Well, here's a few lames excuses -- which is to say that sometimes I can't muster the energy to write after work.
T-Pain - http://www.somdnews.com/stories/06052009/weektop113721_32187.shtml
Martin O'Malley - http://www.somdnews.com/stories/06192009/weektop115248_32188.shtml
I lived in Frederick from 2004 to 2006. My first newspaper job (not counting the stringer gig with the York Dispatch) was at the Frederick News-Post, where I started as an editorial assistant but wound up picking up the arts and entertainment beat within the first few months.
It is where, after living together for six months, Emily suddenly had this idea to join the Peace Corps. Then, a month shy of my 25th birthday (Emily was 23), we got married during a beautiful ceremony planned in two months. That fall, we left for West Africa.
Frederick is where I decided, a year out of college, to focus on the marathon. While assistant coaching Gettysburg College's track team in 2005 I had lowered my P.R. in the 5000 to 15:13. I did this around Easter; maybe I had it in me to break 15 later in the spring. Yeah, and maybe if I continued to train really, really hard -- and strapped rockets to my back -- I might have run 14:52.
The 2006 Frederick Marathon was my second marathon, and I ran 2:32.20, 11 minutes faster than my introduction to the event at 2005's Baltimore Marathon. Michael Wardian won the race in 2:26-something.
The decision to run a marathon this spring, though, came shortly after the 2008 New York City Marathon. It was my first marathon in the U.S. in two years, and I went there with hopes of running 2:30. Instead, I hobbled home in 2:41 and cried a bit on Emily's shoulder. (Nice.)
Had that race gone well, perhaps I would have organized the spring around a half. But, in New York, I felt rusty -- I knew then I needed to make it a year of marathons.
And so I chose Frederick. I chose it because it is a place with meaning, and because I thought I might win a race and crack 2:30 and prove to myself that, yes, I was back. And ready to run faster.
There were signs, too. There were in signs in my training that I was at or ahead of the fitness level I brought to Chicago to run 2:29 (Am I dwelling on this much? Yes) in 2006. This spring I ran a P.R. for the half marathon in March (1:11.52 at 2009 National Half Marathon) during a 100-mile week. I was handling the volume and tough workouts quite well.
Race morning was cool, overcast. At 6:30 a.m. I stood at the starting line with a thin ski hat, gloves and arm-warmers. I bumped into a Georgetown Running Company teammate, Patrick Hughes. He was entered in the half, and we decided to run the early miles together.
About a dozen people shot out in front of us; after a few minutes, though, there was just a pack of four about 100 meters ahead. Heading into the first mile, we passed Brewer's Alley, my old Wednesday night hangout, and I commented to Patrick that they indeed make an excellent oatmeal stout brew. In other words, the effort was smooth.
Heading into mile two, I was already getting warm. I tossed off my gloves and, shortly after that, when I saw Emily, the arm warmers. Emily, by the way, had made a sign with the words "furthur" on it, and I was both profoundly touched and pysched by the gesture.
Patrick and I, clicking off miles between 5:36 and 5:45, were slowly pulling in the leaders in the half marathon. While there was one hill in the early miles, the first eight miles were relatively flat, and there wasn't much wind to deal with.
While I was taking water about every 3- to 5k, I was having trouble getting it down: Volunteers were handing out Dixie cups, and the water was splashing out upon hand-off, leaving a small sip at best.
Heading into 8 miles, we caught a guy who had fallen off the lead pack and went by him. There was a water station ahead, and I took a gel -- my first of three, stored in my hat. Using a trick I learned from my coach, I bent my neck down slightly, pulled off the hat and grabbed the gel rather smoothly. I thought, as well, that I was ready to lose the hat, and so I tossed it aside ... And that was when the weather really seemed to change: I was surprised to feel cold air in my hair as we ran down a long road into a stiff breeze with rain beginning to fall as well as a darkening sky.
When Patrick and I caught the lead guys in the half, I figured we would breeze by. Instead, they picked up the pace, so I tucked behind them -- and felt fortunate. After all, I was not racing these two.
After running behind them for perhaps half-a-mile, though, I was surprised when the runner in front of me (who would go on to win the half) moved to side of the road and looked back as if to say, stop slacking.
Well, WTF, I thought. He has four miles to go; I have 17.
So, then, I was leading the race, part of a drama separate from my own.
The eventual half winner surged in front and fell back; he did this through 10.5 miles. Finally, I just asked if I could tuck in behind him -- Because. I. Am. In. The. Marathon.
He said he had not realized -- despite different color bibs? -- and politely obliged. Until he surged ahead, and I was left winding through a farm road getting blasted by wind.
Frankly, it was a relief to reach the Frederick Fairgrounds, see the others turn into the finish and continue on solo. I hit the half in 1:14 flat and tried to relax, as the wind eased and I hit a portion of the race with spectators, including my friends Scott and Kate, and later, Emily, whose support throughout the race provided some major adrenaline.
The next couple miles were good, though the course was kind of herky-jerky winding through the Carroll Creek development area -- and it was really starting to rain. Around 15, as I headed back out of town to the truly tough part of the course, I saw I had a big lead.
By 16, I was climbing a huge hill and soaked and starting to get cold when I heard the day's best news. The man on the bike keeping me on course had picked up my hat when I tossed it aside. He handed it back to me, and I thanked him profusely.
Heading towards 18, my pace was slowing to 6-flat -- mostly, though, because of the course. I tried to be patient, took my second gel. Then, at the water stop, I took a cup of water and tried to drink it. But my body rejected it, and suddenly hydrating was no longer an option, as water fell in heaps from the sky and nausea set in and a formidable series of hills in the Spring Ridge neighborhood came into view.
Every marathon is a new experience. In this marathon, I learned about a brand of all-consuming, full-body pain. I tried to look ahead, keep it together: Flat miles were around six-flat, but hilly miles were markedly slower. I ran in total fear that I would blow the race.
By 23 I was back on the road that would take me back to town and the finish line. Runners were on the opposite side of the road. They were racing, working very, very hard -- and yet they took the time to cheer me on. The best I could do in return was flash a thumbs-up, but it was important to me to acknowledge their efforts.
By then, I knew my time would be slow. Still, there was a thrill of leading a race -- of having the bike beside me and the cops on motorcycles ahead.
We passed a 24-hour Waffle House at 24.5 -- yes, I once had a few late-night meals here -- and the waitresses leaned into the glass to see me. At 25.5, the finish line was palpable, and I got a burst of energy. I was running by a dairy farm -- the smell of manure rather pungent -- and a farmer leaned out of a barn window, yelled to get my attention and pumped his fist. I pumped mine back -- incredible.
On the cinder Fairgrounds track, a huge roar rose from the crowd. I broke the tape for the first time in my life.
Video by Frederick News-Post: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctbjLVtElps
Article by FNP sports editor Stan Goldberg: http://www.fredericknewspost.com/sections/archives/fnp_display.htm?StoryID=96513
Part of a journalist's job is to assimilate information and get to the heart of a story in a short amount of time. Because of that, I have to give Stan some credit for really getting it.
