I watched Spirit of the Marathon a few nights ago and I’ll admit it…I cried. That sweeping helicopter shot over the huge crowd at the starting line always gets me. More than any other part of my marathon and half marathon experiences, the feeling of anticipation while standing in that crowd of people at the start is etched solidly into my memory.

The movie wasn’t quite what I expected. I thought it was going to be a documentary about elite runners and how they train, etc. Instead, it follow 6 runners of very different backgrounds as they train for and eventually race the 2005 Chicago marathon. There are two elite runners, but the others are a varied group of people: 2 first time runners, a 70-something man and a 30-something guy trying to qualify for Boston. Interspersed are interview clips with historians and famous runners commenting on various aspects of training, racing, etc.

Watching the group training runs in downtown Chicago made me miss my Saturday morning dates with Richie, Justin and Steve. I haven’t even seen Justin and Steve since the marathon and only saw Richie briefly when I dropped Alice off to babysit his son a few weeks ago. I was on the tipping point of ramping up my training and the movie seems to have pushed me over the edge. If there had been any light left in the day when the movie was over, I would have laced up the racing shoes and immediately ripped out a tempo run.

Instead, I had to wait for the morning when the feeling had died down a bit. I still made it out and in some of the hottest weather we had all summer, I ran a warm up mile, then ran hard for 3 miles, threw up about 4 times and then ran a cool down mile back home. After work, I ran to the gym with Alice, did a leg workout and then ran home. For the first time in a long time, I slipped into bed physically exhausted and slept like a log.

I’m certainly far from the shape I was in earlier this year, but I’m mentally back. I can feel that the speed and endurance will quickly follow.

Three years ago, I wrote a post about failure in a tempo workout that inquired about M.H. Alderson, to whom the quote, “If at first you don’t succeed, you’re running about average,” is attributed.

This week, his family chimed in. As it turns out, Mr. Alderson was a pretty good guy. He earned a purple heart and two bronze stars, returned to the U.S., got married, became a small town newspaper publisher, a great father and a civic leader. He died of cancer in 1984. His quote was originally inspiring to me because I’ve read about so many successful people who started out with a string of failures. Even people who seem invincible, like Lance Armstrong and Richard Branson, have there bad days (like today in Mr. Armstrong’s case).

I remembered writing the post three years ago because it included a lot of fun quotes. I had forgotten why I wrote it. The two comments from Mr. Alderson’s family this week led me back to that post and I read it with a smile. As I previously mentioned, the post was about a failed tempo run. I was trying to run 3 miles at 7:35 pace. I only got 2 miles before I had to walk. At the time, I was wondering if I’d ever be any good at running. I was feeling a little bit like I’ve been feeling the last few weeks. I was questioning why I race and why I spend so much time at an activity that on the surface seems rather pointless.

That post from 3 years ago reminded me that it wasn’t pointless because this February I nearly held that 7:35 pace for 26.2 miles and one month before that, I held a 6:48 pace for 13.1. I’ve worked hard in the time since that post and I have improved - quite a bit. When the sun is hot and it’s hard to breathe and the workouts hurt, it can be hard to see that improvement, but if you’ve been consistent and you look back over a longer time, you can see that it does matter.

So, when your heroes are being plagued by doping scandals and sex scandals. When they don’t seem so much like great heroes anymore - and all heroes have their shares of bad moments (they are human after all) - look back at yourself. You may be your own hero.

This week, I’ve been hanging out with the family in a nice home up in the Smoky Mountains outside of Gatlinburg, TN. I haven’t been running at all. The neighborhood streets are very narrow, very steep and very curvy. Alice and I decided it was much too dangerous to run on them…or maybe that’s just a convenient excuse.

In any case, we’re not exactly sedentary. Yesterday, we decided to tackle the Chimney Tops, a popular 2 mile trail in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The trail is steep. It climbs up 1700 feet over those 2 miles and our progress was slow. Wendy isn’t as used to cardiovascular exercise as Raffi, Alice and I are, so she was feeling the effects. About 1.5 miles into the hike, she couldn’t go any further so she and Raffi hiked back down to a stream while Alice and I continued to the top.

At this point, I should back up and mention a peculiar incident that occurred earlier on the trail. We were climbing a particularly steep part of the trail when a shirtless teenage boy went running past us at full speed, breathing very heavily. His run didn’t last very long and he stopped about 50 yards ahead of us to catch his breath. Then, he started dancing. Right there in the middle of the trail, he attempted to do the robot. Soon, his father called him back to the group and the whole group eventually passed us while were were resting near a stream.

Fast forward about 45 minutes. Alice and I had reached the top of the trail after leaving Raffi and Wendy behind. To reach the spectacular view at the top of the Chimneys, one has to climb about 100 yards up a series of rocks. It looks like this:

http://www.summitpost.org/view_object.php?object_id=19860

Note the caption on the photo. Alice and I proceeded up the rocks, wary of the 100-200 foot vertical drop on either side. Proceeding on all fours, the climb wasn’t horrible, but the rocks were hot and burned our hands so there was little time to rest and analyze the tricky path up. There were also quite a few people coming down, so we had to wedge ourselves into small spaces to let them pass. We were about halfway up and dancing boy was sitting with his family about three quarters of the way up when a lady emerged near the bottom of the climb.

