You Play the Hand You're Dealt
Riding in the break on the first stage of the BCCC.
Of all the events I've done this year, none has garnered me more attention than the Portland Marathon. It's certainly wasn't the hardest race of the year, that title likely belongs to the Baker City Cycling Classic I raced in July. But something about a marathon captures the imagination and inspires people in a way bike racing doesn't. I think it's because most people have an idea of what it's like to run 2.6 miles and so they can interpret that into what it would be like to go ten times that far. Most people have never ridden in a peloton.
It's been nice, all of the congratulation I've gotten for running the marathon, even if it didn't go the way I might have hoped. This year I put much more effort into training and preparing for the Portland Marathon than I did last year. I'd been running regularly and working with a coach, I'd planned my nutrition well, and I went into the race with a plan. Last year, I did none of these things. So when I finished in a time of 3:38 last year, my minimal expectations were completely satisfied. This year, I wanted to best that by running sub-3:30, even hoping to get into the low 3:20s. I was on track to hit that goal, until around mile 20.
My second marathon experience was much more of a struggle than my first. After mile 20, I had a dramatic bonk, side cramps, achilles issues, and went from a sub-8 minute pace to a 12 minute mile. During those 12 minutes, I thought a lot about racing and training as the time goal I had aimed for passed me by. One of the disadvantages of the pacers the race provides – who run with a big orange sign advertising the finish time they are setting tempo for – is that if you bonk you can literally watch your goal time pass you by. I saw the sign for 3:25 slip away from me. Then the runner with a big orange 3:30 came and went. Finally, as I was struggling to keep my dead legs underneath me on the way downhill back into town, the big orange 3:35 came by.
Painful as it was, I felt a sense of satisfaction as I gritted my teeth and continued to run along. The harder my body refused to run, the more pleasure I got out of demanding it to take another step. I was disappointed to watch my goal time slip away and disappointed to realize I'd be finishing slower than last year, but I never doubted that I would finish the race.
About a mile from the finish, the course passed by my office in downtown Portland. Somewhere between 20 and 30 of my coworkers were outside cheering and I was revitalized by their energy. I surged towards the finish and crossed the line with a sense of satisfaction. I might have missed a few of my goals, but I'd still finished. I believe I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt and for me that's the great thing about running. If you bonk in a bike race, your race is over and you'll slip out of the field. In a marathon, you can fall apart a bit, work to pull it back together, and as long as you eventually cross the finish line you're a victor.