2008 Kiawah Island Marathon

Kiawah Island Marathon
Kiawah Island, South Carolina
MAMFAY Race #3 – Age = 50.18 years old

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Here’s a curve ball, Steve . . . try and hit it . . .

My inability to hit the curve was the only thing that kept me from making the Majors. Well, maybe there were one or two other necessary ingredients that were missing. But, I’ll find them one of these days and I’ll be playing shortstop in a Major League park near you. Never give up the dream.

Anyway, I’m not entirely sure what the three week period between Richmond and Kiawah Island was. Recovery? Taper? My plan was to run a bunch fewer miles than I did between Chicago and Richmond. Good thing that was the plan, because . . .

. . . As soon as I walk through the door of Dad’s house Sunday afternoon for a Thanksgiving week visit, Valerie, my sister, greets me with “Dad’s in the hospital.” Completely out of the blue, totally unexpected. I mean, I was expecting my sister to be there, but I also expected my Dad to be there. I dropped my bags and got a beer. Renate was walking the dog, so, rather than have Valerie go through things twice, we waited.

Both Renate and I were looking forward to a little bit of a relaxed week up in Rome. Her Dad was still in the hospital and had been for a couple of weeks with some fluid buildup that was putting more strain on his heart. We had visited with him on Saturday and he seemed in good spirits, though there was still no clean cut diagnosis. Nor a date for his being discharged. It was pretty apparent that he would be spending Thanksgiving in the hospital. Not a whole lot of fun and it added to the stress for both Renate and me. So, we were hoping for a quiet time with my family.

But that was not to be. Apparently, my father had fallen out of an apple tree some time in August. (Well, actually, he fell off a ladder while pruning the apple tree, but falling out of a tree, at 74 years of age, sounds more better.) When he fell, he hit his head and knocked himself out for a period of time. Now, since Mom’s death back in April, Dad has been living alone. And doing fine. But Jeff, the oldest of the siblings, noticed that Dad wasn’t firing on all cylinders while the two of them were chatting Saturday afternoon. So, Jeff took Dad to the hospital in Rome, where they transferred him to a hospital in Syracuse and, Sunday morning, proceeded to operate on Dad’s head to remove a hematoma that had built up inside his skull and was putting pressure on his brain.

So, that’s what Valerie got to drop on Renate and me as soon as we got to Rome. We were going to wait for Jeff to call from the Syracuse hospital to let us know when we could come out (roughly 45 minutes from Rome) and see Dad. Morgan (the youngest of the siblings) would be joining us for the trip out west. Morgan offered to drive, so Valerie and I had another beer.

But, this is not a story about my Dad or Renate’s Dad, though their hospitalizations, and subsequent admissions to rehab facilities, added some mental negativity and stress. It was kind of a bummer that my plan for a decrease in miles meant I couldn’t use lots of running as a outlet. I only ran 30 miles the week following Richmond and 35 during Thanksgiving week. Race week I managed 17 before the marathon. I was kind of curious as to how the lower between marathons mileage would play out.

Oh, yeah, I also had a little bit of a right hip issue I was dealing with. The Tuesday before Kiawah I’d put it at about 75%, it was something I was aware of as I was running, but it didn’t really seem to be affecting my stride. Just to be sure, I scheduled a chiropractic adjustment for Wednesday morning to make sure I was semi-aligned. I already had an ART/massage appointment for Wednesday afternoon, so I’d get all kinds of body work done three days before my third marathon in three months.

Why Kiawah Island . . .

The Kiawah Island Marathon appeared on my radar screen maybe two years before MAMFAY. It was at one of our annual fraternity brother Super Bowl gatherings when Tom and Nancy informed me that there was a marathon that ran right in front of their new house. Or, house to be. They had picked up a piece of ground off of one of the (many) golf courses on Kiawah Island in South Carolina and they were in the process of building a home. For now it would be a second place, but as soon as their youngest daughter heads off to college, they’ll be moving south for good.

Anyway, Nancy, in particular, was all excited about the prospect of me (and Renate) coming down some December to run the Kiawah Island Marathon. I’m going to say this was January of 2006, when it was first mentioned. I knew of my Marathon A Month plans, though Renate wasn’t totally on board back then. I told Tom and Nancy that we’d be down in December of ’08. “That’s so far away!” complained Nancy. Well, surprisingly, the time just flew by and come December of ’08 we headed south to run the Kiawah Island Marathon as my December entry into MAMFAY. Our neighbors (and fellow Phi Sig) Dave and Jeanne decided to come along on the adventure.

Now, Dave is one of the township supervisors for East Nantmeal Township. The chairman, in fact. The normal monthly meetings are scheduled for the first Thursday of the month. Which, coincidently, happened to be the day we were flying down to South Carolina. The other two supervisors could have had the regular meeting, but they decided that it was better to have Chairman Dave there so it was moved up a couple of days, to the first Tuesday.

I know that has no real place in a marathon race report. I just thought it entertaining that I had some impact on local government. All because of my running. Oh, and the fact that the meeting was moved because of a “Dave conflict” was mentioned in the Sweetwater Reporter (our local township independent newsletter). “All the news that’s fit to print,” I guess.

Let’s cut to race day . . .

