Another summer behind me, another chance to get back on track with training. This time, though, we moved to Poland, and we happened to arrive in a heat wave. For a month it was 90 degrees or more! Training was not easy, but on top of it was jet lag from the move and all the new hire activities (lots of dinners, eating, happy hours, tours, etc.). We were in a hotel for a month, awaiting our house. This meant a lot of people (and one dog) in one room, constantly eating out since our kitchen looked like something kindergarteners would use for make-believe. Diet was not strong. We had about a 5-mile bike to get to school each way, meaning we'd put in about 60-80 miles of cycling a week with trips to downtown on the weekend. When the weather finally broke, we were treated to beautifully clear skies and temps in the 70s. Suddenly my long runs skated by, with a couple of 20 milers feeling great. I also started hockey and took on a year-long swimming challenge. The body came back a bit.
Warsaw Marathon
The day dawned bright a clear, a big improvement over the last two weeks of misty rain, clouds, and cool weather. The race temp was 49 F but it felt warmer in the sun. I have never seen a city marathon so relaxed; the start area was not closed off and family and friends could walk an athlete to the bag drop trucks and over to the start line. The pace started off relatively slow on somewhat narrow roads. I was surprised that the 3:20 and the two 3:15 pace groups did not seem to be out faster. I hovered between them, thinking a 3:20 would be respectable, but by halfway, I was on 3:18 flat pace, far too slow for the 3:15 group. They were running erratically, as I would run a 7:09 mile and fall back from them and then a 7:30 mile and be ahead of them. It wasn't good pacing so I left them, running the last 12k at 7-8 seconds faster than the first 5k. I only felt stronger from halfway on and I kept it in the bag, knowing that there was no glory in a faster time, and other races loomed this fall. By 39k I had passed the second 3:15 group, dwindled down to a few. It was a 3:14 flat to wrap up the day, which felt great for the training I did (or lacked).
Recovery seemed to take longer than it should for a race that went so well. I felt great immediately after, sore the next day, and worse the next. I swam a lot that week and jogged on Thursday and Saturday. But the dead legs lingered throughout the month.
Venice Marathon
Dawn over Venice could mark the beginning of a great day - just not for me. I didn't run well here three years ago and today would be more of the same. Even staying near the terminus, I had a decent 25 min walk to the buses. From there we drove out to the athlete's village which was another 800m walk after the buses let out. Where a few years ago there were tents, now it was just open space (filled with people). It was another mile walk to the starting line. By the time the gun went off, I already had about 3 miles in me. It was hot for marathon weather, and sweat came early.
Things were fine for much of the way. I ran easy, hitting 7:40s per mile for a lot of the way. I came up on a pace group and ran the next 3 K with them, all of them slower than it should be. My rhythm was disrupted. I vowed to leave them if they missed a fourth straight K but they suddenly went way faster. It would spell the beginning of the end for me. I hit the park in ok shape, but on the rise up the causeway, I missed my first split. I continued to fade from there, and by the time I hit the island, it was all over. I had nothing left. I faded and walked about 5 times on the bridges. By the time I saw the family at about 41k I was exploding. My bonk was hard and unforgiving. The worst part was that after finishing I had about a 2 mile walk back to the hotel (where I couldn't shower) before a cab to the airport and then renting a car, followed by a 90 minute drive up north. I made it a few hundred meters in the crowded streets before sitting down and cramping up. Eventually I could stand and limp on. It was a terrible blow, and not encouraging for the week ahead.
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| Completely spent with 1K to go |
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| A lonely road to the finish line |
Frank Shorter said, "You have to forget your last marathon before you try another." Unfortunately, I would not have that luxury.
Frankfurt Marathon
We spent the week eating and drinking out way across northern Italy. The pain in the legs was significant for the first few days but faded. The walking helped. A lingering hitch behind the knee was all that remained come the day before the race. We had a little hang-up as the hotel we booked, which was just blocks from the train station and start/finish line and expo, turned out to be the seediest street I have ever been on, not just stayed. Sex shops were on every corner, prostitution rampant, and more people doing meth on the street than I care to see. We saw someone shooting up between their toes, women with scabs all over their faces, and many without teeth. The noise went all night, and at 9am the next morning, the club on the bottom floor of our building was still going hard. People would drop their pants at random, or burst out shouting. We decided safety was more important and left after just one night.
A very messy starting area finally released into the streets, and for most of the run, things were fine. I felt pretty good considering it was my second marathon that week, my third in a month, and not as young (or well-trained) as I used to be. But by 30k, the deep emptiness just got to me. I started taking walk breaks at aid stations to hydrate since it was pretty warm again for a marathon. At first, these were about 2k apart but soon they were 1k apart and getting harder. I really struggled, but not in a crampy bonk way. Just out of gas. I limped in, my time very certainly my slowest marathon ever (when you control for trail/mountain races). I can't say I enjoyed it, but I can say I did it.
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| Fine here? |
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| Near death at the end |
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| Venice and Frankfurt in a week! |
