That would be the last I saw of her until the finish line. A little different from Maine, where she drove from spot to spot.
The mile three marker was past the hospital (that might come in handy when I re-traced my steps and re-visited the hospital during mile 26) and across a pretty major road (Governors – generic, not a specific governor I don’t think – Drive). I made sure to thank the police and/or volunteers manning (or womaning) the intersections. Mile three was 6:12. Well, I did slow down, a little, from the 6:11 of a mile before. Lots of time going into the time bank, I kept telling myself. Lots of stupidity my brain kept replying. “Have you ever done one of these marathon things before?” it asked. “You’re sure running this one like an idiot.” I didn’t have a good answer. I kept running. More slowly, I hoped, once again.
And, maybe, about this time it started to rain. Ah, well. At least it was a warm rain. It had started dripping pretty early in the run, something about 90% humidity, I guess. This, on the other hand, was full blown rain. Well, that would save me the trouble of pouring aid station water on my head.
Mile four was where the course really started with the residential neighborhoods. And the introduction of lots of corners to go around. I had run to pretty close to the four mile mark during my Friday morning welcome to Huntsville run, so I knew that the course was well-marked and that the turns weren’t too bad. Today, race day, there was the added security of course marshals at all the critical spots. But, it also turned into the section where I couldn’t really see anybody out in front of me. Every now and then, I’d catch a glimpse, but, for the most part, I was on my own. I never looked back to see if anybody was near. Mostly I just looked for little yellow arrows on the ground. And I got a mile four split of 6:16. Finally, right where I wanted to be.
As I mentioned above, there were no big digital clocks at the mile marks. Just a kind volunteer calling out total elapsed race time. I had been paying more attention to the splits that were registering when I punched the button on my watch and this became more critical when I noticed that the time the volunteers were yelling out was about twenty seconds different from what my watch was reading. The volunteer time was faster. I was pretty confused the first time I heard it. Which may or may not have been mile four. “Where the heck did the twenty seconds go?” I thought to myself. I was hoping, the first time I heard it, that it was an aberration.
Just before the mile five marker, there was an aid station, the second stop of the day. I took my first hit of gel and grabbed two cups of water. No sooner was I done than I saw the mile five banner and heard the time-keeper. The split for the mile was 6:17. Good, two consistent, on pace, miles. I also got a five mile split of just about 31 minutes. Using my 6:15 overall target pace – for some reason, hoping for consistent, even splits throughout the day – I was expecting to be here at 31:15. So, I had about a 15 second cushion. Really, not all that bad. Let’s just continue running around 6:15 and see what happens.
So, why did the next four miles go 6:28, 6:11, 6:28, 6:14?
Mile six had some sidewalk running and then a bank drive-thru/parking lot complete with speed bumps. But, that’s not a real reason for the drastic slowdown. I guess there was, according to the course description I’m reading as I write, a bit of an uphill at the end of the mile. Ok. It was still a tough split to swallow. I may have mentioned, none of the hills were really hills to speak of. Just momentum busters and mental hurdles. I really didn’t feel like I ran a 6:28, but that’s what the watch said. “There goes my bank balance of 15 seconds,” I remember thinking. Well, it’s too early for the pity party. Let’s regroup and see if we can get back on pace.
Mile seven was, mostly, a long straight shot with some downhill. And, I could see other runners in front, I wasn’t alone on the course, let alone in first place. Towards the end of the mile, there was a right turn, followed by a left turn, followed by a left bend, followed by a hitch into a school parking lot, Whitesburg Elementary School. And an aid station and the seven mile mark. I remember someone saying, after the race, that this was the triathlon club aid station, complete with signs saying things like “You can’t be tired, you didn’t swim 2.4 miles or ride 112 miles.” I wish I would have noticed that. The old “Been there, done that” comment would have been nice to say. But, it was also where the mile marker was right at the aid station. So, trying to grab some water and punch the split button on my watch while still running took all of my, limited, athletic abilities. I couldn’t read aid station signs at the same time, I guess. I was, obviously, happy with the 6:11 split. Confused, but happy.
I was also having some troubles with math. Getting elapsed time from the time-keepers that didn’t match my watch was part of the problem. Not having the actual clock to visualize on was the bigger issue, though. Of course, there weren’t even talking time-keepers at Mount Desert Island, so I should be able to adjust. I think I was also getting too focused on the individual mile splits instead of the five mile splits that I primarily used up in Maine.
As I left the parking lot, I was directed towards the dungeon. Well, that’s what it seemed like. A dark, narrow, low-ceilinged passageway leading to who knows what or where. It was the pedestrian tunnel under Whitesburg Drive. I remember wondering if Jeff was going to have to duck while running through the tunnel. And, then, at the very end, a sharp, 90 degree turn to the right. I’d say into the sunshine, but there wasn’t any. Into the gray of the day. And the start of what the race calls the southern loop.
According to the course description in the Information Book, the highest point on the course was somewhere during mile eight. Guess this, partially, explains the 6:28 I ran. Crap . . . crap . . . crap.