Tom, the perfect host, got up early to give Renate and me a lift to the East Beach Conference Center where all the race morning festivities were taking place. When he drove up as close as he could get, Renate and I got out while Tom went to find parking. He made it to the starting area almost faster than Renate and I did.

Tom, our host for the weekend, and I are chuckling about something or other . . .

Then it was the usual stand around and wait. Tom found the coffee and got a cup. I’m not really sure what he thought about the goings on. He’s a very good golfer, but I don’t think a pre-race is quite the same as a pre-golf tournament. He was just taking it all in.

Rick, one of my fellow Thoroughbred 3’s (from the Internet running league I participate in) found me and came up to say hello. He gave me a couple of good pieces of advice prior to the race.

For starters, he told me I had a good chance for a top five finish (I’m sure my eyes bugged out a bit when he said that), so I should line right up front, along with the fast half marathoners.

A couple of Thoroughbred 3’s.
Rick is giving me some words of advice about the race.

A couple of pre-race pictures . . .
With the Love Of My Life. I’m almost smiling.	Tom and me.

It was kind of strange that the volunteer holding up the 6 minute pace sign was pretty far back from the front. Standing around before the race, I really wasn’t concerned with who was doing the half and who was doing the full. I didn’t get right up front because I figured there would be some speedy halfers and I didn’t want to get in their way. I wasn’t going to race anybody the first loop, anyway. And I was close enough to the front for my purposes.

Now for some minor housekeeping details . . . I decided to let the Garmin auto-record the laps each mile. Or, more precisely, where it thought each mile should be. I’m not entirely sure why I did this. I guess I was trying a handful of different things for this race. I was also carrying my own water, in addition to the gel flask I normally carry.

I mixed up the electrolyte capsules into the water, instead of with the gel as has been my custom. I think that came into play later in the race. I didn’t have any issues with the taste of the water. The problem was that I got a full race’s complement of electrolytes in one half and didn’t really have any for the second half. That may or may not become clearer as I explain further after the first half of the run.

Sure hope they move those barriers . . .

Might as well get to it . . .

I was about four or five rows back from the very front, pretty much in the dead middle of my row. A bit of a low-key start, mostly just a “Go!” though I’m sure there was a “Ready, set” or some such, and we were off, exiting the East Beach Conference Center area and heading towards the Kiawah Island Parkway, into a private, security guarded, enclave for the rich and famous. As well as Tom and Nancy. And, because it’s a private, security guarded development, I don’t have the benefit of a street level view from Google Earth. Guess I’ll just have to resort to doing my writing the old-fashioned way . . . I’ll make things up as I go along.

The yellow bibs are half marathoners, the whites are fulls.
I’m probably just crossing the start mat now.

A small pack immediately sprinted out ahead. Half marathoners, I thought, or not. I fell into a smooth, reasonable pace. Or what felt like it at the time. Not for the first time did it dawn on me how non-productive this MAMFAY adventure was. I mean, it’s a great goal and all. It’s just back to the quantity over quality thing. I didn’t really have a problem with that when I was doing ultras, just a different kind of quantity is all they are. And, doing a bunch of those month after month didn’t seem to affect me as much. Maybe it’s because I don’t necessarily race ultras for time whereas for marathons, I race those. I want those sub-2:50’s. For as long as I can continue to get them.

Maybe not . . .

You know, I don’t think I’m going to write as detailed a story for this race. I can see the disappointment in the eyes of everybody who is at work right now. They were hoping for a regular length report so they could kill lots of time. But, I just don’t feel like it. Part of the reason is my Dad’s health. I’m writing the rough draft of this story at the upstate NY homestead, while taking care of some things up here and spending time with my Dad in the rehab center and drinking a fair amount of Guinness. Another part is just that . . .

. . . I really didn’t have a high level of concentration for this race. Obviously, there were extraneous factors that came into play, but I think a bigger factor was probably the three marathons so close together. This is going to be a fairly big challenge, to get my mind in the game, as MAMFAY moves along.

When asked, I’d say I was shooting for right around 2:48, about a 6:25 per mile pace, which would be a nice recovery from Richmond. I’d settle for anything below 2:50, though. (I had to keep that three 2:4x’s, one 2:5x symmetry going, after all. I didn't want back-to-back 2:5x's.) I wanted to do well in front of my friends. I don’t want this to sound cocky, but I knew I had a good chance to win my age group. I really just had to do what I was capable of doing. Really, I just had to run. So, I ran the miles, I put in the time.

And I didn’t do a whole lot of math as I was going along. There weren’t the big clocks at each mile, they were kind of randomly placed. I mean they were placed at random mile markers, it wasn’t that there were clocks placed at random points on the course. And, as I wasn’t punching my watch and gathering splits, I didn’t have a real clear vision of what I was doing. I’d look at my watch at a mile marker and either it would have already recorded a split or it hadn’t. There didn’t seem to be a whole lot of rhyme or reason to it. Despite all that, I’ve done enough of these 26.2 mile runs that I did have a reasonable idea, a general feeling, as to how I was doing. The math is easy with 6:25s, so I did pay attention at each five mile point. (How I can start a paragraph with “I didn’t do a whole lot of math . . .” and end it with “The math is easy . . .” offers some insight into my general lack of concentration with this race and, maybe, this report. In fact, not much in this paragraph makes a whole lot of sense.)

