OBX Marathon report

6:20AM: I am in the WalMart parking lot waiting for a shuttle to take me to the OBX Marathon starting line.

6:40AM: I’m in line for the porta-potty. The DJ is playing songs like “Bad Sneakers” and “Harder to Breathe”. Very Funny.

7:00AM: I am waiting in corral #3. I get nervous because it’s not cold enough. A guy in cargo pants lines up in front of me. I wonder how he will do.

7:26AM: My corral leaves the start line. Cargo pants takes off at a sprint. I never see him again, but I wonder what happened to him.

Mile 1: I know I am going way too fast. My first mile is under 9 minutes. Slow it down!

Mile 3: The sun is directly in my eyes, and it’s starting to get downright hot outside. Luckily we are running through a nice wooded neighborhood that provides some shade.

Mile 4: Onto the bike path. Beautiful views of the sound. I see a bridge in the distance. Is that the 22 mile mark?

Mile 4.5: A hill. Woooo!

Mile 5: Lots of crowd support. I am offered candy and beer by spectators. I am also offered a bloody mary. I am also offered some cigarettes. Thanks, but no thanks.

Mile 6: I am running in a small pack of runners. Out of nowhere, a black cat takes off across the road in front of us. “Well, that can’t be good,” someone says.

Mile 7.5: We are running a lap around the Wright Brothers Memorial. Very cool.

Mile 9: Yeah, it’s getting hot out. Angry motorists wait while marathoners cross the road. And for the last 9 miles, the stupid FreeCreditReport.com commercial is stuck in my head. (Thanks to the Capitol Steps for that one).

Mile 10: We hit a dirt road in the woods. Not so much dirt as wet clay. It takes a few minutes to get used to it.

Mile 11: Easiest mile on the marathon. I have decided that I love this dirt road. I feel so comfortable, like it’s one of my training runs.

Mile 12: I wonder how my wife did in the half marathon. I picture her crossing the finish line, then hanging out at a cafe drinking coffee and eating pastries.

Mile 12.5: We turn off the dirt road, and onto a mulch path. The path is pretty much a trail up and over about 5 sand dunes. It is steep and tough.

Mile 13: We come off the mulch path, and directly over a timing mat. Halfway! My split time is 2:04. I am rocking, and I feel great!

Mile 14: I am out on the open road now. Spectators are sparse, and cars are passing in the lane next to me. I miss the neighborhoods.

Mile 15: Okay, I am ready for some shade. I notice I am already doing my pain cringe (see finish line pictures). This isn’t a good sign.

Mile 16: I am excited to see mile marker #16. “Single digits left to go!” I tell a fellow runner. However, my excitement is short lived as I see mile marker #3 for the half-marathoners. “You mean if I were running a half marathon, I’d only be at mile #3? Oh no!”

Mile 16.5: I feel a twinge in my right calf. Uh oh. From my previous marathon I knew this meant I had 5 miles left before my legs would lock up.

Mile 18: Hot hot hot! I am taking 3 cups of liquid and a GU at each water stop. The cramp twinges are a time bomb in my legs. I am running gingerly.

Mile 19: I am aboviously showing pain. I am stopping every few minutes to ease my leg cramps. A runner with blue sleeves befriends me, as we keep passing each other. “I hate this,” he says. “I couldn’t have trained any harder for this marathon. But what can you do?”

Mile 21.5: Halfway up the bridge, my right leg locks up. I am so mad. I haven’t cramped up all summer. Why did I pick this stupid, hot marathon? I hobble over to the side of the bridge and hold on to the railing. “Don’t jump,” blue sleeves jokes as he passes me. “It’s not worth it!” It would have been funnier if I wasn’t so mad.

Still Mile 21.5: I start moving again, stepping like Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects. I am walking club-footed, as my leg simply will not straighten out. But by moving, I feel like I am at least making forward progress.

Mile 22: I am at a slight jog again, at the top of the bridge. I had been looking forward to the view up here, but now I barely notice it. I reluctantly check my watch, and see that I am amazingly still on pace for 4:20. But I know I can’t keep it up.

Mile 23.5: My right leg locks up again, and my left leg is on the verge. I start walking again, club-footed. “Don’t worry about it,” a runner I had just passed says, seeing my frustrating. “It’s brutal out here today. Just brutal!”

Mile 24: At least half the runners are walking. A girl behind me starts yelling at her running partner. Her partner starts crying that she just can’t go on. All around me, other people are limping as well. I am not the only one with problems.

Mile 25: My watch says 4:20. I missed my goal, with still a mile to go. A loooong mile to go.

Mile 25.5: I see a familiar face running toward me, cheering me on. I am excited to see my wife, but just as I do, a major pain strikes my legs. She cheers me on, “You’re almost there!” I am yelling out in pain.

Mile 26: My wife is running with me, doing all she can to propel me over the finish line. I am hobbling, but I know the finish line is just around the next corner. I check my watch: 4:31.

Mile 26.2: With 5 steps left to go, my right leg locks up on me again. I hop those last 5 steps until I hit the blue timing mat, then slow down. My first thought: I need shade.

12:53PM: I get my marathon finishers’ medal. I get a bottle of water. I get a wet face cloth and drape it over my head. They offer me a silver blanket, but I decline. Blue sleeves finds me and congratulates me. We thank each other for the comeraderie that kept us going.

12:55PM: I am sitting on the curb with a face cloth over my head. I know my wife is walking around and looking for me. I don’t have the energy to get up and look for her. She’ll find me.

3:00PM: We’re sitting at the Outer Banks Brewing Station. I ordered a big, fat cheeseburger. But as hungry as I am, after about 5 bites, I am already full. My body is still in shock. The restaurant is full of people wearing their marathon medals. Everyone is limping. A runner at the table behind me announces that somebody better take him back to the hotel because he’s gonna be sick.

8:30PM: I am laying in bed of the Holiday Inn Express. My final race time was 4:33. That’s about 20 minutes slower than my goal. I’m not sure what to think. After months of training, I came up short. Was it a waste to train all summer for a disappointing time? Should I just be glad I finished?

But my wife is looking at the results, and notices something interesting. “Everyone around you has the same split time,” she tells me. She shows me. At the halfway point, everyone is running low 9-minute-miles (my split time was 9:30). For the next 7 miles, the split times were all in the high 9-minute-miles (mine was 9:48). And for the last 10K, the split times were all in the 12-minute-miles (mine was 12:35). And as I looked at the results, it was weird how everyone followed this pattern. So with that, I feel much better. Either everyone seriously mismanaged their energy, or those last miles were brutally hard.

So, marathon #2 is in the books (that is state #2 if I ever do the 50 state marathon club). My wife reminds me that I made it 3.5 miles further before I cramped up this time, and took a whopping 45 minutes off my last marathon time. I’d still like to do a marthon to my full potential, maybe one in colder weather and with some shade. But what the heck, I still have 48 more states to run a marathon in. Maybe some day I can do one without cramping up.

A much-needed water stop

My wife yelling for me to hurry up

Cringing as my leg gives out at the finish line