Grandma's Marathon

Date: June 18, 2016
Location: Duluth, MN

If I could describe my experience of running Grandma’s Marathon in two words, they would be: “smart decisions.” I know that’s not my usual way of describing my races… typically I use words like “resilience” and “perseverance,” and wrap it all up with a fairytale ending. Don’t get me wrong, this tale does have a happy ending, but the story is far from a fairytale. It’s the culmination of the things I’ve learned from the past few years of racing. Plain and simple.

My four months of training for Grandma’s went superbly. I hit all my goal paces and had only one minor case of tendonitis. But then four days before the race I was dying on my couch. My body was fighting whatever cold/flu virus I had so hard, I had no energy for anything else. The thought of walking to the kitchen, let alone running 26.2 miles seemed laughable. I checked the weather for Duluth on Saturday again…  high 70s, 90% humidity with a chance of rain. Great. I gulped more Emergen-C and prayed that all my hard work wouldn’t be for nothing.

The day before the race I was feeling a lot better, but the weather forecast was looking even worse. At least it was still saying it would be overcast with a chance of rain. Rain is good when it’s hot. Jin and I flew to Minneapolis and drove up to Duluth with Si and Nathan to pick up our race packets, eat a good dinner and get a good night’s rest. Even though the race didn’t start until 7:45, we’d be getting up at 4:45 to catch a shuttle to the starting area, 26 miles north of Duluth. (This race reminded me a lot of Milwaukee’s course: starting at a town 26 miles north of the finish line, and running the whole thing along one of the Great Lakes). 

The area around the expo was PACKED. Duluth is a small town and Grandma's brings in 10,000 runners each year! So the city population grows significantly overnight. The 5K was going on when we got to the expo and we got to see the winners cross the finish line. I couldn't wait to cross that line tomorrow. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worrying all evening about the weather the next day. The air was already sticky with humidity.

The next morning Jin, Si, and I took the shuttle 26 miles north to Two Harbors, MN. The whole time I just tried not to think about how long the ride felt. When we got to the starting area, it was humid but there was a nice cool breeze and no sun. So maybe this won’t be so bad. After dropping off our bags at gear check, making a quick porta-potty stop, we met up with our friends Nicole and Becky. The 5 of us we were standing around stretching, discussing our race tactics and then… the sun came out. Immediately I started sweating. Uh oh. The only other race I’ve run where I was sweating before it even started ended in disaster. This was not good. 

To say I was freaking out would be an understatement. I was glad to have so many friends around me to take my mind off of it, but in truth I felt doomed. Turtles are my spirit animal for several reasons, one of them being that, like a turtle, my body isn’t very good at regulating its own temperature. As we headed to the starting corral, my mind was racing with strategies to not let this heat beat me.

I was really glad I had decided to wear both of my water bottles on my belt. Staying hydrated would be key. I also made two quick decisions that I think made a huge difference in the end. I quickly removed my bib from my shirt and pinned it to my shorts so that I could take off my shirt if I needed to. I also decided right then that I wouldn’t go out at the pace I’d been planning. I’d trained to run an 8:35 pace with the goal of a 3:45 marathon, but I knew that was out of the question now. If I slowed down just a little, maybe I had a chance at a 3:50 instead. Or at least a shot at finishing, period.

My heart was pounding as the emcee counted down.

5-4-

It’s so hot. I’m doomed. I’m doomed.

3-2-

Stay calm, just breathe. Just breathe.

1.

As I crossed the starting line and settled into a pace, I tried not to think about how terribly my body had responded to the last race I’d run in heat like this. I couldn’t bear to think about that sinking feeling I got when my body suddenly shut down. Instead, I forced myself to think only of the things I’d learned from that race. Stay hydrated. I took a sip from one of my water bottles. Check. Pacing. My watch said I was running about 8:40. Check.

Jin was running beside me and I could see the sweat pouring down his face already. I pointed over to the left side of the course and he nodded in agreement. This course is infamous for its sparse shade and thus no relief from the brutal sun. Since the route heads south the whole time, the left side was the only place that we’d have any hope of shade. And sparse though it was, the trees lining the course did provide some relief. I think staying to the left for the whole race was another decision that made a huge difference in the end.

The first few miles went by quickly. Since we were running along Lake Superior (though we’d yet to see it behind the trees), there was a nice breeze coming off of it. It was weak, but it felt incredible. My core temperature was rising pretty quickly so off came the shirt. It’s amazing what a difference that thin layer of fabric makes. I felt 10 degrees cooler without it. Instead, I draped it over my shoulders to protect them from the sun, which was aimed directly on my left shoulder for the entire race.

About four miles in, we got our first glimpse of Lake Superior! For the next few miles we continued to run along it, which was great for the view, but not so great for the whole finding shade thing. Still, there’s something about that beautiful view that’s inspiring. You could hardly see where the water ends and the sky begins.

The next ten or so miles were pretty uneventful and so they all blend together in my memory. I only remember a few snapshots of specific moments: my Ipod falling off my belt due to a broken clip (and a very helpful runner behind me picking it up)… stopping to tie my shoe and loosing a few precious seconds… a smattering of local spectators lining the road every few miles… a country band playing to the right of the course… struggling to pour water from the volunteers into my now-empty bottles, and mostly pouring it all over my shoes. For the most part I just remember the trees. Putting tree after tree behind me with each step, and watching the shade – my saving grace – getting smaller and smaller as the sun climbed higher.