“There’s an easier way over here!” she yelled up the hill. That made sense. After all, I’d read about 8 year olds successfully reaching the summit of the Chimney Tops. We scrambled back down only to find that the “easy way” was blocked by a fence with a “hiker alert” saying that the area was closed for rehabilitation.

When this close to the edge of a steep vertical drop, I tend to listen to the National Park Service and not go into closed areas, but it had been a long climb to get to this point and dammit, we wanted to see the 360 degree view.

We climbed the fence and made our way a long a gently sloping path around the peak. This was indeed much, much easier. When we reached the end of the path, there was a steep, narrow 30 foot climb to the summit. It was a little more treacherous that the longer climb on the other side, but it seemed easier to swallow our fears for 30 feet of climbing.

We pinned our backs against the rock face so hikers descending could make their way around us. Meanwhile, dancing boy and his family brushed past us in the other direction and waited in a tree for the descending hikers. When the last hikers were down, an old man at the summit yelled down at us.

“Come on up and get your money’s worth!”

From the bottom, I swear it was Larry the Flip flop guy, but that seemed impossible. Dancing boy’s family started up and dancing boy reluctantly followed. Alice and I lined up behind.

“Do you want me to go first, or do you want to?” I asked Alice.

“I’ll go first,” she replied. “If you were to fall, we’d both die. If I fall, you can catch me.”

The logic sort of made sense and she started up the steep climb. I looked up, grabbed the rocks with my hands and started up behind her. As I looked past her at the very slow progress made by dancing boy, it occurred to me that Alice’s logic was slightly flawed because a fall by the eccentric dancing boy would certainly take both of us out.

No sooner had this thought crossed my mind than he started kicking the side of the mountain erratically. Dirt and rocks fell into our face. Then, he screamed a loud, high pitched scream and let go of the rocks. I don’t know how he stayed on the mountain as he stood straight up and turned around, facing out toward the open air.

“I don’t want to die!” he screamed has he started to rapidly descend, out of control toward us.

“Oh shit,” I said to my daughter, “we gotta get the hell outta here.”

Adrenaline shot through me as I slid down the rocks. Thankfully, the tree prevented us from going over the edge as we slid past the narrow trail. The screaming continued from above.

“Where are you going? Mommy! Mommy! I want my mommy!”

Alice and I scurried along the narrow ledge like squirrels on an electrical wire.

We heard another high pitched squeal behind us.

“I want them to leave me alone! Mommy! Mommy! I don’t want to die!”

We could then here dancing boy’s dad telling him to get down as fast as he could. Alice and I clambered over the fence, past dancing boy’s mom and aunt who were having a conversation about camelbaks with another group and started back down the trail.

A quarter mile later, dancing boy ran past us at full speed, his back full of giant, puffy welts. His sister soon followed and we eventually found them bathing in the same stream where Raffi and Wendy were waiting for us.

Later, dancing boy and his mom hiked down behind us and asked for Benedryl. He had been stung multiple times by angry bees. We had none, but they made it all the way down and found someone at the bottom with Benedryl in their car. We’re pretty sure he is autistic, which explains some of the behavior we witnessed. Still, he outweighed both of us and he looked like he was going to kill himself and take both of us with him.

If I ever return to the Chimney Tops, I’m going on a cooler day and I’m taking the “hard” way.

Sometimes there are perks to being a running blogger.  Lindsay gets Sugoi gear and Gu after all.  I’m not quite so lucky, but I was fortunate enough to receive a copy of Get in the Kitchen Bit@es signed by author Jason Bailin.  While I haven’t enjoyed it quite as much any novel I’ve ever read, it is probably the best cookbook I’ve perused (at least for entertainment value) in quite some time.

Featuring iconic recipes such as “On your knees! Chicken” and “Bend Me Over Beef”, Get in the Kitchen Bit@hes is a useful companion to those who don’t really have much of a clue about cooking.  In fact, I’m thinking of sending a copy to Lindsay as a wedding present.  The recipes are rated using a simple three point system:

1)  Dumb Ass - easy

2)  The Little Chef that Could- medium

3)  Are you F%@king Kidding Me? - hard

In actuality, most of the recipes are pretty simple and laid out in an easy to follow fashion interspersed with black and white photos of the author and his friends cooking in lingerie and/or various BDSM poses.  There are also useful “words of wisdom” such as,

Adding salty flavors to fruity flavors will convert the sweetness from a typical desert type dish to a dinner-type dish.