So, when I hit five miles at 32:05, right on target, I was happy. I knew the first mile had been right around 6:15, so I must have lost a bit of time over the next four, but I was running fairly well and I was feeling pretty good and I was just about 20% done.

A bit of a backtrack . . .

You know, it wasn’t a whole lot of fun watching the others drink Friday afternoon. I’m being a good boy, sipping on my water, but the others are drinking beer and scotch and wine. During the day. What’s wrong with these people?

Speaking of Friday afternoon . . . mostly it’s just Dave and me sitting around watching TV. Tom is upstairs in his home office trying to get a deal closed. The girls are out for their three hour walk. (Way to go, Nancy! You rock! As do you, Jeanne and Renate.) Dave is drinking beer and we’re trying to figure out Tom’s fancy TV system. I’m scrolling through the upcoming shows and Dave tells me to put on the History Channel (?????) as there looks to be a good show coming up at 2 PM. Something about the Battle of Thermopylae.

So, we watch. The wimmen come back and sit around talking. They leave when the torture scenes come on and it’s quiet again. Dave gets another beer. I make a single shot serving of decaf coffee.

There’s a bit of backup history about the Battle of Marathon, how the Athenians beat up on the Persians. There’s a mention of the Greek messenger running to Athens shouting (according to the TV show obviously sponsored by a certain company) Nike! and then dropping dead. It was nice to have tomorrow’s race placed into historical context.

Tom has wrapped up his work and he’s sipping on a scotch. About an hour and fifteen minutes into the show, we’re getting slightly bored. Just fight the damn battle, already. When they start the naval portion at an hour and thirty minutes we figure we’re in for a long haul. I check and it looks like we have thirty more minutes to go. Well, we’ve put in this much time watching, we might as well see the ending, even though we know how it ends.

I just wanted everybody to know that I actually spent time watching the History Channel. And I even applied that Saturday morning. Before the race started, I told Tom that if I didn’t finish, it meant that the Persians had won and everybody should pack their bags and beat feet.

Oh, and to ease some worries, I did have a couple of pints of Guinness with dinner Friday night.

Back to the race . . .

A guy in a red singlet came up on my shoulder and told me I was looking good. (I don’t think he said “Sir”, but I got an awful lot of that in South Carolina. Renate said it was a southern thing and that I shouldn’t get offended. “And, after all,” she said, “you are old.” Thanks, Sweetie.) We started chatting a little bit which is something I don’t do a whole lot of during a race. Though it does seem that I’m doing it more often as I get older. I got the impression that he was a semi-local guy as he got and gave some shoutouts from and to a few of the leading half marathoners as they were on their way back after the turnaround that we were heading towards. I picked up that his name was Mason.

Mason asked what I was trying for and when I mentioned the 2:48 he said his PR was a 2:54 he ran on this course last year and that it was good enough for 9th place overall. I could tell that our current pace wasn’t what I needed to be running to get my 2:48 as it didn’t hurt enough. But I was in a bit of a comfort zone and I didn’t think I was that far off. My reasoning was that I’d cruise for a little while and then pick it up for the second half.

I pass by Tom and Nancy’s house a little after the five mile mark. Nancy, Jeanne, and Dave are out (all bundled up against the morning chill) clapping and cheering and carrying on. (I could hear the three of them well before I could see them. The fact that I generally look no further down the road than about three feet has no bearing on the preceding comment.) I figured Tom and Renate were having some difficulties getting back from the start, so I wasn’t surprised that they weren’t there. I’d see them in a couple of miles, after I made the turnaround and started my journey back to the start area.

Mason and I continued our running and our off-and-on conversation. He mentioned that the turnaround was actually further out the second time on the course. Rick had told me that same thing while we were chatting before the race start. That was good to know, as it could have been a rude surprise. We could see a decent number of runners heading back. Most were yellow-bibbed half marathoners, but there was a handful of white-bibbed full folks. I didn’t bother counting. If I was so inclined, I could do that on the second loop, between 19 and 20 miles, when it would have more meaning. Not the first loop, between six and seven miles into the day.

Mason and I made the turn, leaving the road and getting onto the bike path. And, between 10 and 15 minutes after I last saw them, Nancy, Jeanne, and Dave reappeared. But still no Renate or Tom. I asked and Nancy said they couldn’t get back to the house, but that they were up ahead. Ok. Something to look forward to.

I’m on the far right and that’s Mason next to me. And a whole bunch of people heading out to the turnaround.

And, there they are. Tom and the Love Of My Life. Right next to Ibis Pond. I’m about 7.5 miles into my day and I’m still enjoying things. Mason and I make the slight left hitch onto Flyway (Flyalong to the LOML. The "longest road in the world" according to Jeanne, based on Friday's walk.) and continue steady progress back to where it all began. We also left the folks that were still heading out to the turnaround on Ocean Course Drive. It got a bit lonely, with only a handful of runners in the immediate viewing area. Mason was pointing out who was a half runner and who was a full. Guess he knew lots of folks out there.

