The Call of the Road

COVID has been awful - full stop. From a running standpoint, I have little to show for it. After my full run of the White Pine Trail in spring 2020, things have taken a turn. I managed the GZ marathon in December 2020 after almost 3 weeks of no running due to quarantine in moving to China. After taking most of the sweltering summer off running, I ran and won the Homeless Love marathon after a week off touring Tibet in Oct 2021. Now, all other races in China are canceled for the foreseeable future, meaning no return to the Great Wall Marathon for me. 

With the move to Europe nearing, I will have new opportunities. No more pitiful void of routes and events. No longer will humidity stifle my drive. An abundance of races will be in my neighborhood, and a plethora of beautiful cities will host more races than needed. It's time to rediscover my purpose.

2023 marks the 10th anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing. My best training buddies from South Africa were there that day and they plan to return a decade later. I went a year after the bombing in an attempt to ensure my freedoms cannot be taken away. But in order to join my comrades for this anniversary, I would have to re-qualify - something that poses a significant challenge when the last two years have been pure junk running. In fact, I have not posted a BMQ (Boston qualifying time) in 8 years, at that very aforementioned Boston. At 41, this becomes one of my more difficult endeavors. In order to do this, I am going to have to do something I haven't done much of in the past decade - train.

Normally, I just run. Whatever miles I bank training with an XC team or getting out there most days is ok with me. I typically average around 30 miles a week. But that will not be significant enough to work this time. Other times, I race into shape, running races and finding fitness in the moment. But there are no races this year - I'll go from October to June without the chance to run one. I need a sub-3 hours, 10 mins just to register. That time alone will likely not be enough to get me in. Due to field size, faster times get priority. It could take a time 3-6 min faster to get in, which will not be known until long in the future. Due to a lack of races, I have determined my best chance of doing so is at Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, MN, on June 18th, just 6 days after landing back in the USA after nearly two years away. 

I am largely following this plan, but improvising the month of May with other workouts I love. I had an extra 4 weeks from when I started the plan to the taper, and I am unsure how I will handle the heat and humidity of May. It is amazing what a little consistency can do for a guy. After just 4-weeks of 40 miles per week, I am strong and fresh. Due to the pace required, I have had to add two days a week of workouts in order to ensure that I have a threshold that will allow me to push the pace come race day. Holding on and surviving won't get me qualified. Additionally, I am using the long runs as a third workout, splicing in segments of marathon pace and faster to prepare for the race ahead. My workouts have been spectacular so far as I am punching out all of my goal times with relatively little effort. My recovery is solid. I am cautiously proceeding as to not push the pace or miles beyond the plan and risk overtraining and/or injury. If I do that, I only have myself to blame. At least this way, I have a plan to follow and then can offload some of that blame on the plan ;) The plan peaks at around 60 miles per week, and I feel that is sufficient for the work. I will emphasize pace over high mileage. 

My biggest fears are twofold: heat and safety. The humidity will be a problem. I have never run well in it, but the silver lining here is that I will be 1) in better shape going into the harshest months and 2) I will gradually ease into the hotter and wetter conditions rather than just starting right into the storm. I can only hope it is enough. Speaking of hope, I have another issue. Flights are banned to/from the USA and China. We aren't 100% sure if we can get back in time. Once there, I don't have a vaccination (the China one is insufficient for US standards). So, I have to get vaccinated immediately and hope that I do not experience side effects in the days prior to the race. We all will have to isolate somewhat as Omicron rages on because getting sick in the days prior to my one shot at this time will be the worst-case scenario. 

A new addition to the plan will be the experimentation with some of these high-tech shoes. I have the Nike Vaporfly Next %2 - a significant investment in my goal as they run about $225. I'll try them out for portions of the workouts/long runs closer to the race to get the legs used to the formation. I can't say I love the idea of the "cheat shoes" but they give a significant advantage and I could use the help. If they are legal, I am open to the idea. 

