2012 Twin Cities Marathon

 

 

An introduction

If you have been following my blog, you know by now that I am kind of obsessed with spectating running events.  If I could find a way to make a living being a professional marathon spectator, I just may consider it.

It all started back in 2003 when I ran the Twin Cities marathon, my first ever 26.2 mile experience.  Although I trained hard for the race, I wasn’t prepared for the mental and physical challenge of pulling my then 235 pound body around the course for five hours and twelve minutes  In fact, I lost to half of the women over the age of 70 that day – only two entered, but one beat me, and quite soundly I should add.

What sticks with me about that day is that I was amazed by the energy and inspiration that the spectators provided.  Although many had left the course before I finished (and who could blame them), I really appreciated those that stayed out and cheered me on. 

In 2004, I ran the last ten miles of the marathon with my friend Trent.  I ran the marathon again in 2005 and 2006.  Despite being in considerably better shape than I was in 2003, temperatures in the 80’s slowed me down and caused me to still finish over 5 hours.  It was discouraging that time after time I would run, but never really improve.  Especially in 2006, all I wanted to do was quit, but the energy of the crowd kept me going.

In 2007, Trent and his wife Tracy ran the Twin Cities 10 mile race, which always precedes the marathon, and I joined them for the final few miles.  After the race, we found a patch of grass on Summit Avenue and took our turn cheering on the full marathon runners. 

Two things happened that day that stuck in my mind.  First, runners frequently celebrate the completion of a race by hoisting a glass of beer.  Thus, we enjoyed a couple of cold ones as we sat in the grass and cheered on the marathoners.  Periodically a runner would smile at us and we would yell back, “Just a couple more miles and this will be you.”  But then, a runner asked me if he could have my beer. I was a bit surprised but certainly in no position to deny him, so I handed him my can.  He took a big gulp, handed it back to me, and went on his way.  A bit unsure of what to do with my beer, I just kind of held onto it.  When another runner came by and asked for a drink, I handed him the can, he took a swing, and went on his way.  I guess these marathoners were Catholic and just looking at the beer can as their shared communion cup.

The second thing I distinctly recall from that day was that so many runners thanked us for being out there supporting them.  When probably 90% of the runners had passed us by, we decided to pack up and leave.  But then another runner trotted past and said, “Thanks so much for still being out here, it means so much.”  A comment like that made us stick around for another few minutes.  Just when we were about to leave again, another runner said something similar.  We knew we were stuck, and stayed until the course officials came through at the six hour mark, signifying the end of the race.

I took a break from spectating in 2008 as I ran the marathon one final time.  Every year since, I have signed up for the 10 mile race and then gone back to sit in that same grassy spot, mile 23.9, and watch the marathon.  We always stay until the race is over, and each year we try to enhance the runners’ experience even more.  We bring some beer specifically for runners, so they don’t ask us for any of ours.  We bring jolly ranchers and tootsie rolls, two popular treats.  This year, cheese sticks and my wife’s monster cookies were also a big hit.  Runners love music, so in 2009 and 2010 we brought a “boom-box” with tunes – since that time we have upgraded to one of the loudest PA systems on the course (as the lady in the house across the street pointed out),  And this year, my friend Jimmy came out and took nearly 500 pictures.

It is without question one of my favorite days of the year. 

 

The 2012 race

While the accompanying slide show and pictures tell most of the story, here are a few other highlights:

-          I had to pull out of the ten mile race this year due to a hip flexor injury.  I gave away my entry to the sold out race to my brother’s co-worker Zach.  When I awoke a bit before nine o’clock on race morning, I was greeted by the following text from an unfamiliar phone number: “I think I got a good time for ya!”  Sure enough, Zach finished the race in a pace of 7 minutes and 12 seconds per mile.  But as he was racing under my number, it will go down in the books as a personal best for yours truly.

-          I arrived at mile 23.9 and setup all the equipment, only to find out that I had left my rented generator at home.  Fortunately, my brother was in route and able to make a detour to pick it up.  That didn’t stop me from standing and talking into a dead microphone, periodically asking other spectators if the noise was too loud.  People would look at me kind of oddly and one guy even said, “I don’t think it is working.”

-          The winner came flying by around 10AM in a pace of 5 minute miles.  In my prime, I could have stuck with him for about 500 yards.

-          One of my former students came by in tenth place.  The lack of a functioning PA system did not stop me from loudly announcing to anyone within earshot that I knew him and taught him everything he knows.