I got my ten mile time and realized I was more then 20 seconds behind 2:48 pace. After being right on schedule at five miles, it wasn’t the end of the world, but I decided to pick it up a bit and see how it went. Mason didn’t come along and I really don’t know how far back he fell. I set out runnin’ and started reeling in some of the folks in front of me.

First up was a chick. She was making all kinds of noise, loud breathing and loud footsteps. I heard a spectator call out “second girl” and I encouraged her to keep with it, but I was glad to put her behind me. A bit later, as I was catching up to a guy, he started to push a little harder. He was also a noisy runner and I told him that I wasn’t in his race, so don’t worry about me. That seemed to help him a little as he backed off.

About this point I was reaching the split off point, half finishers make the left, full idiots make the right and go out for another loop. A young teenage guy said I was in 9th place. Cool. The turn volunteer motions me to make the right, so I do.

Thank you, sir, can I have another . . .

There’s a timing mat shortly after getting back onto Kiawah Island Parkway. I don’t think it’s exactly the halfway point, but my official split is 1:23:34. (The halfway split I got from the GPS was 1:24:26.)

Also, as soon as I got back onto Kiawah Island Parkway, I saw, if the kid can be believed, 8th, 7th, and 6th all within striking distance.

And strike I did. I got them all by the 14 mile marker. Then I stopped at the first aid station of the loop and refilled my water bottle.

This race, in a effort to “go green,” had encouraged runners to carry a water bottle to ease the use of cups. After my Richmond dehydration issues, I thought it would be worth a try. So, I brought down, and actually used, my water bottle belt. My biggest problem was that I mixed my electrolyte capsules into the water instead of into my gel flasks as I usually do. I space the gel consumption out over the entire marathon, but I ended up pounding most of the water bottle for the first half. Therefore I got almost a full race’s worth of electrolytes in one half. Not an overly bright move on my part. At least, even though it was heating up, it wasn’t unbearably warm. (The temperature went from 44° to 56° over the course of my race, so it wasn’t too bad.)

I was aware enough of the possible negative consequences that I started thinking about having Renate run into the house to find my stash so I could replenish for the last six miles. Well, let’s see how I feel when I get there in about four miles and make an executive-level decision then.

I had to re-pass a couple of the guys who went by while I was water bottle refilling, but I settled into, what I thought was, 6th place.

And, kind of got out there in no one’s land. Still running a bit more by feel than anything. It was nice, when I got a 15 mile time check, that I was still only about twenty seconds off of 2:48 pace. It wasn’t nice in that I hadn’t picked anything up. And now I was starting to struggle a bit mentally and physically. I ran along Flyway and then Bufflehead pretty much all by myself. I hadn’t picked up the tail end of the half marathon walkers. There weren’t any spectators out. I did see a guy doing yard work, but that was about it. The aid stations, while loud and cheerful, were relatively far apart. I was happy to have had the water bottle to hit on. Oh, yeah, I did see quite a few pairs of discarded gloves.

I really didn’t have a whole lot of a sense of déjà vu this second go round. Maybe because on the first lap I was running with others and not really paying any real attention as to where I was. The second lap, particularly when I got on Bufflehead Drive, I was alone with my thoughts. And, here and there, they turned to my Dad and to my Mom. Hoping my Dad makes a full recovery and missing my Mom. Fortunately, that pretty lonely stretch only lasted a couple of miles and then I was done with it. I will admit to having the random “am I still on course” thought pass through my head at those points where I couldn’t see anybody.

Once I got back onto Ocean Course Drive, things picked up a bit. I could see the half marathon walkers and the full walkers, too. I knew I’d see my very own cheering crew in less than a mile. I just had to stay focused. Well, I had to get re-focused. I had less than an hour to run if I wanted to get the (new and improved) goal of sub-2:50.

Nancy and Jeanne are cheering the outbound folks, while Dave and Tom are lending support (or drinking) to the inbound runners.
(Nancy had that smile on pretty much the entire weekend.)

Just about 18 miles in . . .
Good friends are hard to find . . .	I’m not doing quite so well . . .

I ran by my cheering section. I ran by the group that was drinking Budweiser Select. I’m sure they’d have given me one if I asked. (That was actually the loudest and rockingest group of spectators outside of the main spectator areas. There were ten or so guys and gals out front of somebody’s house, drinking and cheering and carrying on. I don’t think they were drinking during the first loop, but they sure made up for it when I went by on the second loop. On both the out and back.) My buddy Tom was offering bloody mary’s to anybody who wanted one with the caveat that they needed to supply their own cup. One lady actually had a cup and took Tom up on the offer. He did mention that there were a number of folks who went by his house on the way back who were carrying a can of beer.

Something else I noticed more on the second lap was that there were some wide open areas on Ocean Course Drive. Mostly after leaving the houses and before the turnaround and this section could have been tough if there was any significant wind. There was a bit of headwind, but I wouldn’t call it significant. (For some reason, it wasn’t as noticeable an open area on the way back, after the turnaround. Maybe because I was on the bike path and not the road.) I do remember that there was a guy fishing at Willet Pond. Or, maybe that was when I went by it the day before during my pre-race run.