I tried the “Curry Up!’ recipe last night and thankfully it came out quite well considering it was rated “Dumb Ass”.  If you don’t know how to cook, this is the cookbook for you.  While the photos may be intimidating, the recipes aren’t and the book actually teaches you just enough about cooking in general to branch out to more difficult recipes, or to experiment with flavors on your own.  The whole thing is certainly tongue in cheek, but it’s perfect for the bachelor/bachelorette who has been living on take out and frozen meals for the last 3 years.

It’s time to get domesticated, bit@es!

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve posted.  Now, my lovely wife has tagged me with a Trendy Blog award.  Since I haven’t posted in well over a month, it’s difficult to say I deserve a “Trendy blog” award.  So, I won’t be playing along with the tag game, but I will take the poke in the back and actually post.

With the heat index expected to climb over 100 degrees, Alice and I woke up at 5 am to hit the Pinellas Trail before sunrise.  After about a mile of running, we could barely make out a lone figure in the dark distance.  As we approached, we could see he was carrying a long stick and wearing only flip flops and long boxer shorts.  He appeared to wobble a little along the trail.  Since Richie and I have encountered many a drunk man on the trail early in the morning, I was about to call for an impromptu fartlek to put some distance between us and this mysterious man.

Before I could, he broke into a pretty decent jog and off he went.  Eventually, he pulled off the trail and we passed him.  Before long, he was aside us.

“Forerunners?” he asked, referring to a popular running club here in St. Petersburg.

“No,” I replied, “you?”

“Nah, too old and slow,” he said as he picked up the pace and left us behind.

We continued for another mile, climbing over two overpasses.  At the bottom of the second, we encountered him again.

“How far are you going today?” he asked.

“8 miles,” I replied.  “It’s Alice’s first 8 miler.  How about you?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve been out here since 3 already.”

“Really?” I asked, “Do you do that a lot?”  He seemed surprised.

“You’ve never heard of me?”

“No,” I confessed.

“Go to….no don’t do that.  Just Google ‘Larry the Flip Flop Guy’.  There’s an article about me”.

“How long have you been running in the flip flops,” I asked.

“About 15 years I guess.”

“So you didn’t just read Born to Run and start running in sandals like everyone else?”

“Nah”.

We chatted for a while before Alice and I stopped for a quick drink.  We then passed him as he walked up an overpass.

“You’ll be turning around soon?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied,”probably on the other side of this overpass”.

“Catch you on the return then!”

Alice and I made it over the bridge and down the other side.  We ran out to about 4 and quarter miles, then turned around.  When we did, Larry was nowhere to be found.  We joked that we’d probably Google him and find out he died in 1999 or something like that.

About a mile later, we spotted him in the distance.  It turns out, Larry’s pretty fast when he wants to be.  We caught him on another overpass and I stayed with us until we stopped for water again, asking questions and doling out advice the whole time.  He runs the trail almost everyday, averaging around 120 miles a week (down from over 200 miles per week in his prime).

Larry stayed with us for the rest of our run.  It was definitely one of the most interesting runs we’ve had.  When I got home, I did Google him.  Here’s what I found:

http://www.sptimes.com/2007/10/04/Life/Catching_up_with_the_.shtml

For those of you following Alice’s running career, she ran a 13:38 3200 m race at the Regional meet, finishing 14th.  The girl who won ran a 10:18 for the second fastest 3200 in the nation this year.  The goal going in was to not get double lapped and she achieved that goal by a good 5 seconds.  All in all, the experience was pretty positive.  She got to school the catch the bus at 6 am, drove 3 hours south, sat around all day to race at 8:30 pm, then drove home with me, arriving home just after midnight.  We knew going in that she wasn’t going to qualify, so I think that the day of figuring out how to deal with that kind of situation without the pressure of having the qualify was good for her.  The experience will benefit her in a year or two when she does have a chance.  Also, it never hurts to run with some of the best high school runners in the nation (the girl who won has a twin sister who finished just 15 seconds behind her - they both ran 4:54 in the mile) when you’re in 7th grade.

Since track season is now over, Alice has been turned over to “Coach Daddy” to prepare for cross country season.  She’ll be traveling to St. Louis for a couple of weeks in June and we decided that would be a great time for a couple weeks off.  She’s also feeling highly motivated at this point.  So, we’ve jumped right into training.  I added her to my membership at the gym and we did some core training on Monday.  Tuesday was a tempo run at 7:40 pace.  Today was interval training.

Instead of standing there with my stopwatch, I came up with a new plan this time around.  Since her ideal 400 m interval time is 1:35 and mine is 1:25, I figured I’d just give her a 10 second head start, then chase her down.  She has really come a long way since our 400 m interval sessions in the winter where she struggled to hit 1:38 consistently.  Today, she ran all of her intervals at 1:30 or faster.  That made it harder on me, since I was pacing myself on the idea that I should catch her right at the finish.  So, here’s how I did:

400 m in 1:19

400 m in 1:21

400 m in 1:18

400 m in 1:19

400 m in 1:23

400 m in 1:14

The last one was just because I wasn’t going to let her beat me on all 6.  Unfortunately, she ran that last one in 1:26, so I had to push it to pass her.  It was pretty cool to have run the last interval sub 5 min/mile pace.  We jogged 400 m at about 10 min/mile pace in between intervals with a 1 mile warmup and cooldown.  Overall, it was a good workout for both of us.  I think the 10 second head start thing was a pretty good idea.  It allows us to push each other.