Throughout these miles, Jin was right beside me, matching me stride for stride, and it was comforting to know that if I suddenly began to struggle or had to stop due to the heat, I wouldn’t be alone. Jin always knows how to calm me down and talk me through such moments of panic. But a moment like that never came. And around mile 14 when I had to leave him behind, I had already gained a certain confidence in my ability to handle the conditions.

It was almost funny how wrong the weather forecast had been… (key word: almost). All week it said it was supposed to be cloudy and raining. Even last night my weather app said it would be completely overcast with a chance of rain. Ha! There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The only thing they were right about was the humidity. Humid + hot sun = the worst case scenario. So I was constantly taking stock of how I felt. I don’t think I’ve ever been so in tune with my body. The weather advisory signs along the course had started at yellow (“moderate risk”), and were now at red (“high risk”). But I was – amazingly – still feeling pretty good… as good as you can feel 14 miles into a marathon anyway.

At each water stop, the volunteers had started handing out ice and cold sponges. I grabbed one or both without fail each time. I have to give a shout-out to the race director and the volunteers. The aid stations were great – definitely a lifesaver. The runners around me would squeeze out the sponges over their heads, or put the ice in their mouths. But not me. Of all the things I’ve learned from getting my personal training certification, this may end up being the most useful: if a person has heat exhaustion, apply ice to three key areas in order to bring their body temperature down the quickest: armpits, neck, and groin. So that’s exactly what I did. (Yes – even groin). I was beyond caring about how ridiculous I looked. I cared about one thing only: staying cool enough to keep running.

The conditions on the course were now black: “extremely high risk.” I was about 5 miles away from the finish line, my average pace until this point was exactly 8:45, and there was a war going on in my head. On the one hand, I couldn’t believe I’d come this far in the heat and I was still running so fast! On the other, I was feeling pretty horrible and the thought of running five more miles felt impossible. How the heck was I going to do it? The sun was roasting my skin, the ice nestled in my armpits was melting faster than butter on the stove, and my stomach was sloshing with all the fluids I’d consumed (but my mouth still wanted more!).

Four miles left. I’d just reached the very edge of Duluth and the thin crowd of spectators was starting to thicken. The realization finally hit me that I would soon be finishing another marathon! The finish line was so close… and yet still far away. I have never felt so bipolar as in the last few miles of this race. Everything would feel hopeless and I absolutely couldn’t run one more step, let alone a few more miles. Then I’d reach a water station and grab some ice and feel a hundred times better. You are crushing this marathon! Look how fast you’re still going! This is the strongest you’ve ever been.  But then the cycle would start all over again a few minutes later. My body temperature would rise again, and with it my feelings of hopelessness.

Miles 23, 24, and 25 were my slowest yet, all over 9 minutes. I felt like this marathon would never end. By this point, I had reached the center of downtown Duluth. There were people cheering everywhere. I had felt on the brink of tears until I started focusing on the spectators. Grandma’s is known for being a great race because of this moment. When you reach Duluth, the excitement radiates from the small town. And after running most of the race with little crowd support, you can’t help but absorb that excitement. 

I quickened my pace as I rounded a few corners and then flew down the stretch that would take me to the waterfront. From here I could see the iconic Aerial Lift Bridge, and I knew I was just steps away from the finish line. All feelings of hopelessness lifted.

I picked up the pace even more as I ran past the large boat – the William A. Irvin – that’s permanently docked in Duluth. Not only was I about to finish this marathon, I was about to get a HUGE PR. If only four-hours-ago-me, who was freaking out at the starting line, could see the current me. She wouldn’t have believed it. 

Mile 26 turned out to be my fastest mile of the entire marathon: 8 minutes, 12 seconds! I rounded another corner, and there it was! The glorious finish line!! With the bridge just beyond it, framing it beautifully. The last stretch felt like slow motion. I wish I could write something deeply moving about those last few seconds before crossing the finish line, but really all I felt was relief; relief that I had made it to this point and was still running, and relief that finally, finally I would be able to stop running.

It was only after I’d crossed the line and downed an entire bottle of water that it really sunk in.

PR! PR! By nearly 6 minutes!

Tears stung at my eyes and blurred my vision as I stared at the time on my Garmin. 3:52:02. 3:52:02!! I felt like I had just achieved the impossible. 

I found a tent and some chocolate milk and savored my victory for a little while in the cool shade before reuniting with my friends. Now that we had stopped running, the weather didn’t seem so bad. We lingered for a bit to take in the beauty of Lake Superior, and Si and I even took the traditional dip in the frigid lake. It was like getting an ice bath, and it felt pretty amazing.

Later, I found out that the average finishing time this year was about half an hour slower than the previous year due to the weather conditions. Half an hour! I know that doesn’t mean I can subtract 30 minutes and say that’s what I would have run in more ideal conditions, but I do think it says something about my potential and the strength and fitness I’ve gained so far this year. And dare I say it? I think it says I truly am close to my ultimate goal of qualifying for Boston.

There have been a lot of times when the outcome of a race has felt unfair. When I’d worked and trained for a certain result, but fell short for reasons unexplainable or just completely out of my control. But Grandma’s was not one of those times. It could have been, given the extreme weather conditions, but it wasn’t. If there’s one thing I learned from my experience in Duluth, it’s never underestimate the power of hard work and smart decisions. Put those two together, and you just may get that fairytale ending.