anticipation and hope, for its inaugural marathon. We stopped on the way at a Macaroni Grill, where I commenced in consuming the entire loaf of foccaccia set on the table, by myself, with absolutely no assistance from my husband. I also ate the traditional pre-race meal of pasta. From there, we went to the host hotel. My husband checked in while I went across the street to get my race packet. He met me in escalator of the convention center with good news – my room was at the end of the hall, with nothing but a fire exit across from it. This was the first of many fortunate occurrences.
After my husband left me to go stay with our dog, I relaxed in the huge king-sized bed and watched college basketball. The fact that I had forgotten my glasses and that I had to keep my contacts in seemed a foreboding sign (will things only get worse, what else did I forget? ran through my head). I have the supreme misfortune of being more than slightly obsessive about checking and rechecking. It’s horrible. Then the music started. There was a wedding reception in the park adjacent to the hotel. Fortunately, they wrapped up at about 10:00 p.m. without much hooting and hollering. That was about the time I retired to see if I could get some sleep.
I set my alarm, actually two alarms and a wake up call, for 4:00 a.m. However, the alarm and subsequent backups weren’t necessary given that I woke up at 2:00 a.m. and couldn’t return to dreamland for as much as I tried. I stayed in bed, my head resting on the pillows that were too high, awaiting the time to get up and eat. I think the key to a good marathon is good eating that morning. I ate 1.5 Luna Bars and 45 oz. of Cytomax, laid in bed and flipped through the channels on tv as a distraction. There really isn’t much on at 4:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. After showering and watching more tv, I finally got dressed and began the usual levels of anxiety that happen pre-race. I could see the start line from my hotel room and could hear the announcements. I waited to go down to the start until what I thought was the last possible minute. Others had the same thought too, because we stopped at every single floor for nine floors, the only proper and fitting way to add to my anxiety.
I lined up and met someone who I’d seen on a running message board. We both had similar goals of beating four hours. The crowd of people at the start slowly loped forward as the race began. The whole start was slow, but I didn’t push as I typically do. Maybe I’ve finally learned that picking through the crowd only wastes energy. In the first mile I found one of two of the 4:00 pace leaders. I asked him what time he typically ran marathons when he wasn’t pacing. Based upon his response, he either a. didn’t understand my question or b. hadn’t run a marathon before. So, I didn’t stick with him and moved on. I found my four hour message board man a bit later and we tagged together for a few miles. It was then that I thought maybe I needed to use the portalet, so I sped up a bit hoping to find one. But each one I came to was occupied, so I never stopped.
Somewhere later on I came to Phil from Michigan. I basically drafted off of Phil for several miles, and kept telling myself that I just needed to stick with the tall man. Unfortunately, Phil was too entranced by the girl scouts with oranges at mile 21.5, so I couldn’t draft anymore. It was all up to me and the watch. Through it all, I just remembered my mantras: fortitude and commitment. There were moments, too, when I reminded myself that I was blessed (but what or whom take your pick) to be out there on that spectacular day, and that I had so many friends and family members who, while not on the course, were rooting for me at various places in the country. These thoughts kept me going. I also thought about how happy my husband would be if I met my goal. He nearly cried at the conclusion of the last marathon in Chickamauga thinking I would make it under four hours. I wanted to make him cry this time.
After mile 23, the second 4:00 pacer zoomed by me. I tried to keep pace, but he was going a bit faster than I was capable of. I thought, I can’t lose the 4:00 man. He said he thought he’d finish about a minute under. I kept chugging. At mile 25, a Beastie Boys song blaring through speakers lifted my spirits. Beastie Boys and uplifting usually don’t go together. From mile 25.5 to 26, I was talking to myself. Come on chick, you can do it. The last .2 miles I was shouting “come on, let’s go” like a complete lunatic. I know that I must have looked like an absolute nut. Other people around me picked up their pace because maybe they thought I was yelling at them. The biggest charge of race was coming through the tunnel at Neyland Stadium on the Tennessee campus and running on the football field. Emerging from the tunnel, I saw the clock tick up. 3:59:43… and up to 3:59:48 when I crossed the finish line. Under four hours – my goal. I was actually less than that in terms of “chip time” by about 37 seconds. I was so happy that not even the soreness could wipe a smile off my face. I just kept saying “I did it.” Finally I found my husband and I told him. He said, “I know!” While I was looking like a lunatic yelling, he was standing in the bleachers of the stadium waiting for me. When he saw someone he thought was me, he jumped up and just started yelling “RUN! RUN! RUN!” The people around him stared at him like a lunatic (so he says).
I could not have done it without the support of my husband, who withstands the every day grief associated with my obsession. But he didn’t cry.
Now I need a new goal. How fast can I run the next marathon?
That’s what I kept saying to myself, out loud, after I ran through the finish line. I kept looking for my husband and saying to myself “I did it.”