Space-age monstrosities

2020 sucked. 2021 sucked. Will 2022-2023 be better? Only TIME will tell. 

A Win For Homeless Love

I am not usually much of a charity runner. Races like Comrades and Boston, well, I have just qualified for rather than raise money to buy a spot. Maybe it was COVID and the thought of people suffering made me want to give back. Maybe it was COVID, and a lack of racing opportunities had me yearning for an event. Either way, COVID was to blame and when my local watering hole, The Happy Monk, sent out a notice to run to raise money for Homeless Love, a charity organization that makes and delivers meals to the homeless, I was in. There was just one problem.

I wasn't running. Hmmm. In my younger and more vulnerable years, a 2-month notice for a marathon would have been extreme. Hell, I could run a marathon in the past on two days' notice. But this year, the heat and humidity of China limited my training in the spring (not to mention a total lack of anything to train for). When we were not able to go home for summer, we traveled China, and weeks went by between lacing up the shoes. I coached cross-country, but the few days a week of 3 miles at 10 min/mile were hardly going to count as training. I needed to do more.

People do not understand, but it's hot here in Guangzhou. That's an understatement. It's hot here like ghost peppers are spicy. But the humidity is the killer. All summer and fall, it has been ungodly. After the summer break, a 3-mile run left me near death. Literally. I felt as if I ran another mile, I would end up on the ground. Slowly I got used to running in the heat of the day and even extended my distance a bit, toying with double-digit runs (something I hadn't seen since December's marathon straight out of quarantine). Sarah supported me strongly, growing her long run to join mine and then jumping on a bike to support and grab drinks from stores while I added mileage. I supplemented my running with biking on Zwift to avoid the heat (but was sweating no less). I dabbled with morning runs to add mileage to my relatively short and slower runs during XC practice. I became acclimated to the humidity (somewhat) and started feeling like maybe, just maybe, I would run this thing. Then the other shoe dropped.

Tibet has always been on my to-visit list. When I lived in China 13 years ago, we wanted to go, but political unrest shut it down to foreigners. It stayed that way for a while. COVID did nothing to help, keeping it closed since the onset of the pandemic, and my attempt to secure a permit in the summer failed. With haste, I applied again in the fall but with no real indication, it would happen. With less than two weeks before travel, my permit was approved and we were off to the roof of the world. 

The problem is, we couldn't run. You are not free to roam about in Tibet, not to mention the fact that you spend your week between 12,000-15,000 ft. elevation. Regarding my training, when Sarah asked me what I would do if we got to go to Tibet right before the marathon, I said, "Acclimate." I brought my running shoes just in case. After 5 days off, I went for a two-mile jog, so slow and breathing so hard it hurt. I snuck in a 2 miler and 3 miler on the last two days of the break to make for a whomping 7 miles in 8 days! So after a week in Tibet we returned to the flatlands with 8 days before the marathon (this is sounding familiar...)

I pitched up to the race with little expectations other than it was going to hurt. Thankfully, the heat was down and the humidity was replaced by a stiff breeze, the best day of weather from March till early November! The race started at 8am in the Happy Monk - yep, IN the bar - that was a first. We jogged out and down the trail. I knew I was looking good since most people would be in the half marathon and no one was making a bid for it. The first loop was relatively uneventful despite the fact that there were supposed to be three water stops and there were none. Also, we were so "fast," there was no one to guide/marshal the course so, at a crucial turn, I was pleased I watched the video tour in advance. Others weren't so lucky...

I ran much of the first 10k with a small group of Brits, then on ahead with a Chinese guy, but by 10 miles, I was alone. I crossed the half marathon point ahead of all of the half marathon runners, but I still had a lap to go. The good news was I felt fantastic. My longest run in a year was 13.1 miles. My attempt to go 15 ended in a dehydrated, crumpled heap on the ground weeks ago. I have run a lot of races but this was a long way on my own. It wasn't until 15 miles that I found Sarah waiting on a bike and this provided the first water I had all race. It would prove to be a limiting factor. Just then I was stopped by the traffic police for about 3 minutes. The pain rushed to my legs and the momentum died. Once released, I started up the stairs to the steep bridge and things started to go backward. I sacrificed a slow mile to get over the bridge and then got it back on track, but that was the last I "kept pace." The final 8 miles were a bit of a slog, and the pain really set in by the end. Also, this was a Sunday morning in China, so people were all over the bike trail, constantly stepping in front of me. I was not at my best and may have shouted at children and old people. 

