This was my forth marathon and my second in 1992. It turned out to be another race that I actually did better than I had hoped.
Here's what I thought of it in 1992:
The alarm went off first and then came the wake up call from the Motel Six front office. I reached for a Power Bar before I got out of bed. It was 5:30am and I wanted
to eat some food well before the race. I had two Power Bars and two bananas and 64 ounces
of water. The Power Bars are athletic food, low in fat, high in carbohydrates
that digest fast. That's what they say. In the San Francisco Marathon I had
had a lot of stomach problems after I ate them. But I had eaten one just before
I started so I figured I hadn't given myself enough time to digest them. This
time I was going to have at least and hour and a half.
Eric Hjort was running the marathon also and Penny Warren was along to take care of use before and after the race.
We dressed, packed up the car and then drove to the start. Penny drove us along a lot of the course to the start. The weather was
cold (in he 40's) and rainy. It had rained hard the night before and was still
drizzling. I was not looking forward to running in the wet and cold weather.
I had on my new fancy Nike poly-something-or-other top that wicked moisture away
from me and kept me warm at the same time, some lycra shorts and some gloves.
I was carrying my Iron Man watch (the band was broken) and my pace strategy
sheet.
The water I dank was making its presence felt and Eric and I began the
wait in line for the port-o-potties ritual. But the lines were long and the
race start was imminent. I blew off the lines and went behind some bushes.
Eric followed my lead after a few more minutes. Then we raced through the
crowd to give our sweats to the race officials who would take them to the
finish for us. After we did this Eric and I parted ways. He had another stop
at the port-o-potties to make and I wanted to get a spot near the head of the
pack. The countdown to the start was already beginning and I was still trying
to advance to the head of the pack. As I found my spot the gun went off. I
never broke stride as I headed to the outside and around a lot of people.
There were just over 2000 people there. Not a huge race. Also the start was
at a very wide street so I was able to get across the line with in a minute of
the actual start.
My adrenalin was pumping in over drive. I did the first mile in 6:21,
well ahead of my pace. But I didn't care. I had decided to run the first 13
miles hard and they finish with whatever I had left, no matter how much it
hurt. I crossed the two mile point in 13:21 and wasn't even breathing hard. I
felt great and I knew nothing could stop me.
Did I say nothing? About a half mile later my stomach began to
hurt. It soon developed into such an agony that a lesser human would have
torn open their own belly in order to relieve the intense pressure. I merely
slowed to a crawl and found the first port-o-pottie I would to relieve my
pressure. The stop was not as productive as it could have been, but I did feel
a lot better and was able to get back on the road and resume my fast pace.
About three miles later the same thing happened, I had to make another
pit stop. I hoped that this would be the last and that I would release all of
the offending material and be on my way. Again I was able to get back on the
road and pick up my fast pace. Now I was passing people for the third time.
And the people I had been up with were no where to be seen. They were now
about four minutes ahead of me. I knew there was no way to catch up to them
anytime soon. But it was a long race and I felt I had a decent chance of seeing
them again.
The pain hit again three miles later. I was falling into a familiar
pattern. Three fast miles and then a pit stop. I was feeling good everywhere
but my stomach. At the third stop I ducked into a port-o-pottie and found that
the person who had gone in front of me didn't have very good aim. There was
crap all over the seat. I spent a precious minute of my race time cleaning off
the seat. I was pissed off, but I had to go.
I rounded ten miles feeling good again and running fast. Penny was
waiting there. She was going to run a few miles with Eric. There were also
some bag pipes and a big crowd. The rain was still coming down, but the wind
was not noticeable. Not until I rounded the next curve.
We began our next eight miles south, into the teeth of a strong wind
that blew the rain right in our faces. It meant nothing to me. I cruised by
people for the fourth time. The rolling hills of the course were tiny compared
to the ones I trained on and I passed as many people going up as I did going
down. The packs were thinning though. By this time people were more intent on
running and had lost some of the talking that had been going on at the
beginning of the race. My pace was now in the 7:30's.
