The A1A Ft Lauderdale Marathon

The alarm rang at 4 AM, but I was awake long before that.  It didn't matter.  I had gone to bed at 7 PM anyway and had gotten plenty of sleep, even though I had largely just rolled around in the bed for the past hour.

I got up, showered, and went through my race routine.  I ate a banana and a Zone Bar.  I put Band-Aids on my nipples and put anti-chafing cream on the spots that needed it.  I started sipping on some Gatorade to top-off my hydration and make sure that I had my fill of electrolytes.  I put on my calf-compression sleeves, my running socks and tied my sneakers in a double-knot.  Before I knew it, I was in the car and headed to the starting line.

I had no idea how ready I was for this marathon.  Having just run NYC three months ago and spending a lot of time in the gym since, I thought I could only improve.  The problem was that the weather in New England had just been horrendous the past few months.  I have a very low tolerance for running in the cold (otherwise known as "being a wimp.")  Most of the time, I just opt for the treadmill instead, where I tend to top out around the 10-mile mark.  I don't know if it's boredom, exhaustion, or a mixture of both, but the truth of the matter was the longest run I had done since NYC was 10 miles.

"You are terribly unprepared," my marathon coach advised me.  "You'll probably finish, but targeting a pace in this race is not a good idea.  Just try to survive."

Could he really mean that?  I was pushing out some really fast 2-3 mile runs indoors, I had just dropped all of my holiday weight, and was setting records on the number of calories I was burning on the elliptical.

Did it really matter?

After getting off the I-95 exit closest to the starting line, I waited in the car through traffic for what seemed like an eternity.  Through the wait I contemplated whether or not I was truly ready for this race.  No, I hadn't had any long runs, but I felt as though I was in better shape than I was 3 months ago.  And the race-day weather in NYC was horrible - heavy winds and cold.  At the moment, it was in the high-40's in Florida and the forecast was a high of 70 degrees.  This was perfect running weather and I thought that alone would only improve my performance.

As the car inched closer, I had to get out and walk the last block to the starting line.  I put on my ugly (but disposable) five-dollar sweatshirt I had bought at Walgreen's, and my brand new fifteen-dollar sunglasses I bought at the fitness expo the day before.  I opted for them over the $35 "Anti-Fog" sunglasses.  Twenty bucks for a feature I doubted would have made any difference seemed like a rip-off, so I went with the cheaper option.  Traffic was really horrible and I felt bad for those who thought they had given themselves plenty of time to get there, but would still miss the start of the race.  That's one of my complaints about this race - if you run it next year, make sure you get there super-early.

I had 20 minutes until the gun and I noticed only about 8-10 Port-A-Potties near the starting line.  I was still carrying a bottle of water around and realized that I should have stopped hydrating a while back, but with the traffic I sorta lost track of time.  So, I got on line and barely made it out of the john before the opening gun.  Second complaint - not enough bathrooms at the starting line.  This is a common complaint - whenever you get a group of thousands of people together who spent the last week hydrating, bathroom lines are inevitable.

I took off my sweatshirt and set it down with the Chapstick I had just applied and before I even had a chance to think, I was off and running.  It was still dark out, but as soon as I got moving I completely forgot about the cold.

I would guess the race consisted of about 5,000 runners - some of them running the full-marathon like me, and others running a half.  All of us started at the same time.  The mood was jovial as we took off and pressed through the first 2 miles east on Las Olas Blvd towards the coast.  I set my pace around 11:45/mile, which was about 20 seconds quicker than my finish time for the NYC Marathon, which was 12:04.  

Unlike NYC, the pace groups in this marathon were easy to find and follow.  With a potential goal of 5-hours, I took note of the 5:00 pacer, who had started behind me.  I kept an eye out for when he might pass me, so that I could tail him for a while.

Daylight was breaking and the course veered off the A1A to a local park where we followed a trail for around 2 miles.  The scenery was great in the early going.  It was hard to keep my pace at 11:45, because everyone seemed like they were passing me.  I decided to nestle in behind some people and just try to follow the pace.  At some point, the 5:00 pacer went by and I stayed about 50-feet behind him.

And then it hit me.  I had to pee.

It wasn't a bad-pee feeling as if I was going to burst, but it was a "I know I can really go right now if I wanted" type feeling that might have gone away with time if I just kept running.  We were in a park and there was a natural bathroom all around me.  Other people were doing it, so I found a spot and ducked into the woods. Water weight can be pretty heavy, and the thought of needlessly dragging another 2-3 pounds around the course for 20+ miles was psyching me out a bit.  So I went.

Of course, by the time I finished, the 5:00 pacer was long gone, and I felt the need to catch up.  So I picked up the pace.

Whereas my first 4 miles were excessively slow, my next two were quite fast.  Too fast.  I knew it, too, and I did nothing to stop it.   Eventually I caught up to the 5:00 pacer, but I'm pretty sure the damage had been done.  Big mistake.

The pacer seemed right around the 11:00 mile mark, which was still a bit fast, but I wasn't going to complain.  At some point, he started to slow.  I was in a group of around 20 runners when we hit the sign that diverted the half-marathoners one-way, while the marathoners kept going straight.  It was at that point I realized how dumb it was that I was getting upset by so many runners passing me in the early miles.  Out of the pack of 20 runners, maybe four of them continued on straight, with the bulk of them making the turn for the half.  They were all more than half-way done.  Of course, I had still only begun.

The pacer slowed down to around 12:00 miles and that made me a bit nervous.  The last thing I wanted to do was to follow the pacer for 25 miles and realize I had to sprint the last mile because the pacer had gone too slow.  Besides, I wanted to run my race and I still felt pretty good, so I opted to get closer to the 11:25 pace that would get me my 5 hours if I kept it up.