But like all things, it soon ends, and I crossed the line a good 20 minutes ahead of the next guy for my 6th marathon win (2nd in China). This marks my 81st marathon and my first since December 2020. This wasn't a race about time or place though. It was about getting back out there, hurting a little, and remembering that not everyone has had it as easy as I have. 

Finishing strong despite a rough last 10k

Pretty glad to be done. It was getting hot.

81st marathon; 6th win

The Happy Monk Marathon raised 57,500 yuan, not bad for 50 or so runners! That will provide about 11,500 meals to the homeless, which is a win in any book!

2020 Guangzhou Marathon

I was hoping for my 80th open marathon to be special. But as 2020 reared its ugly head, opportunities fell off the table. As December neared, I was about to find out if I could, in all actuality, run a marathon off the couch. 

GZ marathon is done by lottery (for a look at the registration form, check this out). It was always my intention to run it, but as COVID wore on, I was stuck in the US, barely running, as we worked from 6pm-midnight or 1am, then got up to work 7am-noon or 1pm all fall. My runs, when it wasn't raining, windy, and freezing (my winter clothes are in India still), were short and lackluster. When the lottery opened, I passed, saying maybe next time. But that sense of adventure was grumbling and if 2020 has taught us anything, it is to take an experience when we can get it. I entered, was accepted, and realized I had 1 month to get ready.

However, smack in the middle of this 1 month period was a move to China. We spent the first week running all over the state for COVID tests, documents, permissions, packing, and closing the house. I barely jogged. Then we flew 2 days to get to China and were placed in a hotel for quarantine for 15 days, unable to leave the room. I made the most of it, jogging in place. FOr 15 straight days I "ran" nowhere, bouncing around the few feet allotted to me, barely getting the heart rate up. I worked up from 30 min to 1 hour, most days at 60 min, using none of the muscles I needed for distance running. To make it more challenging, we ate only delivery food for every meal, and cigarette smoke from other rooms blew into ours most of the day. The 20 min core-floor routine I set out to do left me staring, my nose inches from piles of many long, black hairs (and quite a few short ones). It was a disgusting trial and after more than 2 weeks, we had fresh air and sunshine again. The race was 6 days away.

The first three days of freedom were hectic with all kinds of clearances and registrations mixed up with shopping to set up the house. Going from 23 hours a day of laying down to 12 hours of walking and standing shocked my body. I got out for two runs along the river in my new hood, but the 4-mile jaunts left me destroyed! Shin splints ripped my legs up like a newbie 6th grader, and my quads ached. I took the next day off and slugged Ibuprofin like candy and iced with frozen hot dogs. On Friday morning, I got back out there for a 2-mile jog. I averaged about 9 min/mile. Yep. This was going to suck. That night was the school's Christmas party and to add insult to injury, I was in a 1-month no booze commitment. Mind you, this had nothing to do with the race I was about to foul up; rather, just a reset after many, many months of life in the US on a lake during COVID. With the stress of trying to get out of the country, packing, traveling, quarantine, and all the celebrations of the holiday season (and newly arrived in China), it was a real testament to mind control to put in this month.  I would need that mental fortitude on Sunday. 

 

Daily registrations online declaring my temp and exposure to the disease were required daily for the two weeks prior. A negative COVID test was also needed a few days out. We had to register for a time slot to pick up the packet and bib. There were temp checks, the COVID test results, and an app that had to be completed prior. 