I’m still alive.

No, I didn’t injure myself running barefoot.

Yes, I’m still running.

I’ll admit I’ve been a slacker lately at least when it comes to the blog.  I have been very busy at work (both jobs), which is good for the financial situation, but less so for blogging and keeping up with all my friends’ blogs.

My runs have been pretty informal.  I’ve been leaving the Garmin at home and just running whatever distance and pace feels right on any given day.  Sometimes I run to the gym, workout, then run home (about 5 miles round trip).

Running has still been a big part of life, though.  Some of the good that has come from working into the night has been that I’ve freed up some time to go to all of Alice’s track meets.  Last week, she finished second in the 3200 m at the district meet and has advanced to the regionals (tomorrow down in Naples, FL).  So, I guess you could say I’ve been a little inspired by the “playoff” atmosphere of the last couple track meets and her improvement/drive to keep improving in general.  Perhaps that’s why I was finally motivated to do some 400 m intervals yesterday.  Here’s how it went:

1.5 miles warmup

400 m in 1:19

400 m in 1:21

400 m in 1:19

400 m in 1:25

400 m in 1:23

400 m in 1:21

1.5 miles easy

The recoveries between intervals were 400m between 8 and 9 minutes per mile (with 10-15 seconds walking post interval to catch my breath).  It felt great.  It’s nice to see I’m still in pretty decent shape.  I’m sticking with one of Jack Daniels’ non-specific training plans right now.  I’ll be adding a second day of speedwork in a couple of weeks - probably 1200’s at 5K race pace.  I’m running 12 miles with Drew on Saturday.  Hopefully he’ll go easy on me.  He didn’t bother with much recovery after his sub 3 hour performance at Gasparilla and nearly ran a sub 35 minute 10K a couple of weeks back.  Maybe he’s ready for some recovery now.

I’ll admit that I’ve been a skeptic of the whole “barefoot running”/Vibram Five fingers movement that’s been sweeping the running world over the last few years.  My parents bought me a copy of Born to Run for Christmas and Raffi read it on the drive home from St. Louis.  She immediately converted to the barefoot running philosophy, although she has yet to run barefoot.  I’ve finally made my way through the book and the scientific argument for barefoot running is difficult to ignore.

I always thought that barefoot running fell into the realm of the mystical, “Let’s be one with nature” type of philosophy, but the book put forth actual studies that were hard for my logical scientist brain to ignore.  On the other hand, I’ve heard countless stories of people who tried barefoot running or running with Vibram Five fingers and ended up with stress fractures or other running injuries.  To put things simply in my mind, I’ll quote a speaker I heard at the Walt Disney World marathon expo:

“For every person who’s had success with barefoot running, I’ve heard of ten who’ve been injured”.

So, I waited patiently until after my marathon to give it a try.  I’m more than 2 weeks post marathon and I took it very easy during recovery.  Most of my time has been spent warming up on a stationary bike, followed by upper body weight training.  In week two of recovery, I went for a 3 mile run with Raffi and we averaged 12 minutes per mile.  Yesterday (exactly two weeks since the marathon), I ran to the gym, did an upper body and core weight training circuit and ran back (a total of about 5 miles) in my racing shoes.

Normally, we would spend the girls’ Spring Break as a family at Disney World, but this year, we were short on cash.  So, Raffi and the girls headed to Ft. Lauderdale to spend the week with the in laws and I’m left as a bachelor for the week.  I didn’t want to waste the break entirely, so I decided to take most of the time off work.  Today, I headed to the beach and I left my shoes at home.

I ran just over 4 miles barefoot on the beach and I have some good things to say about that.  When I’m running my best (as I feel I did during the Walt Disney World half marathon this year), I feel less like I’m running and more like I’m piloting my body.  By that, I mean that my legs are turning over quickly and I simply can’t feel the work they’re doing.  My head says speed up or slow down and my legs easily obey.  I quickly curve around obstacles.  It’s almost like I’m remotely telling someone else what to do.  That’s how I felt running barefoot on the beach today.

My initial intent was to run about 3 miles, but when I hit 1.5, I saw a pier in the distance and I decided to aim for that.  I was definitely landing on the balls of my feet  (landing on my heels hurt) and my stride seemed like it was a lot choppier than usual.  Amazingly, however, I was flying through sub 8 minute miles with very little effort.  I mainly ran on the “hard” part of the beach next to the water.  One advantage to running barefoot here instead of with shoes was that I could veer into the Gulf of Mexico at will and splash up some 58 degree water to cool down.  Doing this with shoes would result in some pretty damned smelly shoes.