Speaking of Ocean Course Drive on the way out the second time, it was entertaining coming up on the aid stations. The great majority of volunteers were on the bike path side of the tables because that’s where the great majority of participants was. I’d be approaching and the one or two volunteers on the road side would get all animated and bouncy and loud and they’d grab some cups of water or PowerAde to hand me. I kind of felt bad depriving them of handing the fluids off. I did thank them, anyway.

I ran by the first turnaround guy who was still out there making sure folks kept going to the second, further, turnaround. I told him it was just mean to have us continue out. He laughed and drank his coffee.

I hadn’t bothered counting the white bibbed full runners, I had passed an aid station and I was told I was in seventh place. While another volunteer at the station held up six fingers. Whatever. I figured I’d wait until closer to the turnaround to see if anybody was within reach. Then I’d pay attention to see if anybody was chasing me.

Just about six miles to go . . .

And there was really only one guy in range. I roughly figured him to be a minute ahead of me. Six miles to go. Mason was the runner closest to me and he looked to be about a minute behind me. (There was a timing mat near the second turnaround point. I’d say it was close to the 19 mile marker. Officially, I was at 2:02:33. The guy I was chasing crossed at 2:01:28 while Mason followed me at 2:03:48.)

Ok, let’s see if I can catch the guy. (All right. I’ll admit it. I did ask him his age as he headed back after the turnaround. I just can’t help myself, I guess. When he said 42, I figured I was in good shape as far as Grand Masters (50+) went.) I went by the Budweiser Select party. I briefly thought about the beer stand out on the Richmond course and how I didn’t stop, anticipating some finish line beer which wasn’t there. Well, Kiawah Island advertised post-race beer, so I didn’t grab a can of Bud Select.

Plus, my innards were bothering me a little bit. I wondered if it was the early over-consumption of electrolytes. I wondered if the water bottle belt was bothering me. I decided I’d toss it to my fans when I got to Tom and Nancy’s house and then just grab water cups at the remaining aid stations. I was hoping the belt would be all that I was tossing. It probably isn’t a good thing to be puking on your host’s plants.

I’m counting down the houses. I knew, when I saw just under 2:09 on my watch at the 20 mile marker, that I was going to have to work a little, I was going to have to get into the hurt zone, if I wanted to go sub-2:50. I tossed my water bottle belt to Jeanne. I noticed the three bikes primed and ready to be ridden to the finish line by Nancy, Jeanne, and Dave. I noticed that Renate and Tom weren’t there. I don’t remember what I thought about that. Dave told me I was in 7th, 40 seconds behind 6th. I could see him up there.

(As a note, I don’t think I’ll do the water bottle belt for future marathons. Although it was nice to be able to drink on my schedule, and it really only took a few seconds to refill, I think the discomfort of racing with it around my waist at race speed (as opposed to at training run speed) outweighed any benefits.)

There was lots of encouragement from the runners heading out towards the turnaround, including a shout out by name from Rick. (Thanks, Rick.) I was starting to intermingle with the tail end walkers. I was catching up to the 42 year old guy in front of me. Heck, it was a position in the Master’s category, as well as overall.

And catch him I did. I gathered myself for a few seconds before making the actual pass. As Nuke LaLoosh said, “I wanted to announce my presence with authority.” Or something to that effect. I wanted him to stay passed. I guess I finally went by him a little before I saw the crew at the intersection of Flyway and Governor’s as there are pictures taken by Renate with Denis in the background. A slight left onto Flyway and up ahead is the 21 mile marker.

I’ve moved into 6th place . . .

A bit of a sidetrack . . .

Now for a note on timing issues. There’s a picture of me, that Renate took, right at the 21 mile marker. The time on the big clock was about 30 seconds off of what the Garmin said my 21 mile time was. Garmin was faster. (It said I passed 21 miles a bit before this point, at 2:14:46 of race time.) I noticed, early on, the Garmin would record a split a bit after the mile marker. Later (sometime around eight miles, maybe) it would record a split before the marker. For my purposes, I adjusted each recorded mile time by a little, adding one or two seconds to what the GPS said. As I’ve heard others say, the Garmin can be very precise, just not necessarily accurate. Race directors can certainly fall into that category with their placement of the mile markers, but I think, for the future races, I’ll go back to manually taking splits at each mile marker I come across.

A flock of walkers in front of me and I still have to run faster than 7:00 miles . . .

Speaking of the 21 mile picture. You’ll notice the sign leaning against the mile marker. “NO BAILOUT for you!” it says. One of Rick’s friends was unable to race because of injury, but he was riding his bike and toting his sign from place to place to support that group of runners. He’d call out to me every time I went by and I took to saying “Thanks, Bailout.” In hindsight, that might not have been the nicest thing to yell to the guy, implying, somehow, that he bailed from the race. Sorry, about that, buddy.

And now back to the task at hand . . .

I still had five miles to run to get to the beer. And, now, I was dealing with walkers with more frequency. Fortunately, I was running on the roads and not the bike paths, so there was enough room for passing. I didn’t always get to hit the tangents on the corners, but it wasn’t too bad, and I really didn’t have to do any major bobbing and weaving.