-          Shortly after the lead runners began striding by, my brother showed up with the generator, and we cranked up the tunes.  Within five minutes, the lady who lived across the street came over and said, “You know, people actually live here, could you turn it down?”  I guess she doesn’t like AC DC.  I angled the speakers away from her home and turned the sound down a bit - the music was now only audible for a couple blocks, as opposed to a couple miles. She gave the thumbs up, and the party was on.

-          Near the very end, an athlete came into sight wearing full army gear and flying a very large American flag.  He was walking and appeared completely spent, but when we blasted Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA”, he began jogging again.

 

Shortly after arriving, Jimmy’s girlfriend said, “Boz, why are we here?”  Before the day was over, I think she understood why.  Enjoy the pictures and slide show, and perhaps we will see you on the course next year!

 

The fun stuff

 

I believe you would not regret spending 5 minutes of your life watching this video.  And if you like the Black Eyed Peas, all the better.

 

Running a marathon in a costume is NOT on my bucket list, but these folks sure do make it more entertaining for everyone else.

 

This man’s child will never walk.  But that will not stop his child from crossing the finish line of a marathon.

 

Interaction from runners is what makes it all worthwhile.

It was a fairly chilly day with temperatures in the low 30’s at the beginning, so some folks went to unusual measures to stay warm.

A couple members of our group had a longer than necessary discussion on how much time this guy loses due to the drag of his hair.

 

The runner holding the balloons in the middle of this pack is leading what is called a “pace group.”  He likely has completed many marathons at a much faster pace, but today is basically telling people to stick by his side if they want to finish in 3 hours and 45 minutes.  The only time I ran in a pace group was when I ran the San Francisco marathon in 2008.  The runner leading that group was an ultra-marathoner, meaning that he runs races of 50 miles or longer.  I remember him telling us that day that after he got us to the finish line, he was going to turn around and run the course backwards.

 

As Tracy and her dad provide refreshments to the runners, you can see me in the background talking with Forrest Gump.  It turned out that Forrest was one of my former accounting students at Saint John’s - he graduated a year ago.  Run, Andre, run!

 

“Boz told me he would bring two microphones this year but if he never shuts up I will never get a chance to talk.”

 

You see a lot of marathoners wearing their names on their shirts.  When someone yells, “Go Noelle!” every few seconds, it really inspires you to continue.  Especially if your name is Noelle.

 

I did not see any Obama or Romney t-shirts among the 10,000 runners, but some folks did make their feelings known on a very contentious political issue.

 

That is my brother holding up a monster cookie while two runners look to see what else we have to offer.

 

Last spring, one of my students and his friend Mike took me for a run on campus and they both ran the marathon.  I missed seeing my student but was delighted to see Mike.  I didn’t care if he was all sweaty, I was going to hug him anyway.

 

The first hour was fairly quiet as the runners barely paid any attention to us or our refreshments.  As time wore on and the runners became less serious, that all started to change.

 

 

Jared Allen went for a run before his 3 o’clock tilt against the Tennessee Titans.  Despite running 26.2 miles as a pre-game warm-up, Jared notched yet another sack in the Vikings 30-7 victory.

 

I don’t fully understand why they have multiple names on their shirts, but I am guessing they are related to each other.

 

This lady started busting a move to the Pit Bull.  Trust me when I say that at least one other runner must have wanted to punch her for having so much energy this late in the race.

 

I don’t know this guy, but he is a Johnnie, and therefore he is quite cool.

 

Notice the yellow medal around this lady’s neck.  10 miles wasn’t enough for her, so she had to come out and jog a bit of the marathon with a friend.

 

KARE 11 (local TV station for my non-Minnesota followers) weatherman Sven Sundgaard stops by the Rejuvenation Station to quench his thirst.

Pure determination - a man with no legs digging hard in the wheelchair marathon.

Trent and I, and one of the youngest members of Rejuvenation Station.

 

Five Seconds of Fame

I first met John in 1990.  However, it was only after I returned to my alma mater 14 years later that I began to chat with him on a regular basis.  I spent a good portion of many mornings in his office discussing pretty much everything except football and marveling at the things I observed or heard from him.  I shared many of these stories with my Dad, who then began to pester me to get a photo with John.  “He’s a legend,” my dad would say, “and you need to get a signed picture with him before it is too late.”

For a couple years, I ignored my Dad’s repeated requests.  I suppose I was embarrassed to ask someone I now considered a friend if he would sign a picture of the two of us together.  But eventually, I relented and  took a picture with John.  I enlarged it to an 8x10 and he signed it, “Warren, you were one of the great ones, on and off the field.” 