On Saturday afternoon we departed to head north to Knoxville, the great land of anticipation and hope, for its inaugural marathon. We stopped on the way at a Macaroni Grill, where I commenced in consuming the entire loaf of foccaccia set on the table, by myself, with absolutely no assistance from my husband. I also ate the traditional pre-race meal of pasta. From there, we went to the host hotel. My husband checked in while I went across the street to get my race packet. He met me in escalator of the convention center with good news – my room was at the end of the hall, with nothing but a fire exit across from it. This was the first of many fortunate occurrences.
After my husband left me to go stay with our dog, I relaxed in the huge king-sized bed and watched college basketball. The fact that I had forgotten my glasses and that I had to keep my contacts in seemed a foreboding sign (will things only get worse, what else did I forget? ran through my head). I have the supreme misfortune of being more than slightly obsessive about checking and rechecking. It’s horrible. Then the music started. There was a wedding reception in the park adjacent to the hotel. Fortunately, they wrapped up at about 10:00 p.m. without much hooting and hollering. That was about the time I retired to see if I could get some sleep.
I set my alarm, actually two alarms and a wake up call, for 4:00 a.m. However, the alarm and subsequent backups weren’t necessary given that I woke up at 2:00 a.m. and couldn’t return to dreamland for as much as I tried. I stayed in bed, my head resting on the pillows that were too high, awaiting the time to get up and eat. I think the key to a good marathon is good eating that morning. I ate 1.5 Luna Bars and 45 oz. of Cytomax, laid in bed and flipped through the channels on tv as a distraction. There really isn’t much on at 4:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. After showering and watching more tv, I finally got dressed and began the usual levels of anxiety that happen pre-race. I could see the start line from my hotel room and could hear the announcements. I waited to go down to the start until what I thought was the last possible minute. Others had the same thought too, because we stopped at every single floor for nine floors, the only proper and fitting way to add to my anxiety.
I lined up and met someone who I’d seen on a running message board. We both had similar goals of beating four hours. The crowd of people at the start slowly loped forward as the race began. The whole start was slow, but I didn’t push as I typically do. Maybe I’ve finally learned that picking through the crowd only wastes energy. In the first mile I found one of two of the 4:00 pace leaders. I asked him what time he typically ran marathons when he wasn’t pacing. Based upon his response, he either a. didn’t understand my question or b. hadn’t run a marathon before. So, I didn’t stick with him and moved on. I found my four hour message board man a bit later and we tagged together for a few miles. It was then that I thought maybe I needed to use the portalet, so I sped up a bit hoping to find one. But each one I came to was occupied, so I never stopped.
Somewhere later on I came to Phil from Michigan. I basically drafted off of Phil for several miles, and kept telling myself that I just needed to stick with the tall man. Unfortunately, Phil was too entranced by the girl scouts with oranges at mile 21.5, so I couldn’t draft anymore. It was all up to me and the watch. Through it all, I just remembered my mantras: fortitude and commitment. There were moments, too, when I reminded myself that I was blessed (but what or whom take your pick) to be out there on that spectacular day, and that I had so many friends and family members who, while not on the course, were rooting for me at various places in the country. These thoughts kept me going. I also thought about how happy my husband would be if I met my goal. He nearly cried at the conclusion of the last marathon in Chickamauga thinking I would make it under four hours. I wanted to make him cry this time.
After mile 23, the second 4:00 pacer zoomed by me. I tried to keep pace, but he was going a bit faster than I was capable of. I thought, I can’t lose the 4:00 man. He said he thought he’d finish about a minute under. I kept chugging. At mile 25, a Beastie Boys song blaring through speakers lifted my spirits. Beastie Boys and uplifting usually don’t go together. From mile 25.5 to 26, I was talking to myself. Come on chick, you can do it. The last .2 miles I was shouting “come on, let’s go” like a complete lunatic. I know that I must have looked like an absolute nut. Other people around me picked up their pace because maybe they thought I was yelling at them. The biggest charge of race was coming through the tunnel at Neyland Stadium on the Tennessee campus and running on the football field. Emerging from the tunnel, I saw the clock tick up. 3:59:43… and up to 3:59:48 when I crossed the finish line. Under four hours – my goal. I was actually less than that in terms of “chip time” by about 37 seconds. I was so happy that not even the soreness could wipe a smile off my face. I just kept saying “I did it.” Finally I found my husband and I told him. He said, “I know!” While I was looking like a lunatic yelling, he was standing in the bleachers of the stadium waiting for me. When he saw someone he thought was me, he jumped up and just started yelling “RUN! RUN! RUN!” The people around him stared at him like a lunatic (so he says).
I could not have done it without the support of my husband, who withstands the every day grief associated with my obsession. But he didn’t cry.
Now I need a new goal. How fast can I run the next marathon?
posted by runninchick at 7:30 PM
1 Comments:
Congradulations, I am looking at my next marathon in 4 weeks. It is really an amazing thing when you realise that you are going to set achieve a goal that earlier had been out of reach. I had a great PR myself at the New Bedford Half Marathon on Sunday. It was a surprize to me, because my original goal was to finish close to the same time as last year.
Good luck and keep on running.
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