Ultimately, I finished four miles in less than 32 minutes, barely feeling winded at all.  There were some downsides, however.  For the most part, my shortened stride steered me easily around sharp shells and other obstacles, but I stepped on a burr in the last quarter mile and that stuck in my left foot.  My stride adjusted and I easily pulled it out when I was finished, but it did hurt.  I’m also surprised to find that I have blisters!  I have one medium sized one on the ball of my left foot where the burr lodged itself, and a couple very small ones on my toes.  Sans shoes, that’s entirely from my feet rubbing on the sand.

Overall, I’m pretty happy with my first barefoot running experience.  My theory is that a lot of barefoot running injuries come from people who are averaging 50-70 miles a week with shoes, then try to run 50-70 miles a week barefoot or with the Vibram five fingers shoes.  I’m going to work it from the perspective that I’m just learning to run barefoot and I need to pretend I’ve just started running in general.  So, I’ll be hitting the stationary bike again tomorrow along with some upper body strength training.  If I’m feeling up to it, I’ll head back to the beach for 3-4 barefoot miles on Wednesday.

Ultimately, I’d like to ditch my heavy training shoes and start running most of my runs in racing flats.  It’s still too early to determine if this plan is realistic, though.

I sit tonight in my usual blogging spot: butt firmly planted on the love seat and feet resting comfortably on the coffee table.  It’s been awhile, I’ll admit.  To see people commenting on the automatic race updates seems somewhat pathetic (pathetic in that they have nothing better upon which to comment), but I’m nevertheless grateful that I have a few faithful followers left in spite of my lack of motivation to do pretty much anything over the last few weeks.

You see, I’ve felt burned out.  Since the Walt Disney World half marathon, it’s been a struggle to get up in the morning to do any sort of workout and it’s been even more of a mental struggle to log my runs (or lack thereof) and blog about them.  Oddly, that all changed on Sunday.  What’s even weirder is that it all changed on a day that I didn’t meet my goal.  I mean, who would have thought that I would lose motivation after achieving my goal in the Disney half marathon by 49 seconds, only to gain it all back after falling over 3 minutes short of my goal in the Gasparilla marathon.  I can’t really explain it myself, but here’s the story of my second marathon (with pirated photos for your viewing enjoyment):

It really all started last June when I crept out of my solo running shell and met Drew and Richie for a 10 mile run along the water.  Drew had contacted me after reading this blog and beating me by over a minute in a local 5K, and I had been introduced to Richie over Facebook by a mutual friend.  My regular readers know that I spent most of the summer running with Richie, while Drew was injured with shin splints and we never trained together again- though his story is slightly intertwined with my experience in this marathon.

After Richie finished the New York City marathon in 3:01:23, he convinced his friends Justin and Steve to run the Gasparilla marathon.  Since I had been planning for this race all along, I joined them all on their Saturday long runs.  In January, Richie developed a groin injury and was unable to continue training with us, but Justin, Steve and I pressed on religiously meeting every Saturday morning for long runs.

On Saturday, Justin invited us all over to his house for a pasta dinner.  It was excellent with Meatballs and sauce from Mazarro’s Italian market.  I had two servings and Alice made me pancakes later in the evening.  In the morning Steve got up at 3 to cook pancakes, but I just had an energy bar.  I met Justin, Steve and Richie at Steve’s house around 4:15 am.  Together, we all drove over the Tampa for the marathon.  Unfortunately, Steve forgot his Garmin, so we had to turn back.  We were still there in plenty of time and each arrived in the starting corral with our respective pace groups: I in 3:20, Steve in3:30 and Justin in 3:40 with about 10 minutes to spare.

In the starting corral, I introduced myself to Chris, the 3:20 pacer.  His wife, Lauren was the 1:40 half marathon pacer so they got to run together for the first 7 miles.

After a few announcements and the national anthem, we all start moving forward without much fanfare.  There’s no horn, no gunshot, and certainly no fireworks like Disney.  It’s all pretty low key - which is just about how I feel.  I’m basically wearing my Disney outfit: shorts, a sleeveless shirt, a green St. Petersburg high school stocking cap, tube socks on my arms and the old white gloves I used to wear when I stocked the dairy at the grocery store in college.  On top of that, I’m wearing one of Richie’s son’s old sweatshirts.  It’s awkward and keeps slipping off my shoulders.  I chuck it at the one mile mark.  The temperature is in the mid forties.  The wind is fairly calm and unlike Disney, there’s no precipitation.

I’ve got 5 Chocolate flavored Clif shot gels in my pockets.  The plan is to take one at miles 5,9,14,18 and 22.  They’re a little inconvenient at the moment.  They swing uncomfortably against my thighs, but I’m mostly focused on keeping Chris in sight.

The crowd is thick and it’s hard to keep up with Chris simply because of the people.  Mile one takes us through several sharp turns and over a bridge to Davis Island.  Continuing around the residential streets of the island, the crowd remains thick.  I know I don’t have the be right next to Chris, but on several occasions,  he gets uncomfortably far away and I have to fight my way through the crowd to stay in contact.  We’re slow through the first few miles mostly due to the crowd, but we begin to pick up the pace about 4 miles in.