I can’t say there was a whole lot of excitement over the next few miles. I was just trying to stay under control. I had given up on my gel flask and I wasn’t taking in much water as my innards were still bothering me. Though it wasn’t overly warm, I was feeling a bit heated up so I took to pouring some water over my head. And I counted down the miles. And I was amused by the lines of walkers at the aid station porta potties.

With about two miles to go, I was back on the bike paths. There were a few root bumps, here and there on the bike paths, but, mostly, they were nice and smooth and flat. More of an issue, especially now, were the walkers, plus the random person on a bike not paying attention to me coming up on them, and I had to yell out warnings on numerous occasions. It was more of an annoyance than anything, but I had to pay attention to what was in front of me. And, not that it would have mattered, I couldn’t see who, if anybody, I was racing.

So, I bobbed and weaved and shouted my way through the last couple of bike path miles. At some point I cross in front of one of the security gates. The rent-a-cop says “Good hustle” as I go trotting by. That brought a smile to my face and a “thank you” tossed his way. Eventually I got to the friendly volunteer at the decision making point. You remember, half marathoners to the left, fulls to the right. I was wondering if I’d be made to go around again. But, I wasn’t and I made the left to head to the finish line.

Which wasn’t visible yet, there was still one more corner to go. At the 26 mile marker, I’m pretty sure there was a 26 mile marker, I was just under 2:48 on my watch. Well, I thought, ten minute per mile pace for the last two tenths of the day and I’ll break 2:50.

Almost done . . .

So, I make the last left turn and start running down the finishing stretch. With lots of spectators and lots of cheering. At this point, my innards threaten to become outards. I can see the finish line clock, it’s at 2:49 and the seconds are, at least to me, rapidly making their way towards a 2:50. I’m running as hard as I can. I’m on the outskirts of Pukeville, the pump is being primed for an explosion. I'm sure that would be entertaining for the fine folks lining the finish chute.

Fortunately, it was just a bunch of dry heaving and nothing actually appeared. I crossed the finish line with seconds to spare, finishing with a chip time of 2:49:39. I was now a quarter of the way through MAMFAY.

Stagger, stumble, and stop . . .

I felt that I had pretty much given all I had to give. I got my medal and a space blanket and stumbled over to where Tom was standing, next to the fence separating the sweaty from the not. I think Tom was amused, yet mildly concerned that I would toss cookies in his direction. Renate was busy taking pictures, and soon Nancy, Jeanne, and Dave appeared. Nobody wanted to get too close to me, but we all posed for some pictures. Well, I didn’t move, the others just rotated in and out. Finally, after getting a picture with all six of us, it was time to start getting out of my grubby clothes and to find a beer.

Recycled Pop Tarts anyone . . .

Tom & Nancy, Me & Renate, Jeanne & Dave

I was reasonably sure that, with my sixth place overall finish, I had managed to score a trinket of one kind or another. Renate informed me that the awards ceremony wasn’t until 1:30 PM and, since that was about two hours away, we would be returning to base to prepare for our next adventure, a deep sea fishing expedition scheduled for dedocking at 2:00 PM. I would have stuck around the race site a little bit longer, quaffed a few more cups of Palmetto Amber, but I was assured that we would be returning in time for the awards. It didn’t help that my fans weren’t allowed in the room with the beer.

Nancy, Jeanne, and Dave rode their bikes back to the house by way of the beach – how’d that go, Nancy? – while Tom drove Renate and me back. As we were waiting to get out onto the main road I saw Rick go by and gave him a cheer. There still seemed to be quite a few folks running their races, so we took a little bit of a roundabout route back to Tom’s place. Where we had some lunch, some more beer, and then headed back to the East Beach Conference Center for the awards ceremony.

Gotta keep moving . . .

Where I smuggled my gang in and, I think, the guys each managed to get a cup of Palmetto Amber before the keg kicked. No big deal as we weren’t planning on staying long. Just long enough for me to collect whatever award was coming my way and then heading over to the marina to hop on a boat for some fishing.

You’d think I’d look a little happier . . .

We grabbed six seats at a table near the stage (and the exit). And, coincidence, also sitting at the table was Mason and his family. His lovely wife (whose name escapes me now, Jill, maybe) and their four rambunctious boys. Well, three of them were, anyway. The fourth was out for the count. All the boys must have been under the age of six and they seemed to having a grand old time. It was fun talking with Mason and, since he had done Ironman Louisville last year, we talked about those. I did greet him as he crossed the finish line, next after me. His 2:51:58 was almost a three minute PR. I congratulated Mason, again, on that at the awards ceremony.

Things got started fairly soon after we arrived and they moved quickly. I got a Proud Pelican award as Overall Masters Winner. And then we scurried from the room. Sorry for being so rude, but I had a boat to catch. I did stop for a minute to chat with the third place masters guy. Turns out he lives maybe ten miles from me, though I didn’t know him. He was, jokingly, disappointed that he came all the way down to South Carolina and was still beaten out in the masters category by someone from the same home area.

Now, this, pretty much, concludes the marathon portion of the marathon race report. (I guess I kind of lied way back towards the beginning when I said I wasn’t going to write with as much detail. I got on a little bit of a roll, the alcohol helps, and just kept pounding out words.) What follows is more of a touristy journal than anything. You may continue reading, if you’d like, for some of the other stuff that followed the race. Starting with . . .

