5,000 Steps: 2009 Portland Marathon

With each foot strike, the evil thing grows inside my legs, refuses to be willed away.

As I crown the Broadway Bridge at mile 24, I know the dreaded moment is nigh. The crescendo that has been building slowly, over some 35,000 steps, is about to arrive in a cascade of lactic acid, sweat, and tears. There are other victims everywhere now, walking. Or worse, sitting on curbs with lowered heads and deflated spirits.

How can I expect to do it if they couldn't?

I plod down the little, cursed hill on the far side of the bridge, quad muscles destroyed from what race organizers surely thought would be a "nice break". Two miles - 3000 steps - of relentless downhill. The crash is inevitable now.

Just. Give. In.

I stop running. Stop moving altogether, in fact. The plan was to walk, but I have suddenly become detached from my lower body. At the aid station just ten feet ahead, I notice a volunteer look at me and gasp, "Oh no." I'm the embodiment of comedy and tragedy. A grown adult, unable to control the wobbling sticks attached to my hips... like a toddler learning to stand. I manage to stir my feet to move and proceed to walk in tiny circles, quietly shaming myself.

"Come on. Fucking run."

And then I do. If you can call it running. I grab a water, and increase the pace of my pained shuffle until it becomes a jog. 38,000 steps now behind, the crowd grows on both sides of me and I know I will make it. I manage a smile. Run strong at the end, I've always heard, because everyone is watching. Then suddenly the evil thing returns. With searing, biting cramps enveloping my legs, I am halted again.

Two steps walking, now ten.

And then, a pat on my shoulder from behind and a runner passing on my left. "Come on, man. Let's go. You can do it." I swallow hard, start to move my legs again, and catch up with him. Dude says, "Run. Do it like you're a race leader." Wow. That was all it took. I've watched those guys on tv, and I can pretend to be one for just a few minutes. Yes, definitely! And then I heard his voice again, fading into the distance as I found another gear and passed him.

"A race leader."

And so it went to the finish. One thousand steps in race-leader form. Well, my version anyway. Through the tunnel of echoing cheers and shouts. Passing runners that had left me for dead only minutes ago. Around a corner and there, the voices I could identify in a crowd of millions, there they were... my cheering section. Homemade signs, cowbell, a sideways smile as I dig deep and kick harder.

Just ten more steps.

One more runner passed. Stomp the line. Stop the watch. Joy. Agonizing, tearful, somebody-get-this-guy-to-the-medical-tent joy.

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Portland Marathon | Sunday, October 4, 2009
Time: 3:15:31 | 13mi. Split: 1:34:35 | Pace: 7:28 | Place: 366/8133 | Age Place: 82/635

What's next?

I told myself (and a select few in the circle of trust) that if I didn't absolutely hate marathoning after Missoula, there was a small, outside chance that perhaps I maybe might possibly consider entertaining the thought of doing another one.

Ok, Portland Marathon. Here we (probably) come!

My goals will be more concrete this time, and the training more marathon-specific. There are about 10 training weeks left, with a 10-day taper at the end. I hope to knock 17 minutes off my Missoula time, for a 3:15.

I want to try something a little unorthodox for training; alternate speed and distance weeks. It would break down something like this...

On speed weeks, run 5-7 miles 4x per week, including at least one hill workout and one tempo run. Do track or hill work on Saturdays that builds in intensity over the 10 weeks. Weekly mileage: 25-35. On distance weeks, run 6-8 miles 4x per week. Do long runs on Saturdays that build in distance from 15 miles in week 1, to 28 miles in week 10. Weekly mileage: 40-60.

My thinking is that mixing up the workouts will shock my body into quicker improvement. I'm leaving two days of rest per week mostly because I like to do things other than run. Like sit on the beach with a cold one.

Anyone have experience with a plan like this? Or, what kind of plan have you used to improve speed after a first marathon?

Missoula Marathon - 15 pictures

These pictures will tell a lot of the story from my marathon. You won't, however, see the to-do list I wrote the night before as I paced my Missoula hotel room. A list containing such gems as "take a shower", "get dressed", and of course the unforgettable "lube up". But you will see what my dad saw as he stopped every couple miles to document my progressive suffering and deteriorating form (thanks, man). And you'll see what I meant in the first post when I told you, this was all about family.

Pinning on the number.

My biggest fan and unquestioning supporter. My Lisa. Just out of frame, the giant pepperoni stain on my sweatshirt.

See, there's that stain. Very, very classy. Dad and I at the start.

After the gun. Third guy back is my cousin, who won the race in course-record time.

I ran my first couple miles very easy and felt great.

After seeing these pictures, I have dubbed my left hand "the claw", and vow to fix this disturbing form flaw.

This is what we call "heavy legs" at about mile 20. Sweet ride in the background. "Ok, they're not 20's, they're 10's. But I keep 'em clean."

Return of the claw.

A really pasty guy crossed the line just before me, but I looked way cooler. Fist pump, yo.

You know your dad's proud when he doesn't ask you to put a shirt on for the hug-shot.

My mom and Dave. Moments like this are fleeting. But I'll never forget.

My in-laws Bob and Kay stayed in town an extra day just to see the finish.

I insisted on a trip to the salad bar before my nap. Yep, always putting good health first.

Missoula Marathon 2009

"Last mile, buddy. Remember this."

As I pounded out my last, painful strides on the Missoula asphalt, my dad rode alongside on his bike and spoke these final words of wisdom. "Remember this." He had come from Seattle to be a part of this day and ridden the entire marathon route, stopping every few miles to snap a photo and give a little encouragement.

My legs lightened, then disappeared.

I rounded the last corner onto the Higgins Street Bridge. And there, on the left, was my mom, cheering with hands in the air, and my stepdad smiling ear-to ear. "Go, Michael!" They had loaded me up with homemade carbs the day before, and driven four hours just for this moment.

I kicked hard and challenged the guy next to me, "Let's go!"

Exhausted. Don't fall. Stay up. I knew Lisa, the kids, and my in-laws were right there. I could hear the cowbell. Lisa had gotten up at 4am to drive me to the start. Didn't want to miss a single moment. She had encouraged me through months of training, put up with my stress and worry on this "vacation", and even helped the kids make big posterboard signs for the finish.

I put one hand in the air and stomped the timing mat.

Two of my dad's old Montana running buddies were the first to find me. "You're in the club now." Then came Lisa, glowing with excitement and wrapping herself around me for the best hug ever. Next my kids, not normally out of bed before noon in the summer. Suddenly everyone was there. The picture I had painted in my head, the one which kept me going through the thousands of steps now behind... the picture had come to life.

There's nothing particularly heroic about running 26 miles. Just about anyone can put one foot in front of the other for a few hours. It was not a sense of having "conquered the roads" that made me feel like a hero in Missoula last weekend. It was my family's love. And that is what I will always remember about my first marathon.

Missoula Marathon | Sunday, July 12, 2009
Time: 3:32:12 | 13mi Split: 1:42:52 | Pace: 8:06 | Place: 80th of 615