I went through this same mile to mile yo-yoing up in Maine. But, I was mentally prepared for it up there. I knew that course went up and down and up and down. I knew the mile splits would be fairly inconsistent. That’s why I went with the five mile plan. Here, in Huntsville, I expected my mile splits to be more level. It was screwing me up mentally to be all over the place. I didn’t start the race with the proper plan and I didn’t adjust well on the fly.
Mile nine had a little left, right, left, right, left, left. All 90 degree corners that I made sure to hit the tangents as closely as possible. Normally when I’m doing that kind of one edge of the road to the other type of running, I’m constantly looking back over my shoulder to see if there’s any car traffic threatening to run me down. Here, I just trusted in the gods of racing, and ran, basically, all over the road. I guess there was a bit of downhill to the mile, as well, and the 6:14 split seems to show that. The yoyo was up. Or was it down? This was certainly not a fine example of even pacing, terrain be damned. Though, as far as I was aware, my effort was fairly consistent. And, hey, at the mile ten flag I’d be able to get a ten mile race time and I could do some math. I could see where I was in relation to my sub-2:45 goal.
Compared to most of the earlier miles, mile ten was straight. Only two 90 degree right hand turns. And, between them, an aid station where I had another hit of gel. After the aid station it was the right turn onto Bailey Cove Road where I’d be for the next four plus miles. Maybe the biggest traffic road of the race. It was a four lane road (probably five with a turn lane, but I don’t remember) and we had the far right lane coned off for the runners. Occasionally, a car would turn onto Bailey Cove Road and drive for a little while in the runner lane. I don’t know what happened behind me, but the ones in front usually pulled over to the left lane of the southbound traffic as soon as they realized what was going on. Which was sooner for some of the drivers than for others.
Just before the ten mile banner was Grissom High School. One of the first schools I have any recollection of attending was Virgil I. Grissom Elementary School in the Philippines, way, way, way back when. I guess a high school in “Rocket City” named after an astronaut is kind of appropriate. Having the Grissom Cross Country Team out in full force cheering only made it better. A bunch of the kids had signs they were waving around. Of course, like, each sign had, like, fifty words, like, which, like, made them kind of hard to, like, read. But, I made sure to wave to them. (Do high school kids still say “like” every other word?)
The split for mile ten was 6:17. Elapsed time for ten miles was 1:02:37, just seven seconds over my target. (Now is probably a good place to put in my standard disclaimer of, while I’m actually racing, not knowing the times as accurately as I do while I’m writing. I probably would have used a time of 1:02:40 for ten miles while doing any mid-race math.) All things considered, not that bad a ten miles. The weather was a bit of a downer. The temperature, in the low 60’s, and the humidity, just about 90%, were having an effect. Still, when I took stock of how I was feeling, physically, I was surprisingly comfortable. I could feel ten hard miles in my legs, but I didn’t think they were totally abused. I didn’t feel like I was overdoing things. Mentally, things weren’t quite so rosy.
I wasn’t prepared for all the turns, even though I knew they existed. I wasn’t prepared for running another race all by myself, even though I had no problems with that up in Maine. Though they weren’t really hills, the ups were a bit more of a pace buster than I expected. I started to employ my mantra for this race.
“Strength and honor” I kept repeating to myself. I had picked that phrase up while watching The Gladiator on DVD one long indoor bike ride. The general says that to his second in command before the big battle. One foot in front of the other. Focus on your little piece of pavement. One foot in front of the other. In a few miles I would reach the halfway point. Then I would be halfway done. “Strength and honor.” Plus I had some visible rabbits to chase down.
As I mentioned earlier, Bailey Cove Road was a long, straight, flat stretch of four lane “highway.” I could see a few folks strung out in front of me. I set out runnin’, but I took my time. Mile 11 was a 6:08. Post-race analysis shows it to be the fastest mile since the opening sprint. I guess the opportunity to collect road kill revved up the engine a little.
There was also the guy in his early 40’s and his son walking on the sidewalk. As I got alongside, the guy started running, doing a good job of staying even with me. After about thirty seconds, as we’re cruising along at roughly 6:15 pace, I’m thinking, “Please, buddy, don’t keel over. I don’t want to have to stop.” He lasts maybe another 15 seconds before calling it a workout.
Miles 12 and 13 were pretty much the same as mile 11, though the wind became more noticeable. Not gale-force, but a steady headwind, nonetheless. There was an aid station right at mile marker 12, again a bit tough to get water and punch the split button. This mile was 6:14 so, I guess, I had settled back down to a reasonable pace. It might also have been one where the time-keeper called out a race time that matched my watch. That would happen for a couple of miles, then the time-keepers would go back to being twenty seconds fast.
Mile 13 was 6:12. Wow! Back to back consistent miles. Then the half marathon split of 1:21:54. (There was a timing mat and a big clock at the halfway point.) For mathematical purposes, I was using 1:22. That meant returning to base in 1:23. I was hoping that, after completing the stretch in the southern direction, the wind would continue and would turn into a helping tailwind.
|