Guess I’m looking pretty happy, now . . .

A three hour cruise . . .

. . . On Captain Harry’s little boat based at Bohicket Marina & Yacht Club for what was billed as a dolphin watching and fishing expedition.

While my preference would have been to camp out on a bar stool, drinking beer and watching football, Dave and Tom decided that it would be better for me to be up and about. This discussion and decision making took place during the Battle of Thermopylae Friday afternoon and centered on two things. Golfing or fishing. Let’s see . . . golfing I could sit in a cart (I think) and drink beer and randomly whack a ball. Fishing I could sit in a boat and drink beer and randomly whack a fish. All right, I’m in. For either. It was the beer drinking that sold me.

We opted for the fishing trip so that we could include the wimmen. Even though all three of them are prone to motion sickness.

Now, I was assuming (and you know how that goes) that this would be a sizeable water craft, one with a cabin of sorts and a bathroom. Excuse me, a head. Well, Captain Harry’s ship (excuse me, boat) had neither. There was a cowling of sorts for him to hide behind as he drove, but the six of us are stuck in the front (is that fore or aft?) and bearing the brunt of the wind. Did I mention that the sun has gone away and it’s cold? It’s almost too cold and uncomfortable to drink beer. Almost.

Fortunately we stopped on the way out when Captain Harry spotted some dolphins. We watched them for awhile. Just when we were warming up (excuse me, getting unfrozen) he fired up the motor and said something along the lines of “Let’s go fishin’.”

So, Captain Harry is on the radio chatting with his buddy, asking where the fish are biting since he has a bunch of landlubbers intent on hooking into something. And, we get there. It’s about a mile off shore. Nothing but water, water, everywhere. Oh, and two other boats. Harry’s buddy who is out fishing with his family and some other guy. No other boats as far as the eye can see. Guess there’s only one spot in this big wide body of water that has any fish. Captain Harry tosses out the anchor and starts handing out rods.

Dave, the expert amongst us, catches something right away. I get one, too. Damn, it’s a rock fish. It eats my hook and my bait. Harry gives me a look. I go get another beer.

Captain Harry gets all the wimmen set up and they all catch fish. I’m helping take fish off hooks and re-baiting while waiting for a rod with new terminal tackle. (Captain Harry says to Nancy, “Excuse me, Nance, can I get under you for a minute?” as he pokes around under the bench in search of more hooks.) Everybody is catching things. Tom catches a Guitarfish (better known as a ray). I catch fish, too. Though none of us are catching anything that stacks up to what the five year old daughter and three year old son of Captain Harry’s buddy just over there are catching. Caroline and Campbell are landing some whoppers.

They pack up for the day and head on back to base. Captain Harry pulls in the anchor and we move over to where his buddy was. It’s from here to there. I mean, maybe thirty feet. How localized are these fish, anyway?

I guess we continue to catch things. Maybe this is where Tom caught his ray. But, it’s getting cold. I’m getting bored. I pee off the back of the boat (after the kids have left). And, eventually, we call it a day and head on back to the marina.

The fish pictures . . .
Dave with the first fish of the day.	Nancy with the first fish of her life.
Me. I’m not sure if I’m holding the bait or the fish I caught.	Tom with his Guitarfish.

Later on, after he looked more closely at Captain Harry’s business card, Tom saw that his last name was Demosthenes. Captain Harry did mention that he had some Greek in him. Tom, Dave, and I got a chuckle out of it. For all we know, Captain Harry had some Greek ancestors who fought with Leonidas at the Battle of Thermopylae. Maybe somebody involved in the naval aspect, since those guys survived to fight another day. See, watching the History Channel does, indeed, come in handy on random occasions.

Taking the pelican out to dinner . . .

We ended the day in fine fashion as Tom and Nancy took us to their club for dinner. Nancy didn’t want the Proud Pelican to get lonely back at the house so she carted him along and sat him in the center of our table. Lots and lots and lots of laughs about that. Nancy got so much enjoyment out of the Pelican and she was so proud of me that I left it on the mantle of their fireplace. The plan is to return next year when Nancy will join Renate and Jeanne in walking the half. I’ll race the full, again, and try to win a matching Pelican.

The Proud Pelican . . .

And it’s (final) resting spot . . .

Playing tourist in Charleston . . .

Sunday morning, I’m up way early. It’s my usual post-race situation. I just don’t sleep well the night following a race. Things hurt. I move and the things that hurt wake me up. Eventually I give up and get up and start drinking coffee and making race notes. This was no different.

The others eventually got up. Since Nancy wanted all the leftovers eaten, if possible, Tom made omelets with just about anything you’d like thrown in. I stayed basic with things like bacon and onions and cheese. The plan for the day was to head on into Charleston for some walking and touristing late morning. That left some time to kill and Renate and I opted to take a walk on the beach while the other four went on a bike ride.

Let’s see . . . what really happened yesterday?

Renate and I mill around in the clubhouse for the Ocean Course (home of the 1991 Ryder Cup, the 2007 Senior PGA Championship, and the 2012 PGA Championship), looking completely out of place, and then head on back to Tom and Nancy’s, this time along the road.

