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[Race Report] – Houston Marathon

Good evening /r/FirstMarathon! Thanks to /u/meeeebo for reminding me that “Write Race Report” was still on my to-do list post race. Also, I may be a little long winded. So sorry in advance for the long post. I’m still pretty emotional about the experience, even a few weeks out. **Intro / Background** A little over two years ago, I laced up my running shoes and did my first run. I still remember that first mile and how much I hated everything about it. I was sweating, I was panting, and I only did just over a mile before I started walking and found my way back home. But, more than anything, I was *angry*. Angry at myself and my body, angry I could barely even do a mile. “I’m better than this” I told myself, and I stuck with it. I still remember the overwhelming emotion when I finally did a 5K without stopping. Then it was a 10K, then I did something truly stupid and I got drunk in reach of a laptop and my credit card. Over the last swigs of a beer, I signed up for my first marathon in Houston. That was a fun hangover the next day, but it was time to get to work. **Training** I followed [Hal Higdon’s Novice 1](http://www.halhigdon.com/training/51137/Marathon-Novice-1-Training-Program) program, with a few modifications. First, I doubled a few weeks. I had some extra time and wanted to make sure that I was in a good spot for the race proper, so I turned 18 weeks into about 22 weeks and gave myself some extra time in the lower mileage weeks before I ramped up to 15+. Tried to keep as close to the 2 short-1 medium-1 long run schedule, but life happens. Stayed at an easy and comfortable pace, continually reminding myself that my goal is to finish, not to win or beat a certain time. I was comfortably maintaining an 11:45 – 12:30 pace. One month out, I was feeling pretty good. Even after finishing the 20 that I was so nervous about, I still felt pretty good. Time to fly to Houston and crush this thing! **The Race** Let me tell you: A 40 degree start temperature is *not. warm.*. It may SEEM warm when you’ve acclimated to the teens and low 20s of a Chicago winter, but it is not warm. I packed entirely wrong for the race, bringing along only a paid or compression shorts, thin Asic mid-calf running socks, and a humorous running T-Shirt. Oh well, not much I can do about that, and once the sun comes out I’ll be fine. Also, I decided to go GPS-Free. No watch, no tracking apps, none of it. This will be important later as one of my biggest mistakes. I made it to the pre-race expo, check what little I had to check, and found my way to my corral to join all of the other insane people. I had my Gu gels, my music going, and I was ready to go. I’m a little proud to say this is the first time I’ve crossed a starting line and not teared up a little. **The Race – Mile 1 – 13.1** Killing it. Absolutely killing it. The crowd, the other runners, the thrill of being in a different city doing something I love, even though I never dreamed in my wildest dreams I’d be a marathon runner. It was great. Stuck with my plan of alternating water every odd, Gatorade every even station, and took my first Gu at mile 7. Feeling great. Feeling better than I had in my other runs in training, which was starting to concern me. Either I had held myself back pretty severely in training, or I had screwed up somewhere in my pacing. Turned out it was the latter. I came out of the gate way, way, WAY too fast. Confirmed this after the race when I saw I set a personal record for half marathon… nearly 35 minutes better than my best training time. Crap. This is about to be an ordeal. I didn’t realize this at the time, though. Still having a blast. It was around mile 12, though, that it started hitting me I had a lot more race left to run and started holding myself back. Too little, too late. **The Race – Half Marathon – Mile 15** After crossing the half marathon checkpoint and doing some quick mental math, I realized my mistake. I started holding back, doing 4 minute runs, 2 minute walks. My first walk of the race. I fell in line with a group of runners who were doing a similar run/walk series and was still feeling pretty good. Nothing else really to note, just plugging along. Second Gu at mile 14. **The Race – Mile 16 – 20, aka Attack of the Balloons** Around mile 16 I started seeing these two runners with balloons strapped to their waists. Couldn’t figure it out, thought maybe it was just some “In case we get separated, find the other balloon person” deal. I’d seen plenty of people running in costume in this and other races, no big deal. Balloon people are on a similar run/walk schedule as my crowd and I, so I think nothng of it. About mile 17, though, I look back and the balloon people are being followed by several police cars and a Greyhound bus. And they’re a