With three days of running (10 miles total) in the last 25 days, pain was in my future. I took the metro to the start, along with 20,000 of my newest friends. The race was highly organized and easy to navigate once on the ground (not so with the online presence). Small, red dots lined the corrals keeping people 1m apart. While this was not adhered to, there was far less scrunching and shoving than I would have expected, though I was in the B corral. We had 70 degrees and 86% humidity at the start, and it promised to be a warm one. My regimen of anti-inflammatory drugs would probably raise concerns with WADA, but it got me to the start line without the injury I had earlier in the week. The gun went off and I felt like I was in a 5K. There were too many people so it wasn't fast, but I went out in 8:21, and people blew by me like I was standing still. I had no choice; after almost 3 weeks of doing no running, I had to start smart. I ran an 8:06 and a 7:58 the next two miles, then put the breaks on. At 5k, people were still passing me by the hundreds. I have run enough races to know they wouldn't last. The only pandemic facing this group of runners was a sickness of wearing VaporFly shoes to run a 4+ hour marathon!

I was locked in pretty good to 8 min/mile pace for a long time. By 10 miles, I was right on, and my watch had me spot on 1:45:00 at halfway (the course took a jump around 11 miles and my watch and the "official" markers were no longer in sync - They had me at about 1:46 and change). The crowds were plentiful as the race ran mostly along the river. From 14-18 miles it got a little drab as we got away from the water on an out section. I kept it chill, never pushing, though the pace started to come into the high 7:40s on its own. I was ecstatic with how the run was going. I thought 4 hours might be a real possibility earlier in the week but now, with 10 miles to go, I was on track for 3:30. I couldn't have asked for more as a light drizzle washed over us. 

Everything was good until 21. I slipped to an 8:12 with a water stop, and the reality that I was completely unprepared started to sink in. Somehow I brought it back under 8 for the 22nd mile, though that was the longest one of the day it felt like.  The last 5K were.....a negotiation. I had no ego, no pride. There was no time I needed to hit and no one around me I felt compelled to beat. I was just glad to be out here, to be able to race during a pandemic, and to be able to run a marathon, let alone my 80th, on essential no training. I slipped off the pace but by seconds, not minutes. I refused to give in and walk. I would run till the end, no slower, and yet I didn't need to bury myself to get there. I stayed in control and maybe gave up a spot here and there to a charging young man, but for the most part, I continued to pass many people who had gone out so hard. 

The final Ks were quiet as no fans were permitted in the stadium for the finish. I passed 26.2 miles on my watch in 3:29:58, and that was good enough for me. Nearly 500m later, the finish line arrived, and my time was 3:32:15. I am not going to be a Garmin bitch but I had the course 0.3 mi long and on this day, that mattered! Either way you slice it. - watch or course - I ran a deadpan even split 1st half to 2nd. It was, perhaps, one of my finest executions of the 80 jaunts so far. But before I could relish in the accomplishment, I went through some pretty rough post-race moments. The legs were done, the bowles in cramping, and I got dizzy if I stopped. It was a long and painful limp from the line to the exit, then a 1km walk to the restaurant where I toweled off in the bathroom before destroying some enchiladas.  I waddled on down to Bravo Brewing and enjoyed my 1st (and 2nd and 3rd) beer in a month!  

To say I did this "off the couch" would be hyperbole. I did do some running in the weeks before travel. I did bounce around during quarantine, and I didn't fit in 3 jogs the week of the race. But to do a marathon off of it, at 40 years old, let alone in 3:30? I am stoked.  By 8K I had run more than I had run in nearly 4 weeks, by the half I better my longest in the fall, and at 20 miles had eclipsed what I would have to go all the way back to May to exceed. It had been more than 9 months since my last marathon, a gap I have not had in marathoning since I began.  I missed so many races this year but I got this one done. I always say a marathon is a marathon, no matter how fast you go, and this was the epitome of that phrase. 