What my Dad didn’t know was that the main reason I went through with it was so that I could have John sign a second copy of the picture.  That copy ended up as a gift to my Dad on father’s day a few years ago.  “Mort, thanks for sending Warren to Saint John’s.”

Pleased at how my Dad enjoyed receiving his copy of the picture, I figured I was now done with this autograph-seeking nonsense.  But little did I know, my Dad was on to something.

Fast forwarding to this past spring, I was one of 63 students who enrolled in John’s Theory of Football course, the most popular course on campus.  At the close of the second-to-last class period, I told the students that I would bring a nice camera to the final class and snap an individual picture of them with John.  The excitement level in the room immediately escalated.

I followed this up by telling the class that I’d have John sign the pictures with a personal note.  You’d think I had just told the students that I was going to take them to Disneyland, and it was fun to watch one student pump his first and whisper, “Yes.”  I also took the opportunity to remind the students (well, the male students) that this meant they may want to wear clean clothes and run a comb their hair. 

Forty-eight hours later, the clock on the wall showed ten past two, signifying the end of the course.  But no one left; they all waited to take their individual pictures with John.  And just prior to taking these individual pictures, I gathered everyone for a class picture.

I am pretty sure John developed arthritis in his right hand signing all those pictures, but eventually he made it through each and every one of them.  Over the week that followed, the students came to my office to pick up their souvenirs from the class.  But what John didn’t know was this - while the students were picking up their pictures, they were also signing the class picture with their own personal note to John.  The class picture was a gift to John, and it is now prominently displayed in his office.

There’s a lot more to this story, but as those details could very easily make their way into my book, I am going to wrap-up with a final story about that class picture.

One of the major television news stations in town, KARE 11, was at Saint John’s earlier this week interviewing John - below is a link to the resulting video.   If you skip to the one minute mark, you will see John proudly point out the class picture and read one of the comments that was written.

http://www.kare11.com/news/article/991066/24/Gagliardi-to-coach-600th-game-on-Saturday

Had my Dad not kept on me about getting a signed picture with John, I likely wouldn’t have come up with the idea to do the same for his students.  I likely wouldn’t have taken the class picture either.  And KARE 11 would have needed to find something else to fill those five seconds of their news clip. 

Part of me feels guilty in taking pride knowing that something I was responsible for ended up on the news.  But, John seems proud of the picture and comments, so maybe that's okay. 

I suppose I could mention that the comment John read from the picture during the newscast was written by a student who took an accounting class from me.  And I could also mention that the KARE 11 camera focused longer on the class picture than it did on a signed football from the President of the United States.  But who’s counting?  Well, I guess I am.  Well, today is John’s 600^th game as the coach of Saint John’s, so maybe that's okay, too.

 

 

A great day to be a bean counter

With just over five minutes remaining in the opening game of the 2012 season, Ben jogged onto the field.  Once the huddle broke, it was somewhat unusual to see him running out to the flanker position.  For his entire life, Ben had been a quarterback, even seeing significant playing time at that position for the Johnnies last year.  But, when the team decided to go with a different quarterback this time around, Ben was moved to a different position.  Taking the snap was Nick, a freshman and the third string quarterback.  Nick was about to experience his first ever play under center as a Johnnie.

The ball was snapped and Nick dropped back in the pocket.  The offensive line’s protection was solid, allowing Nick plenty of time to setup and step into his pass.  He threw a long, high, and beautiful spiral toward a receiver streaking down the home team’s sideline.  Initially, Ben appeared covered by two defenders, but he kept running, and the ball kept floating through the air.

At the last moment, one defender leaped to tip away the pass, but the ball sailed just out of his reach.  Without breaking stride, Ben caught the ball over his shoulder.  With two defenders giving chase, Ben kept running and running, all the way to the end zone - and all the way into the Saint John’s record books.

In the storied history of Saint John’s football, which began in the year 1900, the Johnnies have played 835 games.  At a conservative estimate of 50 offensive plays per team per game, the Johnnies have run over 40,000 plays.  During this time, St. John’s has scored 20,670 points, including more than 3,000 touchdowns.

But, the Johnnies never had an offensive touchdown, or even an offensive play, that covered more than 93 yards…until this past Saturday afternoon.

Nick’s pass to Ben resulted in a 95 yard touchdown.  Welcome to the history books, boys. 

Yes, the record will be broken someday.  And yes, at St. John’s individual records pale in comparison to team accomplishments - the announcers didn’t even mention the record and Ben did not find out until I checked the record books and sent him an e-mail about an hour after the game. 

