Each race has its own personality. At least so far. I haven’t done enough that they run together.
This was my fifth year participating in St. Jude Marathon Weekend. The first year was to try to stay active during COVID, so I started walking/running around the neighborhood. My goal was to do 5 kilometers. Couch to 5K as they say. When race day came, I couldn’t run downtown. Nobody could run downtown, but I completed the race virtually, cheered on by family and neighbors. The next year I was excited to run downtown, but four months before the race I tore my Achilles tendon. I was determined to be there, even if I had to complete the course in a walking boot, which I did.
The third year I was finally able to run the 5K downtown on two (mostly) good legs. After that race, several friends encouraged me to consider doing the half-marathon. Think of it as four 5Ks (plus a little bit). It seems I can’t get through training, though, without an injury. This time it was a broken bone in my foot in October. For the next four weeks I very aggressively rested it and was cleared to walk two weeks before the race. I set as my goal completing the 13.1-mile course in under 3 hours. I finished in 2 hours 55 minutes 1 second.
This year I wanted to improve upon that result, although I’d be happy just to finish again. Training started at the end of May and, amazingly, I managed to stay injury-free. By November, I was doing 15 kilometers around the neighborhood a couple times a week. I ran some of the route as well. I had been strict about walking because I was concerned about my heart rate getting too high. One day I decided to do a relaxed jog and discovered, to my surprise, that my heart rate went down. Jogging portions of the route became the norm. I ended up finishing faster, and my heart rate stayed in the target range. Awesome!
Race day started out cold. Thirty degrees and walking from a parking lot on Monroe Avenue to the Peabody Hotel with shorts, two shirts, and cold hands. The lobby was full of people socializing and trying to stay warm. Your starting group is determined by your anticipated pace, so I started toward the back. Last year I ended up standing outside for more than a half hour before getting onto the course. This year I stayed in the lobby much longer.
It was still cold when we approached the starting line, and off we all went. Fast walking interspersed with relaxed jogging. After the first mile I no longer noticed the cold. Neither too, apparently, did many other people. Sweatshirts, shirts, sweatpants, gloves, and hats were strewn all over the sidewalk. I watched several runners shucking off layers in front of me.
It was a beautiful, clear day. My mental approach to the race wasn’t to think about where I was on the course, but rather to imagine that I was doing four five-kilometer circuits around the neighborhood. Now I’ve completed seven kilometers, which is at the last mailbox before the road that goes down the hill off to the right on the second lap. Now it’s sixteen kilometers which is entering the cul-de-sac at the top of the big hill on the last lap. Like that.
I picked different music this year. I didn’t really need anything really upbeat to get moving because I’m excited enough being at the event. So, I put on Sunrise Mass by Ola Gjeilo. It has my favorite “moment” in any piece of music. For those of you with the score, it’s in the second movement, “Sunrise.” At measure 127, a new, very stately theme starts and builds for five measures to a climax then comes back down again. It’s like the sun first appearing on the horizon. The theme then repeats, this time with more energy underneath. It builds similarly, but in the climactic chord at measure 139, the composer included some additional dissonant notes. It’s almost as though the sunrise is so magnificent that looking at it hurts a little. I listened to the entire piece three times, carrying me through the whole race.
About three-quarters of the way through, the course crosses into the hospital campus. You pass volunteers and hospital personnel. And patient families. Moms and dads and brothers and sisters. And little bald kids waving. And you mostly try to hold back tears.
That’s also at about the maximum distance of my training, and last year that was the point where I really started to tire. I remembered a person standing by the side of the road holding a hand-lettered sign that read, “When your legs won’t work, run with your heart.” I think about that sign frequently.
I got a piece of advice from a friend who also ran the half-marathon this past weekend, but much faster than me. When I told him about being out of gas last year, he said that “you’re not really tired, your brain just wants you to think you’re tired.” The last three miles are a continuous mantra of “You are not tired. You are not sore.”
Finally, you come up the last big hill then turn toward the finish line about a quarter mile away. And downhill. A large electronic sign listing the approaching runners announces your arrival. You see your name up there and it gives you that last boost. It’s like being weightless approaching the finish line.
I accomplished my goals of finishing and improving on last year’s time. I even had a stretch goal to finish in under 2 hours 45 minutes, but I didn’t think that was likely to happen.
I crossed the finish line in 2 hours 41 minutes 22 seconds.
More than thirteen minutes faster than last year. More than 22,000 people participated in one or more of the races. I came in 4,813 out of the 6,792 that finished the half-marathon; 2,352 out of 3,620 men; and 131 out of 245 men in my age group.
I was asked later how I felt when I finished the race. The first word that came to mind was satisfied. The race went very well for me both physically and mentally. I had a goal that I set out to accomplish, that I worked toward for six months, that I achieved, and that I savor now.
I’m already looking forward to next year.
If you’re interested, my race stats are here and contributions to St. Jude are still being accepted here.