I’m feeling kind of crumby for the first few miles of a marathon.  The pace isn’t horrible.  My legs feel fine.  My breathing is steady.  There’s just something weird.  It’s a feeling like I’ve got a long way to go and I’d rather be back in bed.

We continue around the edge of Davis Island, running along Tampa Bay most of the way.  The crowd slowly begins to thin out and after about 4 miles, I’m able to tuck in right behind Chris.  Just before the 5 mile mark, I remove my right glove, reach into my right pocket and pull out my first gel.  It takes about a quarter mile to get it all down, but it’s timed perfectly.  As soon as I take my last swallow, we motor into a water station.  I grab a Gatorade, take two drinks, throw it aside, then grab a water.  I hold onto the water, drinking from it slowly over the next 200 meters.  Once I’m finished, I throw the cup aside, put my glove back on and wipe the excess chocolate gel from my face.  I’m feeling much better now.

Shortly after the five mile mark, we pass a house with two coolers set up at the end of the driveway.  A young girl is sitting with the coolers, offering Gatorade to the runners.  It’s pretty damned cool, but unfortunately not a scene that is repeated later in the race.  Many in the group wave at her and thank her for coming out.  Now that Chris’ wife, Lauren has taken her half marathon group about 20 yards ahead, needing to pull them back on pace over a shorter distance, our group has firmly materialized.  From my vantage point near the front, it appears to be about twenty guys - female free for the moment - and moving as a pretty cohesive unit with sporadic conversation here and there.

We head back over the bridge toward the start area.  The course has cleared out and our pack stands out pretty well now.  We’re the first marathon pace group and we get a lot of “Yeah!  3:20 pace group, you’re lookin good” types of cheers.

10K into the race, we come down the bridge and make a hairpin turn.

“Go Brian, lookin good!”

It’s Richie shouting from the crowd.  I raise my hand in salute.

“Feelin’ good, coach!”

Then, I tuck back into the group.  A few seconds later, I’m surprised to see Richie running alongside.

“How’s it going buddy,” he asks.  I’m a little bewildered that he’s just popped into our pace group.

“Going good,” I say awkwardly, “how are you?”.  He doesn’t seem to hear me and shouts some more words of encouragement to me and the rest of the group before peeling off to wait for Steve.  The other guys in the group ask me about him as we get a preview of the finish.  I tell them about how we ran together all summer and his finish in New York, followed by the groin injury.  It eats up about a half mile and we’re getting good crowd support as we pass the 7 mile mark.

Soon after, we split from the half marathoners who loop back around the finish for a short jaunt down Bayshore drive before returning for their finale.  We’re headed into downtown Tampa.  The streets are empty as we leave the cheers of the crowd and the music behind.  Without the half marathoners, the field is now very spread out, but the pace group still represents a formidable pack about 20 strong.  A young tattooed lady hangs about 10 yards in front of us as though running from a ravenous pack of horny teenagers.

As we run against the wind, one of the group members offers to hold the sign for Chris.  Chris happily hands it off, making sure to mention he can hand it back at any time.  I’m honored to be in the company of such a charitable group member, but I figure Chris can run a 2:47 and I’ll be lucky to hold onto 3:20 so there will be no sign carrying for me today.

Near the 8 mile mark, we get our first glimpse of the race leaders charging back toward us.  They’re roughly 2 miles ahead of us at this point and looking mighty lonely.  The top 4 or 5 runners are spaced over 100 meters apart and there’s very little crowd support at this point in the race.  We cross another bridge and make a hard right turn.  In the distance, I recognize Drew running alone back toward us.  I hadn’t seen his name on the registration list, so I was worried he had gotten injured again.  He’s looking pretty good and I shout some encouragement to him.  He recognizes me in a few seconds and shouts something back to me.

We pass through a water stop and I make a mental note of it since I’m pretty sure we’ll soon be running through it again on the other side of the road.  We make a hard right, cross the river again then make a hard left past the 9 mile mark.  I can see a hairpin turn in the distance.  It’s strange.  There’s just a cone.  There’s no mat to record our chips and no one even standing there.  We could have easily skipped about 3 miles of the race.  Everybody dutifully heads to the cone and loops around it.  We’ve reached the northernmost point of the course.

On the way back downtown, we see the next pace group in the distance.  I scan for Steve and find him about 15 yards ahead of the group.  This is typical.  He’s usually the one setting the pace during our long runs.  He’s in pretty good shape so I’m not too worried.  In fact, I might have suggested he start with me in the 3:20 pace group if it hadn’t been his first marathon.  I yell at him, but he can’t hear me because his headphones are too loud.  This too is typical.

We make a hard right.  I remove my left glove, dig into my left pocket (gotta even out the load) and pull out another gel.  I squeeze it in to my mouth and slowly suck down the contents.  Meanwhile, we pass the 3:40 pace group and I see Justin tucked into the back.