However, setting records is still fun.  And watching from the grandstands, I found this record particularly satisfying.  You see, Ben is an accounting major and I had him in class last year - he was a delightful student.  He sat in the front row, showed up every day, and was very respectful.  He was one of the top students in the class.  When I let him know he set the record, I was touched when he replied "Boz, I couldn't have done it without you teaching me about budgets and standard costs."  Okay, maybe I made that last part up.

But it wasn’t just Ben who made me proud that day.  Another accounting student is a pre-season All-American cornerback.  He deflected the only two passes that were thrown his way, effectively taking away half of the field from the opposing quarterback.  It was amusing, however, when I was visiting with him after the game, and one of his much younger cousins scolded him, “Why did you drop those two passes?”

Yet another accounting major is the kicker, who booted a 49 yard field goal, sent all of his 7 kickoffs into or out of the end zone for touchbacks, and converted all 7 of his extra points, one of which hit the camera stand above the end-zone bleachers.

Two more accounting students were starters on the line.

As for Nick, the freshman quarterback who threw the record setting pass?  He is in his first semester at St. John’s, and as I am on sabbatical, I have not yet met him.  But sure enough, I found out that he is currently taking an accounting course, as it is as a prerequisite for his global business leadership major.  I just may have to try to convert him to an accounting major.  After all, the beautiful thing is, athletes at St. Ben’s and St. John’s are also great students, and this is especially true with accounting majors.  On the 2011 CPA exam, our students scored 8 percentage points high than the state average and 15 percentage points higher than the national average.

It was a great day for the Johnnies, but I must admit…it was a great day for the bean-counters as well.

And so it begins

This Wednesday at nine o’clock in the morning, the bells will ring at St. Ben’s and St. John’s to welcome the class of 2016 and usher in another school year.  For the first time since 2003, I will not be there to walk in late, loudly greet my fellow faculty members, complain that the coffee pot is empty, play country music too loudly, and strum incorrect notes on my guitar.  Instead, I will be on sabbatical, initially nestled away in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming.

 

Spending the last several months with John has been an amazing experience.  But last week, I visited him for the final time (until the season is over), as we needed to go our separate ways.  For the 70^th straight year, the last 60 at Saint John’s, John will be consumed with coaching football.  And for the first time ever, after a year of anticipation, I will be consumed with writing a book.

Before heading to Wyoming, I packed-up two laptops, five previous books about John and St. John’s football, six notebooks full of scribbles, ten hours of videotape, 75 hours of audio recordings, and over 200 notes and letters from alumni.  My charge is to sift through this information and turn it into a couple hundred page book which describes how John has created such a powerful legacy.  While the reasons for his sustained success are clear in my mind, the challenge which will cause me to re-write the book several times, will be to write in a manner which will be interesting and inspiring to others.

I had been especially anxious over the past couple of months, as I was constantly worried about how to spend my final time with John.  But now that we have said goodbye, I find myself surprisingly relaxed.    It is refreshing to know that while I may never have all the information I need, I now have all of the information I am going to get - and my job is to do the best I can with it.  In essence, practice is over, and now it is game day.

Am I nervous?  I suppose so.  But more than anything, I am confident.  I have listened to John preach about the importance of confidence for quite some time, and he has created a monster.

Well, I am going to wrap-it up now; I’ve got something a bit more important to write about.  I’ll end by answering the question that many of you have asked me, “Where do you begin?”  My answer is that I’m not stressing about how or why to start; I am just kind of diving in. 

As John would say, “Just do it, damnit.”

 

 

 

The view from my rocking chair.

 

 

The view from the Bighorn Mountains.

 

 

70.3 - Part VII

Boz:  “Home stretch…wow…he is awesome” came the reply when I let Jodi know that Nick had only two miles to go.  I drove to the park with my windows down and the Rocky music blaring, hopefully inspiring, and not deafening, any runner within earshot.  When I arrived at the finishing area, I saw a much more joyous sight.  There were massage tables, as well as loud music, beer, and a gigantic ice bath.

After failing to locate Nick’s family, I found a spot at the bottom of a hill near the beach, looking back at the homestretch of the run.  Yes, I said “at the bottom of a hill,” as the sadistic race organizers made the athletes run up a steep and winding hill at the end of their intense journey.

I stood at the bottom of that hill and waited...and waited…and waited some more.

Nick:  At this point on the course, we were back in the city and in a residential area. I started walking on the sidewalk under the cover of the trees as much as I could.