lot closer. About halfway through mile 19 I’m in a walking stretch and they catch up to me. I introduce myself, we chat for a minute during a walk, and I ask about the balloons, thinking it’ll be a fun story or something. Nope. They’re the 6 hour pace team, and I have to stay ahead of them to finish in time. At this point, I’m no longer feeling fine. Far from it. I’m starting to wonder why I’m doing this to myself. What was I thinking. Why didn’t I just write this off as a drunken mistake and move on. Despite telling myself repeatedly to just finish, I had high hopes for myself. I wanted to do it in 5.5 hours or less. I wanted to beat my friends time. I wanted to show everyone who told me I was foolish that, no, THEY were foolish. Hearing that I was at–and being passed by–the 6 hour pacers crushed me. I fell behind and was passed by the pacers, the police, and the bus. **The Race – Mile 21 – 23** I’m walking. I’m not the last person in the race, but I may as well be. I keep trying to run but I can’t work up the energy. I shoot one of my Gu gels and down some more Gatorade at the next aid station, but at this point the aid stations are packing up. The crowds are gone. They’re sweeping the streets. There’s no one left to cheer for me, no one cares about the stragglers. I can still see the bus. I can see the balloons. I’m keeping up, but too far behind to matter it seems. And then some ignorant dick said some shit. I’m walking on the side of the road, a few people ahead and a few people behind me, and I overhear a conversation from the sidewalk: **Man1:** So, the race is over, right? That’s what the bus means? **Man2:** Yeah, that’s it. **Man1:** So, what about these people? **Man2:** Ah, they ain’t gonna finish. I thin there’s another bus picking up the walkers. You ass. Who the hell are you to say I won’t finish? Who. The HELL. Are YOU? Standing on the sidewalk drinking your damn coffee? I just finished 20 miles. To hell with you! **I’M BETTER THAN THIS.** The rest of mile 21 was spent in alternating 2 minute sprint/30 second walk. I caught up to the bus. I *passed* the bus. Slapped a few officers high fives as I passed their patrol cars, and fell in step with the pacers just in time for one of their walk breaks. Leave it to me to have to prove someone wrong. And then leave it to my body to ruin that, too. During a running period, just before the mile 23 marker, I was joking that all we had left was a 5k, when my foot landed very, very wrong. Sudden, sharp pain in my ankle. Pacers and Medical saw it immediately. I tried to play it off, but couldn’t for long. Tried adjusting my foot strike, but nothing was helping. I’m officially done running for the day. **Mile 23 – Finish** To say I’m disappointed in myself is an understatement. I’m hobbling down the street–Passed (again) by the pacers, the police, and the bus. Fighting back tears and trying to decide if it’s worth it to finish, or if I can live with myself if I ask Medical for a ride back to the Expo. Even briefly considered hailing an Uber and going back to my hotel. Screw the stuff I checked at the Expo, I just want to go to my hotel and go to bed and sleep till my flight home the next day. I walked the rest, through the empty streets, trying not to cry when a police officer applauds or tells me I’m doing great. I lose it about 2 blocks from the finish line. I can see it… and I can see them tearing it down. I keep walking, I’m *going* to cross the damn finish line… and then a volunteer tells me I can’t. Ushers me and a few other walkers off the street, through a crowd control barrier, and tells us the course is closed. No medal, no time, nothing. Go inside to collect your things from gear check before it closes. Another volunteer, I never got her name, saw us. She grabbed us and told us to follow her. She marched us inside the convention center. Anyone who told her she couldn’t go a certain way she announced “I have finishers who need medals and times.” That got us in. She made sure they scanned my bib to mark me as a Finisher. She made it her mission to make sure that I, and everyone who finished after me, got scanned and got our finisher shirts and medals. Even found us some bananas and chocolate milk. Never got an official time, but by my math I finished 6 hours 20 minutes. Nearly an hour over my “goal” time. It was an amazing experience overall. Took a week off to let my ankle heal, and currently in the middle of some low impact workouts to keep myself moving without risking further injury. Desperately itching to get back on the road, though, and to teach myself how to keep and feel out a pace without an app/GPS helping me, in case I want to go tech-free again. Next steps: Strengthen my ankles and knees and get back on the road, walking across the finish line is not an option next time!

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