Back on the Starting Line

I worked my way up to near the front of the marathon. Here I was in North Dakota, ready to run 26.2 miles for the first time in 17 years. The small-town feel and the friendliness of everyone I had talked to over the weekend had put me at ease. The jitters I had felt throughout my training cycle had all but melted away. I felt like I was back home on the starting line, in a familiar place. 

And the young lady who was announcing before the start of the Fargo Marathon was refreshing and entertaining. 

“Make sure you’re not looking down at your watch when you cross the finish line. You want to look good for the finish photo.” 

She told the story of how she finished Boston with her index finger in the air for a perfect photo. People asked her if she won. 

“I just kind of leaned into it. Heck yeah I won!” 

I loved it! Then I looked around at the people near me. Am I with the right runners? My plan of running with the 3 hour, 10 minute pace group blew up immediately. I had asked the 3:40 pacer where the faster pacers were and he told me they didn’t have people fast enough. 

“But your website said…” 

“Yeah, sorry.” 

So my plan of not having to think went out the window. Just stay with the pacer was no longer an option. 

The plan of a cool spring marathon was also out the window. Temperatures were decent at the start but more humid than typical this time of year and it got much hotter by the finish. And the sky was hazy due to the Canadian wildfires. Air quality was in the fair to poor range. 

“Look down at your feet and make sure your shoes are double-knotted,” said miss bubbly announcer-lady. “And say goodbye to your toenails. Remember, all toenails go to heaven.” 

She cracked me up. Who knew she was also a prophet?

The gun went off and the mental battle was on. ‘I’m going too fast.’

‘No, these people shouldn’t be in front of you.’ 

Did I go out too fast? Arguably. But not at a suicidal pace. I tried to lock in but it was difficult. I couldn’t decide on a suitable pace. 

The miles clicked off like I knew they would. But then we merged in with the half-marathoners and things got a bit complicated. 

I ran past a great sign “I just finished my marathon - it was on Netflix” that made me chuckle. Just past 7 miles a couple started yelling my name! It was Jason and Sally, owners of Beyond Running, a run-specialty store in Fargo whom I had met the day before at the Expo. It was great to have someone this far away cheering for me. And taking my picture! 

Somewhere around 9 miles things got really murky. No longer were the half-marathoners relegated to the right side of the road. We were all merged together. I was on pace to run just over 3 hours but was stuck in the middle of a large group of half-marathoners who were on 3 hour pace for their race. That meant they were going half my speed. 

There was no clear running lane for me. I had to weave and bob, zig and zag to get through the hordes. It was ugly. They split off at 10.5 miles but I’m afraid the damage was done. I couldn’t get through to the water stop and suddenly my legs started feeling heavy. This was way too early for that. 

Then we crossed the Red River into Minnesota. Other than the bell tower we looped around (which was ringing periodically), it was ugly. Too many turns, including a tight U-turn on a stretch of a narrow road. Momentum killers. My legs were really starting to feel heavy. Then I dropped a water bottle. 

It was my last one so I impulsively turned back to pick it up. I had been fueling rather well but didn’t want to be out of electrolytes with 9 miles to go. Valuable seconds and more momentum lost. Darn it.

“Just get to 20 miles,” I thought to myself, “then it’s basically a straight shot back to the finish (relatively speaking).” But at 21 miles my hamstring cramped up. Completely out of the blue. I had no choice but to stop and try to walk it off. I couldn’t believe it. All the rehab I had done – I never thought it would betray me now. Was it from all the weaving and bobbing earlier? Or was it just not completely healed?

I started back at a light jog. I had to shorten my stride for fear I’d strain it. It eased off, thankfully. But my pace had slowed dramatically. 

Then I dropped my water bottle again. Are you kidding me? Another stop to pick it up. And then my hamstring cramped up again at 23 miles. Walk, try to stretch out my hammy, jog, light run.

As I approached 24 miles I finally truly believed I would make it to the finish line and not have to walk the rest of the way. That’s when my shoe came untied. Holy cow, how did that happen? Next time I triple-knot them. 

You should have seen the look of surprise of the young lady and her daughter when I ran up and asked “mind if I tie my shoe?” as I threw my foot into the back of her open SUV. No way could I bend over and their vehicle was about the right height to prop my foot on. I fumbled with the lace and cursed under my breath. OK, maybe a little too loudly. I ran off and thought I should go back and apologize to that little girl and her mother but I wasn’t completely sure I had enough energy even to get to the finish line. 

Finally, after the last of what seemed like 100 turns, I could see the finish structure. But it just didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Until suddenly, there it was. I made it! 

They tried to hand me my finisher’s medal but suddenly everything started spinning and I felt light-headed. “I need to get to the medical tent right now” and someone was right there to take me. 

Half an hour later I was good as new. OK, I looked like death and my walking stride length was about 6 inches but I felt better. Eventually I made it to the post-race party and my hotel. Fortunately it was nearby. 

But I made it. I had completed my 24th marathon in my 13th state. It only took me 17 years, 5 days, 3 hours and 16 minutes to get there since my last one. 

I battled a lot to get there, just to the starting line. I battled the demons out on the course. But it was a thrill to be out there again and a bigger thrill to finish. I owe it to science, faith in God, hard work and help from a lot of others along the way (training partners, therapists, friends and family). It takes a lot of help to get to the starting line of a marathon but you’re pretty much on your own to get to the finish. 

And now? I can’t wait to run another one! 

Oh, and something else. When I took off my sock I noticed a black toenail. I’ll be darned - that bubbly announcer really was a prophet!