And, as we’re walking on road from the clubhouse (trying not to get run over by cell phone talking, late for tee time golfers wearing plaid pants and lime green sweaters), I spot them, in a mucky puddle . . . aggilators! Finally! There had been all those signs, even along the marathon course, warning of aggilators, and how we shouldn’t approach, feed, or harass. And I never saw any. Until now. I had no real desire to approach, feed, or harass, but I did want to see them. Especially since Renate bought me a stuffed one at the clubhouse. (I got her a stuffed sea turtle. We’re so romantic.)

And, I guess that was about it for morning excitement. A quick shower and then about a 45 minute drive into Charleston. Where we had a tasty lunch at a nice southern cuisine place. The others were more daring than I. “A cheeseburger, fries, and another Palmetto Amber for me, please.”

As we’re walking the streets of Charleston, South Carolina, I’m thinking that I’m glad this was a Saturday race and not a Sunday event. The weather yesterday for the marathon was pretty excellent racing weather. It did get a little warmish towards the end of the run, but it wasn’t a factor in my opinion. Sunday, tourist day, is a whole lot warmer. Well, let me take that back. I just went and checked weather.com since I don’t really have any mention in my notes. It seems that Sunday, the day after the marathon, was a bit colder. But there was a stiff wind, which must have been what I was thinking of. It was also sunny, as opposed to race morning being mostly cloudy. Anyway, I made a note that it was better that the race was held on Saturday so it must have been true.

I mention that mostly so I can mention that it’s kind of the opposite scenario with Richmond. That was also a Saturday race, but the weather the following day would have been much better for racing. So it goes, I guess.

Charleston seems like a pretty nice place. The area we were in, anyway. We stopped into Moe’s for a pint of Palmetto Amber and to watch the last couple of minutes of the Eagles – Giants game. It was good to see the Eagles win. Another fraternity brother is a big Giants fan (the season ticket holding kind of fan) and we thought about calling him up to abuse him, but decided to pass. He probably wouldn’t have taken our call.

We did a bit more touristy walking, seeing Fort Sumter and some of the monuments.

Back at Tom and Nancy’s, the mayor of Kiawah Island and his wife stopped by for a visit and a drink. They were fun to talk with and I asked him how the locals viewed the race. He said he couldn’t recall hearing a negative word from a resident. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The people really got behind the event, volunteering and helping out and enjoying things. Traffic disruptions were minimal and it did seem like the waste factor that’s usually around marathons wasn’t a major factor. The mayor was happy with all the tourists the race brought in. The folks staying at the condos and such. It was good to hear.

And, I suppose, this is as good a place as any to stop babbling. As usual, thanks to everybody who made it this far. I hope to see you in a few weeks.

Charts and Graphs and Links (Oh, My) . . .

Bonus points for the Kiawah Island Marathon as I got to knock South Carolina off the states to be done list. I’m now up to 17 states completed.

I'll include a table of the mile splits for Kiawah Island. Here's a link to the mile splits for all my sub-3:00 marathons.

Kiawah Island Marathon December 6, 2008
Miles 1-5	Miles 6-10	Miles 11-15	Miles 16-20	Miles 21-25	Miles 26-26.2
6:12 6:31 6:29 6:31 6:22	6:33 6:35 6:24 6:36 6:20	6:27 6:20 6:27 6:28 6:23	6:24 6:23 6:23 6:28 6:25	6:30 6:23 6:26 6:34 6:35	6:39 1:51
32:05	32:28	32:05	32:03	40:58
6:25.0	6:29.6	6:25.0	6:24.6	6:36.5
First Half	1:24:26	6:26.7	Second Half	1:25:13	6:30.3
Total Time	2:49:39	6:28.5	Second Half as % of First Half --- 100.93%

Career Road Marathons

Event and Year
Philadelphia '94
Philadelphia '95
Philadelphia '96
Philadelphia '97
Philadelphia '98
Boston '99
New York '00
Dublin '01
Disney '03
Philadelphia '03
Boston '04
Disney '05
Marine Corps '05
Disney '06
Disney '07
MDI '07
Rocket City '07
Chicago '08
Richmond '08
Kiawah Island '08

Chip
Time
3:18:44
3:11:38
3:05:18
3:07:52
3:03:58
3:17:04
3:08:38
2:48:22
2:47:13
2:48:00
2:55:52
2:46:49
2:47:14
2:46:44
2:52:28
2:49:28
2:46:01
2:46:56
2:56:47
2:49:39

Average
Time
3:18:44
3:15:11
3:11:53
3:10:53
3:09:30
3:10:46
3:10:27
3:07:42
3:05:25
3:03:41
3:02:58
3:01:37
3:00:31
2:59:32
2:59:04
2:58:28
2:57:44
2:57:08
2:57:07
2:56:44

Age
36.14
37.13
38.15
39.15
40.14
40.55
42.10
43.08
44.28
45.14
45.55
46.28
47.08
47.27
48.27
49.03
49.19
50.03
50.12
50.18

Thanks, everybody, for reading. Hope you had a good time. By the way, if anybody has any comments, queries, suggestions, corrections, etc., please pass them along.

Return to Noone's Saloone & Golf Club.

Originally published on January 2, 2009.