“Yeah J-dog!”, I yell, but he too has his headphones on too loud and I get only a smirk in return.  We make a hard left and we’re back at the water station.  I skip the Gatorade and quaff only water this time.  I slide my glove back on and wipe my face again.  My hands aren’t necessarily cold, but these gloves sure are convenient for wiping chocolate off my face and snot off my nose.

Shortly after the water stop, we approach a woman on a bike (Bike lady).  She services a few members of the group (food and water - get your mind out of the gutter) and then hops on the bike to zip ahead of us.  Tattooed lady still comfortably sits about 10 yards in front of the group, relentlessly holding off our pursuit.   We pass the 10 mile mark, head across the river again and back into downtown.  The wind is at our backs and the course declines slightly.  We all comfortably cruise through the next mile back toward the finish line.

Here, we merge again with the half marathoners - only now we’re merging with slower runners as our 7:38 pace colleagues in the 1:40 pace group are now only 2 miles from the finish.  As we close on runners, the group parts like the Red Sea, isolating each runner briefly in the pack before reforming in front.  We hear several comments from these runners:

“Jesus!”

“Oh crap”

“3:20?  What?!?  Huh?  Oh shit, they’re running the marathon!”

These comments fuel me.  I’m no elitist.  As far as I’m concerned, the bigger the race, the better.  I don’t care how slow you are.  Jump into a race.  Barring injury, you’ve got no choice but to get better.  I was once where these runners were and I’m getting high off the fact that I’m where I am now.

I’m expecting to see Richie again, but he’s nowhere to be found.  Later, I’d find out he took a bus to the 16 mile mark and fell asleep during the ride.  We pass the 12 mile mark in 1:31 and change.  I think about my Disney finish and how I was through 13.1 miles 2 minutes faster than I’m through 12 today.

“Piece of cake,” I think.

We head back across the start line, make a left turn and wind up on Bayshore Blvd.  It’s just a long out and back now.  The pack continues to engulf half marathon runners as we head south on Bayshore Blvd.  Tattoo girl has also been absorbed by the pack and ejected out the back.  Bike lady rides alongside, yelling encouragement at us.

“3:20 pace group!” she yells.  “Looking steady!”  Someone remarks to Chris that he’s going to have to answer to her if he doesn’t bring us home under 3:20.  He laughs.

“That’s a lot of pressure”.

We’re past 13 miles and the course map indicates that there will be a water stop right at the 14 mile mark.  We soon pass a water station and this worries me.  That seems awfully close to the 14 mile stop.

Right glove off. Gel from right pocket.  14 mile mark.  No water stop.

I’m feeling a little dry.  I run along with an empty gel packet in my hand and chocolate gel on my face.  It seems like a long way, but we hit another water station just after 15 miles.

Gatorade.  Water.  Right glove on.  Wipe face.

Felling better, I run right alongside Chris with a steady rhythm.  Shortly before the 16 mile mark, we pass another water station and I see Richie darting from one side of the course to the other.

“Richie!” I yell.  He looks startled to see me.

“Hey!  Brian up in the front of the 3:20 group!  You’re looking great!  You look comfortable!  Want a gel?”

“Just had one.”

“3:20 pace group!  Lookin’ strong!  Take it home boys, take it home!”

Through 16 miles, we are looking pretty strong.  I’m not sure who we’ve lost or who we’ve gained, but the size of the pack hasn’t changed much since the 6 mile mark.  We have pulled in another woman.  She’s tall, blond and not very talkative, but unlike Tattoo girl, she tucks in and maintains the pace.  I think back to the 16 mile mark of my only other marathon at Walt Disney World in 2008.  It was at the 16 mile mark that I sadly watched the 5 hour pace group disappear into the distance.  I figure I can stop, walk the last 10 miles and still beat my 5:22 PR.  That’s pretty cool, but I feel strong and I won’t be walking anytime soon.

We soldier on as members of the group point out potholes, warning those behind to steer clear.  Bike lady continues riding alongside yelling encouragement.  The course leads us away from the water into a neighborhood setting and we see the race leader charging back toward us.  He’s more than 4 miles ahead at this point.  We pass the 17 mile mark and the markers seem to be coming more slowly now.  I keep my eyes peeled for Drew coming toward us in the other direction, trying to gauge if he’s on pace for a sub 3 hour time.  It seems like a long time before I see him, but he passes just as I’m getting ready to pull out another gel.  I shout some more encouragement and he shouts back.

Both gloves off.  Gel from left pocket.  18 mile mark.  Gatorade.  Water.  Both gloves back on.  Wipe face.

We’re in Gadsen park.  It’s the southernmost point of the course.  We make our way around a lake up against the barbed wire fence of MacDill airforce base - home of Central Command.  We’re past the 19 mile mark now.  The group numbers about 15 and the tall blonde is still with us.  We’re “out”.  All that’s left is the “back”.

“I want to be crossing the finish line by myself staring at your backs,” Chris remarks as we leave the park.