 

Conquering the Wall - The Great Wall Marathon 2009

"Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up."
— Dean Karnazes

Sometimes the most successful races are a result of poor planning and preparation. After several weeks of long runs and being sick, it didn’t help that the best pre-race meal I could find within walking distance of my hotel in Beijing was Pizza Hut. I struggled through what appeared to be spaghetti bolognaise then managed a few hours of sleep. But just before 3am we were walking to the buses that would take us to the Great Wall of China.

If I had never been there before, I might have turned around and gone home. Nestled in the foliage high above the road, The Great Wall of China scales mountains and descends into valleys for more than 5,000 miles. It is truly one of the wonders of the world and it is a wonder anyone would want to run a marathon on it, let alone their first. Yet, there stood hundreds of souls hungry for the chance to ascend the mighty steps, not once, but twice over the course of 26.2 miles and some of them were going for their first marathon finish!

The horn sounded the start of the 10K, half-marathon and marathon races. Oddly, the race went out much like a 5K – very strung out with little packs of runners. Determined to take it easy, I was surprised at how well I moved down the road. But the first challenge – a 4.5 kilometer assent up a mountain road, emerged from the misty cloud cover. Being cautious, I hugged the turns to cut distance while others drifted across the road. One such runner I immediately identified as military due to his stride. They always run very rhythmically. We chatted for a bit and he confided that this was his first marathon. “We will probably be battling back and forth all day,” he told me. I simply smiled and pulled away. Another runner from Britain must have been sleeping at the gun judging by the pace he went by me at 5K. But it was no matter; the Great Wall loomed before us, the ultimate equalizer for climbers and pure runners.

For the next 3 kilometers, the Great Wall climbed and fell over the ridges high above the valley. Much of this section was restored, and the stones were congruent and smooth. Some of the path, however, consisted of various varieties of stone with random “steps” chipped out. Treacherous drop-offs slid for hundreds of feet on each side. Occasionally there was a rope for aid. A camera man told me I was in 10th place. I asked if that was overall or marathon, and he replied that it was overall. That was good news. I had taken this section relatively easy. Where others hammered up each step with pristine running form, I ran where I could and power-walked the stairs. After all, some of them were two feet high each! This portion of the course was only 7K in, so why waste it all early? For every 1-2 seconds others gained by running hard, I made it up on the flats and downhills, and conserved energy (and more importantly, muscle integrity) and was still passing runners. That is, until the final descent. A steep, dirt trail dropped into a section of terrible stone steps. Although I was ready to pick up the pace to make up for the slow ascent, a runner was just ahead of me blocking the trail, and I was forced to remain calm for a while longer.

The next several kilometers off of the wall took us out to the villages. I was in 5th with at least two half-marathon runners ahead. Whether there were one or two marathon runners among them, I could not say. But I could see 4th place ahead of me (a half-marathoner). Finally, I said, “What the hell are you doing? You are kicking down half-marathon runners at the 10K mark. Chill out or you are going to be on the side of the road.” So I chilled and started to feel better. I knew marathoners were just behind me but relax as I did, they didn’t get much closer. I was too busy to care anyway, because the local children would laugh and run next to me as I passed their homes. Some sprinted to keep up and others lasted for 400m or more. For a few moments, I could forget that this was a race I came to do on a weekend and remember that life is simpler than that. It was much needed 10 miles in to the race. Not everyone shared the children’s enthusiasm. I would sometimes come up on a group of police officers and a teenage volunteer who were all supposed to be directing me through a turn. They would stare motionless at me, and when I raised my arms in a shrug and asked, “Which way?” I was greeted with no response – just a blank stare. Other times, I would come upon couplets of girls, who probably had been standing there for hours waiting to “direct” runners, and I would smile, wave, and shout a greeting, only to watch them crumble with giggles. It was amazing I picked the right direction each time.