I don’t remember seeing the mile 12 marker, but I passed some people who said that I was close to finishing. I asked how much further, and they replied “less than a mile!”  I gave the obligatory last mile effort, but didn’t make it more than a couple minutes before I realized I still had a ways to go.

I came around a corner that I recognized from when the run had just begun, and I decided that there couldn’t be more than a half mile left.  The switch flipped and I went for it.  I attempted an 8:00 pace, but quickly found out that wasn’t happening. My calves weren’t working anymore, and I was feeling a twinge in my left knee similar to when I slightly tore cartilage a few years ago.  So, I took it easy and tried to minimize my feet clapping on the pavement the best I could. Eventually, I saw the finishing banners across a little bay of the lake, so I knew I was so close.

Boz:  Every time another runner round the bend, I hoped that it was Nick.  And each time I saw someone else, I felt a bit deflated.  I knew what misery he was experiencing in these final miles and just wanted him to be done with it.  Plus, I needed him to finish before he died, because then, I wouldn’t have to be the one who informed his wife. 

Nick:  I turned a final corner and passed the point at which I saw my cheering section when I started the run. The street was now filled with athletes walking their bikes back to their cars, their medals lightly swaying around their necks. I noticed that many had their shoes off and were walking barefoot in the grass.  My feet felt really, really hot at that moment. 

I made the last turn into the park between the blaze orange tape ropes and was met with a steep downhill that I totally forgot about. I then ran past the beach where I started this thing nearly 6 hours ago.

Boz:  Eventually, Nick came into view and I breathed a huge sigh of relief; he was going to make it.  He smiled at me at the bottom of the hill, and this time, solely due to the winding nature of this final stretch, I beat him to the top.  When I arrived at the finish area, I ran into his family and we cheered him through his final steps.  Five hours and 49 minutes after he began, Nick crossed the finish line.

Nick:  I took a quick left up a big, big hill.  My cheering section was on the right side of the trail as I neared the finish line. I tried to force another smile, but as trail began to go uphill, I needed to focus on not tripping over myself.

After a hairpin right turn, I was in the short finishing chute. I didn’t attempt to sprint, and as my family shifted up the hill to the gate on the right side, I reached out and smacked a high five to my 6-year-old son.  I crossed the line and was smiling.  I felt my smile and it was so big, and it wasn’t even forced.

Boz:  “Daddy!” his two boys called out as they ran to him.  His two year old daughter, however, was more cautious, seemingly not agreeing with Nick’s assessment that he had stopped sweating.

After I let his family greet him, I asked if it was easier or tougher than he expected.  “About the same.” came his reply.  “That was the best I have ever felt on the bike.  I have never ridden that fast for that long.  I didn’t cramp, and just my knee is stiff.  I probably pushed too hard.  But, I don’t care, I had fun.”

Nick:  I walked right past the volunteer handing out medals, as I didn’t see her at first.  I quickly realized I walked right past everyone, so I had to go back in the finishing chute, remove my timing chip, and receive my medal. There was no way I was going home without that!

After walking out of the finish chute for the second time, I strolled over to the hill where I had put my wetsuit on that morning and looked out over the lake. I actually got a little choked up for a second. I was so happy to have finished this thing. I was hurting, I was tired, but I felt so amazing.

I caught my breath right away and turned around to find my cheering section. They hadn’t seen me sneak out of the chute and were still looking for me. I hollered, and they came over. My 6-year-old came in for a hug, but backed off at the last minute when he realized I was soaked from head to toe. Instead, I gave high fives to everyone else except my 20-month old daughter, who smiled but shrugged away when I reached for her, way too smart for her own good. We lined up for a few pictures and then started talking food.

Boz:  After a few family pictures, Nick’s family discussed where to go for some post-race grub.  “McDonald’s!” called out his eldest.  “After 5 gels, 7 shot blocks, and a bunch of Gatorade, I don’t know if my stomach is up for that, buddy.” Nick replied.

His family walked to their car while I hung out with Nick as he packed up his belongings.  When we were leaving the grounds, volunteers were pouring free beer for the athletes.  “I’m not a triathlete,” I inquired, “but can a freelance reporter get a glass?”  The kind lady simply nodded, smiled, and handed me a glass.  After several hours of chasing Nick around the course, it was a very satisfying end to the closest I will ever come to being a half Ironman triathlete. 

As we reached his car, I asked Nick the obligatory question of whether he would do this race again.  “We’ll see.  I have a year to decide.  I won’t do more than one per year though.  This kills you.”

Nick:  After making my family wait much longer than I expected, I urged them to go ahead and get out of the park, telling them I’d meet them as quickly as possible. They didn’t push back, so I started to walk back to my transition spot with Boz.