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” I reply.  It also sounds pretty feasible.  My plan commits me to stick with the group through 20 miles, but I’m not feeling strong enough to make a move off the front at the 20 mile mark.  I figure I’ll stick with them and make my move in the last mile.  My quads are getting sore, but I’m in a great rhythm and it’s easy to ignore.

We miss the 3:30 pace group.  They must be rounding the lake already.  We pass the 3:40 pace group coming at us in the other direction and Justin is still tucked in with them.  Through 20 miles, I still feel good.  I feel comfortable telling the group that my previous PR is 5:22 and they they need only carry me to the finish in 3 hours for me to PR.

“I don’t want to jinx you,” says a fellow member, “but congratulations.”

I thank him as we wind through the neighborhood, passing many other pace groups coming the other direction in the process. They all yell their encouragement.  We pass the 21 mile mark still a strong pack.  We pass Richie shortly after.

“Right up front, Brian, looking great!” he says as he briefly jogs alongside. “3:20 pace group!  Taking it home!”  It’s like Richie is our personal announcer.

I’m definitely feeling it at this point, but hell it’s only about four and a half miles to go.  I try to stay in the zone, and keep my legs moving.

“You’re looking great, Brian!” remarks Chris with almost a chuckle of disbelief.

“Thank-you, I reply,” trying not to expend too much energy.

At the 22 mile water station, the group breaks apart.  I run through and it’s suddenly just me and Chris.  I’m a little bewildered and I wait for the rest of the group to catch up, but they never do.  I don’t know where they are.

I hang with Chris for the next two miles, passing another water stop.  My gel remains in my pocket.  My head is focused on the finish.  I’m getting sick of chocolate gels and quite frankly, the whole process of reaching into my pocket and tearing the top off the gel seems like too much work.  My quads are burning as we pass the 23 mile mark and it’s taking a lot of focus to maintain contact with Chris.  I scoot across the road to grab some Gatorade and fall about 10 yards off the back.  Chris looks back at me.

“Come on Brian!” he yells.

I pick up the pace and pull him back, but I only hang on for about a minute before my right calf cramps.  My foot flails out and I work into an exaggerated heel strike to stretch it out.  This seems to work, but I’m about 20 yards behind Chris again.  When I try to increase my pace to catch up, the calf hints at a cramp again so I slow down.

Finally, near the 24 mile mark, the left calf goes into a crazy spasm.  I have to stop briefly to stretch it, but I know that stopping for too long will tell my body it’s done running and once that happens…well, my body will be done running.  I walk for about a minute, then get myself back into a jog for about a half mile before both calves cramp again.  I walk for about 30 seconds, stretching out my calves as former members of my pace group begin passing me one by one.  I manage to jog for a while with the goal of making it to the 25 mile mark.

Shortly before the marker, I hit a water station.  I jog right up, grab a Gatorade and walk as I drink.  Hoping the electrolytes will do me some good, I throw it off and jog again.

“Come on Brian, you’re almost there!” someone yells from the crowd.  It’s encouraging and I pick up the pace, but my right calf cramps again.  The change to my stride is ugly.

“Oh, he’s cramping up!” says someone in the crowd, “look honey, he’s cramping up!”.  I just exaggerate my heel strike a little more to stretch it and try to continue.  It all probably looks pretty heroic to the very encouraging crowd, but in my mind, it goes something like this:

“Why the hell didn’t you take your last gel at 22 miles?  You dumbass.  You just ruined your shot at your goal.”

I manage to drag myself back into a jog.

“Hey, it’s Brian!” I hear from the crowd. “Yay!  Go Brian.  Woo hoo!”.

I’m a little delirious and I don’t immediately recognize Richie, Steve and Justin’s wives cheering me on.  Eventually, my brain starts to work and I raise my right hand in salute to them.  It’s the last encouragement I need and my feeble jog pace picks up as I carefully pick my way toward the finish.  Mercifully, I soon enter the finishing chute.

“Brian Darrow from St. Petersburg, Florida now finishing!” says the announcer.  A small cheer rises and I stop my watch.

“Are you okay?” a woman from the medical team asks.

“I’m fine,” I reply as I stagger through the gauntlet of medical professionals to my long awaited medal.  In addition, I receive a towel for finishing.  Pretty cool, I guess.  I wrap a mylar blanket over my shoulders, looking back at the finishing clock.  I make my way around and back toward the finish just in time to see Steve and Richie come across the finish line together.  Meanwhile, Drew pats me on the back and asks how I’ve done.

“I cramped up in the last 2 miles, but still made it through in 3:23.”

“Great job,” he replies.

“How’d you do?”

“I managed to finish.”

“What time?”

“2:55″

“Whoa man, you killed it!  Congratulations!”

I shake his hand and then yell to let Richie know how well Drew did.  Steve has finished just under 3:26 and Justin later crosses the finish line in 3:43.

It’s a great first marathon for Steve, an 18 minute PR for Justin and nearly a 2 hour PR for me!

Brian Darrow @ Finish in 03:23:21 (NET). Pace: 7:45. Powered By metroPCS