A long, steady climb forced me to slow even more, and glancing back over my shoulder I could see that a marathoner had gotten close (the half-marathon runners had since looped back to the finish). I figured if he was going to catch me because I refused to push this long hill so early in the race (we had just crossed the half-way point), then it was his. But catch he did not as the hill raised above the valley. At the summit, I looked down the river and could see more than a mile of winding road, all of it barren of racers. I knew then that I was either in first place with two men close behind, or in second, but more than seven minutes off the lead. I decided 2nd it was and pushed the downhill to put as much distance between me and the others as I could. On the decent I was greeted by on-coming runners as the road merged again with the out-bound course. “Great job! Only one ahead!” a guy shouted, confirming my suspicions. That was cool with me. This phantom leader had such a gap on me that I could only worry about myself and those coming up behind me.

Never have I been so surprised during running than I was one kilometer later when I rounded a curve and saw the leader on the hill above me. Having passed me before the Wall section some 22 kilometers ago, I thought he was gone, but the early pounding on the wall had ended him. He feebly jogged while local children circled him as vultures circle dying animals in the desert. I crept closer and he resorted to a walk, hands on his hips. Never one to be joyful over other’s suffering, I must admit I smiled when he stopped and hunched over. There is some self-satisfaction in knowing you have paced better than someone. I gave a pat on the back, shouted his name and some encouragement (names were printed on the bibs), and became the meat the vulture children circled as I continued up the hill. On the switchback, I saw that I had put several hundred meters between us in just over a minute and no others were in sight. My glory was short lived. The hunter became the hunted and I ran now not calm but anxious.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!! Trying to put some time between me and the others on a downhill, some bee or wasp crash-landed into my jersey and stung my shoulder. I used the pulsing adrenaline to get down the hill. My pace was much faster than normal marathon pace, but I knew the time at the beginning and end of the race were slowed significantly by the wall. The road turned to dirt and eventually the path was so rutted that the lead motorcycle was almost tipping and I had to pass him up. It took him a mile to catch back up. The path then turned to a trail worthy of Colorado running and I was back in my element. Soon I was on the road again intertwined with half-marathon runners on the way to their finish. I tried to make a game of it, passing as many runners as I could, but the home stretch was very long, the heat was increasing, and I had one last obstacle left to conquer: The Great Wall of China.

Some sadistic race organizer 10 years ago thought that at 20 miles the best way to finish this race was to send us past the finish line and up and over the wall again in the much more difficult “backward” direction. Blazing through the square, the loudspeaker announced my arrival as the 1st place marathoner and cheers from spectators and those already finished (half, 10K, and 5K) were deafening. I gained the wall with the adrenaline pumping and a reminder from the MC that I still had 2600 steps to negotiate. But the wall was my reward for pushing the pace. I am a fairly decent walker (no sir name puns intended) and I figured if I could get to the wall in good shape, I could pace well and use the final downhill to finish strong. As my toes graced the first step, I realized instantly that I was sorely mistaken.

A million white hot needles pierced my quads and calf muscles which each step. Sweat poured off my nose and landed on my shoes. Each step was similar to that of a climber hunched over high on Everest. Step. Huff. Heave. Huff. Step. I kept glancing back to the bridge to see if the next runner had gained the wall. Vomit threatened to expel with each breath, and I wanted to sit down very badly. The climb never seemed to relent. Making it worse were the numerous tourists coming at me. Some downhill sections were so sketchy that you needed to slow and use the rope. I couldn’t do either because my legs were shot and wouldn’t brake and old Chinese men and women were using the only rope and footing available. Several times I teetered on the edge of plummeting down the mountain. A section of steps went skyward again and I contemplated stopping. Immediately I heard the voice of the great Dean Karnazes (a voice that, during a marathon, is somewhat spiritual like those hearing God during other trying times in their lives).

Run when you can. I did Dean, maybe too much, too fast.

Walk if you have to. I am walking, damn it!

