A figure in a familiar bright orange running shirt stood waiting on the Butler Boulevard ramp, scanning the oncoming crowd of runners. I'd been hoping to see him about half a mile earlier, but I had forgotten to turn my GPS tracker on for the RaceJoy app so he'd know where I'd be....the first of a few things that went wrong the morning of my first marathon.
I was glad he was there. I was in trouble.
The marathon was The Donna, the popular breast cancer fundraising event, and it had already been won about thirty minutes earlier. I didn't know this at the time, but one of our PRS Running Club elites, Marc Burget, had placed first overall, finishing into the arms of his wife Christina. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer in January, and was about to go through her second round of chemotherapy. (It Was The Donna. It was Valentine's Day. He won. The story of THAT win couldn't have been scripted any better in Hollywood).
The waiting figure was Kuldeep, one of my PRS running buddies who had agreed to join me and my training partner Bryce for the last four miles of the race in an effort to help us hit our goal of a sub 3:25 finish. Yeah....it was my first marathon at the age of 44, and I had hopes of qualifying for Boston.
The course, however, had other plans.
I was a little over three hours and 22+ miles into the run, and I had hit The Wall. The one I'd been warned about by every marathon runner I had talked to. The Wall I foolishly believed I had trained sufficiently to overcome. I mean, I had completed a 20-miler a few weeks ago with a 7:56 average pace in very windy conditions; even windier than the gusts I was currently battling. And I had felt GOOD after that run. I had this!
But I should have known better. The marathon course has a way of conning you into believing your early splits are an indication of how you're going to finish, and the adrenaline that tags along on race day is its "now you see me, now you don't" accomplice. To further complicate matters, Bryce had to drop out somewhere around mile 7 or so due to a leg injury that had been slowing him down in the weeks leading up to the race. I won't lie; losing him devastated me mentally. We had run several long runs together in preparation for this, and we were going to push each other for that sub 3:25. My worries about how he was doing and the prospect of running 15 miles without my partner obviously weighed on my mind. I never felt like I was able to get into a groove, and my splits had been getting slower after mile 14.
To add injury to the insult of my ever slowing pace, something was wrong with my left arch. (After giving it thought, I recall I had stepped awkwardly into a dip in the road early on; however, the foot never really bothered me until around mile 21 or so. The toll of the race distance must've finally caught up to me). I felt pain in every step.
Just. Finish.
So, there I was, struggling to maintain anything close to the 7:45 pace I had felt so sure I could average for 26.2 miles. My confidence had left me; that completely disappeared when the 3:30 Galloway pacer left me behind some miles back. (OK, she didn't leave me behind....I just couldn't keep up with her and her two runners anymore, even with the walking breaks....she, to her credit, encouraged me to try to stick with them. I just couldn't). Until the point that Kuldeep joined me, the only things that were giving me motivation were the breast cancer cause I was running for and the droves of supporters cheering us on along the course. An intervention was needed, and stat.
"What do you want to do?" Kuldeep asked as he pulled alongside me. He could tell I was struggling, and was peering at me through his sunglasses, trying to gauge how best to help his friend he'd nicknamed "FlyU."
I fought back tears of frustration. I wanted to look strong for everyone I was running this race for, and I didn't want the waterworks to flow until I was finished. I needed to find a way to muster whatever resolve I had left.
Just. Finish.
"Just keep me moving. All I want to do is keep moving forward." My words were shaky, and I hoped he could help me keep it together for the final three and a half miles. I wasn't really sure I could.
"You've got this," he encouraged. "Stay with me, and just let me know if you need me to slow down the pace."
And so I followed him. At this point of the course, the marathoners and half marathoners had already rejoined, so we ran on the right side of Butler Boulevard, passing scores of half marathoners walking their way to the finish. As we passed, many of them offered their own words of encouragement. I did my very best to acknowledge them all with a wave or a weak "thanks."
Kuldeep deserves a lot of credit here for helping me along. He played music in his phone. (I remember "Eye of the Tiger," but I can't recall the other songs.) He talked to me about his watch. He reminded me about the time I gave him advice on how I use my breathing patterns to focus during runs....anything he could do to pass the time away as we headed to the finish. He even allowed me to stop and walk when my foot bothered me. For all this, I'm eternally grateful. Having my PRS brother by my side made all the difference in the world.
As we passed the 25 mile marker, I made the decision that I was going to finish the rest of the race without stopping. I had gotten this far, and I owed it to Christina Burget and every other breast cancer battler to forget my own aches and pains and cross that finish line with every ounce of energy I had left. There was no reason I shouldn't keep my legs moving.
Just. Finish.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kuldeep guided me off the Butler Bridge and onto San Pablo Boulevard, where the Mayo Clinic and the end of my first marathon experience awaited. I saw the finish line in the distance, and simply focused on reaching it as quickly as I could.
As I neared the finish line, I vaguely remember Kuldeep yelling something to me before he broke to the left to finish with his half marathon counterparts (his official time was 3:38, but he has a good story to tell about it, I hope). The energy of the crowd was powerful; they practically willed me into my fastest pace of the day (albeit for only about 50 yards) as I crossed the mats. I later found out that friends were in that crowd, cheering for me even though I didn't know it at the time. Very cool.
I knew my wife and oldest daughter would be there waiting for me; what I didn't know is that a good friend, who knew it was my first marathon, made it possible for them to be waiting inside the chute so that they could greet me with cheers and hugs of their own. I finally succumbed to the emotion of the effort and accomplishment. I wrapped my arms around my daughter, buried my face in her neck and let the tears come. I didn't care. I just wanted to cry.
A lighter moment here: at some point, my daughter, clearly ready for me to stop shedding tears, jokingly told me to "man up, Daddy!" God, I love that kid.
I looked around and saw other PRS members were in the crowd shouting at me to come over. It was Janelle and Robin, two "Mandarin Road Runners," as we like to call ourselves during our weekly PRS runs. I ran to them, where I was greeted with big hugs and more tears (yes, I'm a cryer....no shame in that).
I'll tell ya, physically and mentally, that last five miles or so was the toughest section of a run I've ever done. Tougher than the end my first half marathon in 2013. Tougher than the end of the super hot and humid Savannah Rock-n-Roll Half last year. For a brief moment, though, how my body felt was insignificant. I had both families - home and running - by my side, helping me celebrate a moment that a year ago I barely considered as a running goal. What a special moment....it will be etched in my memory forever.
The initial round of hugs and tears complete (yes, there would be more), and with a bottle of water in hand, I promptly dropped into one of the many waiting wheelchairs and began icing my foot. I was still in pain, and knew I potentially had an injury that would keep me out for awhile, but I had a big smile on my face.
I was a marathoner. And it was time for a beer.
(photo compliments of Lindsey Williams of the PRS Running Club)
(I wanted to voice my gratitude to some very special people: Paul McRae for his coaching and faith in my ability; Bryce Desy for his hours and miles as my marathon training partner; Kuldeep Naik for being my rock for those final miles; members of the PRS Running Club for their support before, during and after the race; Jerry Jones for the booming "RUN, FRANK, RUN!!" out on the course; Roberto Lacayo for his gracious hospitality; and my wife Melanie, for humoring my running habit and being there at the finish line. I love you all!!!)