Right on schedule at mile 12 my stomach began hurting again. It felt
like this time I could stop and get everything out. But I was about two miles
from the next aid station. I decided to run it out and stop there. I made it
okay and cruised to the sole port-o-pottie. I found it in use. I looked at my
watch to see the time, it was 1:37 when I stopped. I still had a good time
going. I waited for the person to finish. Time sped by as I watched runners
pass me and leave me in their wake. I asked a marathon staffer if there was
anyone in the port-o-pottie. She knocked and a guy answered. More time
passed. I kept looking at my watch. Aarrgghh! I had been there for almost
two minutes. Those were two minutes that were gone and I could never get back.
Damn! I decided it was better to run slow and in pain than to be stopped and
I took off. The pain subsided in the next few miles and I passed a lot of
people for the fifth time.
I was still in the 7:30's but now each mile added a second to my pace.
I ran by aid stations looked and the port-o-potties and didn't stop. I had
lost eight minutes at least and decided I couldn't afford any more stops. My
stomach pain was bearable and sometimes wasn't even there. Finally we entered
a more urban area and the wind died down. The rain had stopped by then also.
Soon my stomach felt fine. Right on schedule the sole of my right foot began
hurting and my legs started telling my it wasn't a good idea to go fast
anymore, it was mile 20, and the time was 2:36. I had run this fast a week
ago on a course with worse hills than anything they had here. But then it had
been sunny and I only stopped once to get a drink of water out of a fountain.
Just a 10K to go was what I told myself. I ran one of those in less
than 40 minutes on more than one occasion. I just had to keep it up for a
little longer. At mile 23 a guy passed me and said "I've been with you for the
last three miles. I saw you pass me twice and I never remembered passing you
once." I explained to him my stomach problems and the stops I had made. He
encouraged me to keep up with him and for about a mile I was able to. But I
had to rest a bit for the final few miles. At mile 24 I started my kick, what
little I had left anyway. I knew I wasn't going to make the 3:10 Boston Marathon
qualifying time, but I knew I was going to beat my PR by a lot. Now I only
wanted to finish strong.
The last two miles were in spurts of fast and not so fast running. I
passed some people and got passed by others. Each person I passed kept up with
me a little while and each person who passed me pulled me a long with them. I
was beginning to feel a great sense of accomplishment. I rounded one of the
last two corners and kicked the final time. I looked in front of me for some
one to catch but found no one, they were too far in front. I looked in back
for some one to hold off, but found no one, they were too far back. I rounded
one more corner and saw Penny with her camera. I lifted my arms in celebration
and sprinted to the finish in 3:26:55, almost a full 20 minutes faster than my
PR I set three months earlier in San Francisco.
As I stopped running the pain in my legs hit with full force. The
sole of my right foot had been hurting a lot so I was running funny with my
right leg to compensate for that and my hamstring and calf were really tight.
I limped a lot and a woman at the end asked if I was in pain. I smiled and
said I was. A little girl handed me my medal, I smiled again and said thank
you. The women helped me toward the medical tent. I smiled again and felt
good to have run hard and hurt so much. Penny made it over and helped me to
the tent. We were turned away at the tent because they didn't have a massage
tent this year.
Penny helped me to a bench and I put on some dry sweats and sat in a
blanket. I went really good even though my body hurt. I felt goo because my
body hurt so much. I knew I worked hard and done well. If I had only been
smarter about what to eat and when to eat it I would have come in about eight
minutes faster, but I still felt great.
Eric finished 20 minutes later, taking an incredible 35 minutes off his
San Francisco time! It had been a very good race for him also. Penny helped
us both back to the car and we drove back to Berkeley. I showered ate some
more carbohydrates and had some milk and cookies. Then we went out with Mark Gilkes and his wife Barb, who was in town so they could celebrate
her birthday. We went to a mexican food place and I had a taco salad. I hoped the roughage
would help get me regular again. I felt wonderful the entire time and still
do. I know it wasn't the 3:10, but I ran a good race in of four stops.
I'm happy. In three years I've taken almost a full hour off my first marathon
time. If I progress at this rate of improvement (15 minutes per race) I'll
qualify for Boston in New York with a time just under three hours. I hope to
run one marathon in the early summer somewhere in the northern part of the US
or southern Canada.
I'm taking a few weeks off to let my right foot heal. Also my ankles
feel a bit sore, aside from the general soreness that comes along with running
a marathon. I think I'll go see a doctor about my right foot. I think I have
bruised it from a lot of hill running. I won't have that kind of problem in
West Lafayette though.
Back to the Running Vita of James B. Elliott