Crawl if you must. I…ok. And crawl I did. One hand over the other, all fours on the steps. Now it seems captivating, but at the time I was certainly glad no members of the press were snapping pictures of me withering up the steps like a crippled dog. It was easy to see how this wall had repelled invaders for centuries. Dramatic as I am being, the steps eventually did relent and although there were several more significant sections of climbing, the worst was over. As I ran the down slopes and relatively flat portions, I justified my agony by saying that others were also struggling up the same wall at that very moment. A camera man sitting in the middle of the wall jumped up, apparently surprised to see a runner (it had been quite some time since we last went through here). “Good on ya mate! The first one!” he quipped.

“I guess so,” I muttered.

“Got quite a lead too, eh?”

My heart skipped. Really, could I still be ahead? I was certain that six hours had passed and I was the last runner left on the wall. I asked if he could see anyone else and he told me, “Not yet.” I ran on, inspired, glancing back more often than necessary and even though I could see much of the Wall portion of the course, I saw no runners. All that remained was a downhill section of road. If I could stay vertical, I could win. But alas, it was not so easy. Although my pace returned to a regular run, a knot in my stomach and fried legs prevented me from cashing in on the spectacular downhill. By 39k, I was praying for flat land again. I had been running some of my miles in the 6 minute range, yet I estimated that I would be over 8 minutes/mile for the whole race. That couldn’t be right, could it? Oh yeah, the Great Wall. It slows you down a bit. From one kilometer to go, I could see the bridge leading to the wall. If anyone had been able to see me, they would have caught me, and they would have deserved it. I was far too fixated on watching runners start the climb to the Wall. The thought of going over that part of the course made me want to hurl. Little did I know they would still be starting it more than three hours later.

The finish line noise was amazing. Cameras crowded in and not more than a couple of feet after crossing the line I was corralled by the organizer who choked me with a flower wreath around my neck. Reporters asked dozens of questions as I was pushed towards cameras and away from the line. It was a very unique experience and the questions blew me away. Was it difficult? Yes. What was the most difficult part? The Wall. Demographics, where do you work, etc. Then a Chinese man asked me if I thought the current swine flu pandemic (which was limiting the number of visas available) affected the race outcome. I paused, reflecting on what it meant to me and others to be here racing.

True, I had run my slowest time in an open marathon ever, but the course was challenging and I only pushed as hard as needed to win – it was more than 10 min to second place, which was awarded to an able trail runner from Colorado. If I put in more hill work and actually attempted a single speed workout in the last year, I think I could challenge the course record. But I was very pleased with my tactics at this point in the season and couldn’t have cared less if that time got me 1st or 5th. I decided to not draw more attention to his question by dignifying it with a straight response. “I come to a race not to win but to challenge myself. Winning doesn’t matter. Everyone gets a medal out here.” If you want to win this race, come on out next year. We can’t judge a race by a time on paper. You never know how you would have done that day in those conditions. I have looked up many races where I was certain my best would have won it and I have won races knowing full well that if some stud showed up I wouldn’t have been the victor. You just have to run your best and let the chips fall where they may. There are bigger experiences in running than crossing the line before someone else.

In some ways, the hour after the race was as trying as some portions of the race. The Subway sandwiches available to runners upon finishing were mocking me: Just out of reach. The questions from reporters relented but the pictures with other runners didn’t end for quite some time. I was thankful when a friend slipped me a bottle of water because I was starting to feel dizzy. When people found out I was living in China, I got even more pictures. I finally was able to change but couldn’t call home because of the awards ceremony. All I wanted to do was tell my wife I had won. The actual winning didn’t matter to me. She has won enough races for the both of us. But I didn’t want to tell her that I was beaten, that I had given up on myself. The thought of home and running for those who want to hear my story spurred me on when I otherwise could have slowed.

Every marathon I finish, I take the medal and I put it around my bedpost. It stays there until I complete my next race. Sometimes that is a week or two, and sometimes that duration spans a few months. This lets me remember the race, the course, the pain, the thrill. I respect it and it gears me for the next one. But this time, I think I am going to leave the 2009 GWM medal up for a year – 365 days to remember conquering the wall, even if just for a day.