The sun was out and I put my new sunglasses over my eyes.  The glasses fit my head perfectly and I strode to one of the water stations to rehydrate.  I had a nice lather of sweat by this point, but I felt pretty good and this water break was pretty much something I just had to do.  Grabbing a glass of water, I tilted my head back and took a big swig.  Upon exhaling, my hot breath must have mixed with the cool moisture from the water in the cup and shot a cool gust of air up past my lips, around my nose and fogged up my sunglasses like you wouldn't believe!

So this was what they meant by "anti-fog."  It never pays to be cheap, people.

I drank the rest of the water and took off down the road again.  It was only a few strides until my glasses cleared up, but it was still annoying.  I may have to upgrade for my next race.

Around mile 9, I could sense myself beginning to tire.  It wasn't that I couldn't run any further, but I just sensed that at my pace of debilitation, I was going to really be suffering on the back-end of this race.  So, I forced myself to slow down.

Somewhere around mile 12, the pacer passed me again.  I briefly tried to keep up, but it was to no avail.  I had lost the 5-hour goal and I wasn't very happy about it.

The marathon roads in Ft. Lauderdale were mostly barren and I found myself running alone most of the time.  It was nothing like NYC, where spectators lined every block and there were constant crowds of runners around you.  Most of the time, I was just alone with my thoughts and my music, which was fine.  I enjoyed myself and even caught a bit of a runner's high around mile 16, and thought I'd just stroll it in from there at a 12:00-12:30 pace.

But somewhere around mile 20 or 21, I just lost it.  My quads were crushed, my hips were sore and my gait felt as though it was crumbling with every step.  My running app noted the 4th hour of the race at some point, and I couldn't believe that I had more than an hour left to go.

The pain was intense.  I remembered feeling similar pain in NYC and running through it.  I tried to do that again and slowed.  But at some point around mile 21, the pain won and I walked.  I hate walking.  But I really felt as though I had no choice.  I walked at a fast pace, and decided to employ a strategy where I would walk 5 traffic cones, and then jog 10.  It seemed to work for a while, but I was still exhausted.

When I saw the Mile 21 marker, I felt defeated thinking I still had an entire 5 miles left, and I cut out the on-off walk/run strategy and just walked.  I did a quick calculation in my mind and realized if I walked the last 5 miles, I'd likely finish close to 6 hours, and the course closed after 6 hours.  I didn't want that.  For the briefest of moments, I contemplated quitting - calling my friends and telling them to come get me.

But there was still the matter of a little girl 2,000 miles up to the North who was looking forward to her father returning home with a medal.  The thought of quitting was only a momentary blip.  I walked the better part of the 21st mile.  It was a fast walk, as I was concerned that if I went too slow, my legs might seize up on me, and then I'd never get anywhere.  As I approached Mile 22, I realized that I felt a little better and it was time to give it another shot.  I started jogging once more.

To my happiness, the rest had provided me with some extra energy, and though I still felt somewhat weak, at least I was running now.  It was only 4 miles to the finish.  I knew I could do that.

And then, another stroke of bad luck.  My iPhone battery gave out on me.  No more updates as to my distance or pace, no more music.  Probably the worst part to that was that I had put my favorite motivating songs toward the back-end of the playlist and now I wasn't going to hear them at all.  No Eye of the Tiger, no Centuries by Fall Out Boy, no Monkey Wrench by the Foo Fighters.

I kept going and now I was on the A1A getting closer and closer.  The streets were more crowded with runners now, but most of them were simply recreational runners taking advantage of the closed roads.  The scene here was beautiful as you could look out over the beach to the ocean and the sun had come out and provided a good bit of sun without being oppressively hot.

I passed a woman around mile 25 who seemed to be going very slow.  "Almost there," I encouraged her.

"Oh, I'm only running 5 miles," she said.  "You've done 25 miles already!"  We ran together for a bit and she told me she could see the finish line up ahead.

"I'm gonna push it," I said and left her in the dust headed for the overpass ahead that I assumed was the finish.  It seemed rather close to the mile 25 sign I had just passed, and I should have known better.  Only when I got close that I realized it was just an overpass and the real finish line was still another half-mile away.  I cursed the nice woman I had just met under my breath, and kept pushing on.  I was running on nothing but fumes at this point, but eventually the finish line came into view.

I crossed at a jog, with one hand raised high in the air.  Marathon two was complete, though not without some bumps and bruises along the way.  I hadn't remembered NYC being this difficult and for a brief moment I wondered why I put myself through such torture.  They handed me a medal - a large, clunky thing that weighed me down more than I wanted, so I took it off.  I practically had to pry my lips open, they were so dry, but I was able to get a bottle of Gatorade into my system in seconds.  And water after that.

I found some stairs to sit down, right next to a man I didn't know.  I apologized, but told him it looked like the most comfortable place to sit nearby and I just couldn't stand anymore.  He laughed and said it was no imposition.  We chatted about the race and I told him how difficult it was for me this time.

"Man, I am just going to have to train harder," I said.

"You're the only one I've heard say that all day," he responded.  "Most people just cross this off their bucket list and never want to do it again."

But that's not for me.  I need to conquer this thing.  Even though I have finished two marathons now, neither one was on my terms.  I didn't control my pace and I didn't get the results I was after.  Besides, I had a wonderful Floridian vacation this time around.  Maybe running marathons is just a great way to get out and see the country.  The downside is that when you get off the plane in uncharacteristically warm weather for a northerner, it is very difficult not to find the nearest watering hole and order a margarita because you have to save yourself for the race.  But the celebratory drinks after finishing the marathon, and the green light to eat anything you want since you just burned 4,000+ calories is a pretty great feeling as well.

And for that... I will train harder.