The race director was already handing out the hardware to the age group winners when we passed the post-race festivities. There was a modest spread of food and pastries, as well as a beer trailer with free beer for the athletes  Boz pulled out his “I’m a journalist” card with the beer ladies and without saying it directly they said, “Yeah right, buddy, but here you go anyway,” and gave us both a beer. I took a sip but didn’t trust my stomach quite yet.

We packed up my stuff, and Boz graciously walked me back to my car with a bag or two over his shoulder. As we said goodbye, I gave him the remainder of my beer in what seemed like a gesture of thanks, but it was really more of a “get this thing out of my sight, because I’m sick of carrying it, and it really doesn’t taste good at the moment.”

Boz:  I bid Nick goodbye and walked back to the Rocky-mobile.  For the first time in quite a while, I looked at my phone and saw that I had received four anxiety-filled texts from Jodi.  “Sorry for the delay, all is great, he finished.” I replied. 

Jodi simply replied with the universal symbol of happiness: a smiley face.

Nick:  I met my family at a café and ordered eggs and hash browns. They sounded amazing, but I couldn’t eat very much. My stomach was a mess and all I really wanted was water. I drank 4 glasses of ice water at the restaurant and both of my sons’ leftover apple juice. I finished the eggs, but only about a third of the rest of my meal, so I packed it up for later.

Boz:  Exhausted, I went home and took a two-hour nap.

Nick:   We ordered pizza that night and I was able to eat two pieces, but I was still feeling a bit off. I had one beer with dinner, but that only made things worse, so I just stuck to water the rest of the night. If you’ve made it this far in the report, it will probably be hard to give out too much information, so I’ll tell you that I didn’t urinate until just before bed at 11:00 pm. That means that I went from mile 4.5 of the run at about 11:15 am until 11:00 pm without urinating, despite drinking well over a gallon of liquids over that time.

I stretched a few times and actually wrestled around and gave the boys “airplane rides” on the floor that night. I had to keep moving because I knew once I stopped, I was going to be down for the count, and I was right. Once the kids were in bed, I iced my knees, popped some Aleve, and passed out.

Epilogue

Boz:  People look at me like I am kind of unusual when I tell them I am heading out to spectate an endurance event.  Truth be told, I wasn’t always of fan of racing.  I played football while growing up, and when it came time for track and field, I threw the shot put.  To say I thought distance runners were a bit odd would be a fair statement.

However, back in 2001, I found myself unable to control my weight, and my wife suggested that I take up running.  Later than year, I entered a 5 mile cross country race through an apple orchard, and I was hooked.  I then ran my first marathon in 2003 and was amazed at how powerful of an impact the spectators had on me.

In 2004, I attended my first marathon as a spectator, and have been hooked on attending endurance events ever since.   Over the past several years, I have spectated many marathons and a few Susan G. Komen 60 mile walks.  Watching people push themselves, simply to see if they can accomplish a goal, is an amazing experience.  And I understand that whether or not I know the participants, they love to hear my cheers.  So, as soon as Nick told me he was planning to participate in this half ironman, I wrote it in pen on my calendar.

Nick:  I actually had to work the following morning, but was in no rush to get up early. I woke up quite refreshed and surprisingly not very stiff at all. My legs were tired, but my knee felt fine and the rest of my body just needed a good stretch. I drove into work for a couple hours, came home early for lunch, and then caught a plane to Chicago for a business trip. I brought my workout clothes “just in case” and actually ended up going for a short swim at the Ohio Street Beach in downtown Chicago, just to loosen up. The next day I went for a nice 3 mile run on Lakeshore Drive, and it felt great. I didn’t push a pace and just went to sort my body out a bit.

I had really intense craving for salty snacks and foods, but my appetite didn’t get better until about Tuesday…at which point I at an entire full size order of pad thai and pot stickers by myself.  And then it wasn’t until Thursday that I actually felt hydrated and balanced out again.

The half ironman distance triathlon is everything I imagined it would be: exciting, painful, tiring, mentally exhausting, rewarding, and exhilarating. The atmosphere of a triathlon was very similar to a marathon in that people were everywhere cheering for athletes that they only knew by the number on their bib.  Athletes joked with each other on the beach to calm each other’s nerves, and then continually urged each other on during the run. Volunteers gave you high fives as you passed through the water stations.

The cliché “It’s not the destination; it’s the journey” is the best way for me to describe this experience. I trained with the mentality that my goal was not to finish a half ironman race, but rather to learn how to incorporate distance and intensive training into my daily life

I made training for this race a part of my regular life without making it my entire life. I incorporated rest time into my weekly plans and kept those plans very flexible. Having children, a home, a full-time career, and a healthy relationship with my wife took priority over playing on my bicycle and running in circles around my neighborhood.

I learned how to make time to train without sacrificing any of those other things. In fact, I think it taught me how to make more time for my family and focus harder on them. My wife is also getting back into running so it taught us to communicate better to take turns training - granted, we had to learn the hard way through a miscommunication or three here and there, but we learned!. I’ve also learned to eat better and actually now crave vegetables, a food group which I’ve neglected my entire life.

Will I do another half iron? Now that it’s sunk in for a week or two, I definitely think I will.  How will my approach differ?  Race wise, I need to cool it on the bike. I burned all of my matches on the wheels without remembering that I needed to run a half marathon afterward.

If I were asked which part of my training paid off the most, it was definitely my swimming. My swim was the most comfortable I’ve ever felt in the water. In the future I’d like to get faster (like anyone does), but I don’t think I could ever feel better during the event.

I’m truly disappointed in my run time because I know I trained well enough to do better than I did. That’s just a result of my lack of discipline on the bike though, which I learned the hard way this first time around.

Will I bump up to the full Ironman distance? I’m not sure yet. I rushed into distance running when I first started in college, got burned out, and I don’t want to see the same results with triathlons. Could I double the distance and essentially double the training? Unless I get even more efficient with my time, it’d be very hard to do without sacrificing time in other parts of my life. I’d like to be able to finish a half ironman more comfortably before I decide to double the effort on race day.

But I have plenty of time to think about the future.  For now, all I can say is this:  I did 70.3!

Boz:  Thanks to Nick for letting me stalk him for the day, and thanks to all of you who followed our report.  Perhaps this is the last you’ll read of Nick and me together.  But then again, maybe Nick will decide to run a full triathlon, and I’ll tag along to tell you all about it.

At first glance, it looks like a hot tub.  But those are ice cubes in there with the runners!

A few pictures from athletes digging deep over the final 100 yards.

I don't know exactly what this guy did for the other parts of the triathlon, but all I can say is, "Wow!"

Nick, within smelling distance of the finish, and unfortunately, my shirt.

That's Nick's mom in the foreground capturing her son in the finishing chute.

Good work, buddy!

"So, dad, you trained all these months and swam, biked, and ran all day, and all you got was this medal?"

Family pics.

The athlete and the author.

70.3 - Part VI

Boz:  Frustrated with myself for missing Nick at the transition area, I hustled back to my car and started driving along the running course, trying to spot him among the throng of runners.  While I didn’t immediately find him, I did spot a number of interesting things.  I saw runners “investigating” the pine trees that lined the course.  I saw several runners battling with leg cramps and couldn’t imagine the torture they would be facing over the final 10 miles.  I also saw large chairs for sale in someone’s front yard, and thought that they could have made a nice profit if they instead offered to rent them out for five minutes at a time.  Finally, I saw the leader making his way back on the out-and-back course to finish in a time of just over 4 hours – I personally think out-and-back courses are kind of cruel that way as some runners were barely beginning a half marathon while watching someone else finish.

At this point, I began to get a little annoyed with Nick and blame him for not being more visible.  Why couldn’t he wear a nice bright pink shirt, instead of a black sleeveless shirt like 50% of the other runners?  Well, at least, I remember him telling me that he had switched to running with a forefront strike, so I figured I could just look for a black-shirted guy doing that.  But, I quickly realized I have no clue what a forefront strike is.  So, I decided to simply proceed to the mile 5 water stop and just wait for him.

While hanging out near the volunteers, I noticed that a young boy was obsessed with spraying runners with a garden hose.  He called out to me and said, “Mister, may I spray you?”  I would have loved a cool down on this 85 degree day and the water would have nicely disguised my sweat.  However, , I envisioned how my wife would react if told her that her camera was ruined because I was hot.  So, I politely declined his good offer. 

This water stop was on the narrow shoulder of a two lane road, and as mentioned previously, this was an out and back race, meaning runners were coming from both directions.  I was just waiting for two runners to collide and fall into oncoming traffic as they were grabbing a cup of water.  My wife’s camera and I were ready were ready to capture the upcoming tragedy.

My gaze shifted from the transition area just in time to see Nick come into view.

Nick:  My first mile was painful. As planned, I walked through the water station at mile 1 and added ice and water to my bottle.  My feet were still numb and the sun had come out. I had a running hat on but it was simply trapping heat against my head, so I took it off and shoved it in the back of my shirt.  I doused my head with ice water, which helped, and took off again.

Although I felt like I was crawling, I was surprisingly holding about an 8:00 pace. When I reached the 2^nd mile marker, I saw the first runner on his way back to the finish. He was cruising, and actually smiling huge. There were no other runners in sight so he won by a long shot at what I estimated as a sub-4 hour time. That gave me a little boost of motivation so I pushed on with my pace…for about a half mile, when I had to again stop to walk. I was about 21 minutes into the run and I felt miserable. I checked my watch, and my heart rate had spiked up to 180 beats per minute. That’s my peak rate, and I can’t sustain that effort for more than a mile on my normal training runs. I instantly decided that any time goals were out of the question and I just had to try to finish the thing.

I was sweating bullets and craving food, so I ate another gel from my belt pocket and walked for about 4 minutes. It was oddly refreshing to get that junk in my stomach and my heart rate dropped back down to a more comfortable level, so I tried to run again.  Within a minute, it was back up to 170. I held the pace for about another half mile then walked again. I was toast.

Boz:  Nick ran into the mile 5 water stop, and I quickly rushed up to ask him how he was doing.  Given that he had killed the first two segments, I expected him to flash me a thumbs up sign and dash off.  But instead, he seemed content to walk with me for a bit.  He eventually replied to my question by saying, “I’m spent.  I shouldn’t have gone so fast on the bike.  My wind is fine, my legs are fine; it is just that my heart rate skyrockets to 180 every time I start running.”

He pulled a hat out of his the back of his shorts and asked if I would take it.  I felt honored, kind of like when Mean Joe Greene tossed his sweaty jersey to a kid in the famous 1979 Coca-Cola commercial.  The hat was fully soaked, kind of like my t-shirt by this point.  Before he began running again, Nick showing surprising interest in me by asking, “So how are you doing?  You have been all over the place today!”  I assured him that I was doing just fine, figuring it was taboo to bring up how badly my inner thighs were chafing.

Nick:  I walked through another water stop at mile 3.5 and took off again, with the goal of making it to the mile 5 water stop.  I made it to about mile 4.5 and then had the sudden feeling that my bladder was about to explode. I could see the mile 5 water station in the distance but imagined a big line at the porta potty. I found a nice tree down in the ditch and hopped down there the best I could to make a urea donation. The good news was that I appeared to be well hydrated.

I trudged back up on the road and ran to the mile 5 mile water station where I found Boz on the side of the road waiting for me, tape recorder in hand. I answered his questions, engaged in small talk and non-verbally invited him for a walk with me well after the water station. Before taking off, I asked him a favor. I can only imagine what he was thinking as I reached back and started to reach into my clothes.  I handed him my sweaty hat and ask if he’ll carry it the rest of the way for me. He gladly accepted my sweaty souvenir and we parted ways.

Boz:  “Wow, I’m sure,” replied Jodi, when I texted her that Nick was feeling pretty rough at Mile 5.  “I’m hoping to get some Johnnie Bread on your campus.”  I imagine Nick would have also liked about 2 loaves of the stuff at this point.

I drove up to the mile 7.3 water stop and waited for Nick.  It was kind of fun to watch people approach the water stop and treat it like a fast food restaurant, calling out as they approached “Two waters!”  “Gatorade!”  “Ice!” 

When Nick arrived and slowed to walk with me again for a bit, the first question I asked him was, “So, you have about 6 miles to go.  How does this compare to the same point in marathon?”

“Mentally, this is tougher because it is longer, and physically I am spent, completely empty.  But at least I don’t hurt the way I do at the end of a marathon.”  He told me how he had kept up an 8 minute per mile pace since he last saw me and then again expressed surprising interest in me while in the middle of his race by asking “How is the book coming along?”  What dawned on me at this time is that while athletes usually don’t like to talk or answer questions near the end of a long event, they are happy to hear someone else chatter away – anything to take their mind off the effort required to take another step.  So, I rambled about my book for a bit until he was ready to run again.

Nick:  I’m not sure how far we walked together but it greatly helped my mood and spirits, and my heart rate was down in the 120’s.  I took off again and held a good comfortable pace for about 2.5 miles. I walked briefly through the 6.25 mile water stop, which also doubled as the 7.5 mile water stop on the way back. I saw Boz’s car on the other side of the road as I went through it the first time and refilled my water bottle with ice and water. Then on the second time through I stopped to walk with him a bit. I felt decent during that last stretch but now that I was walking again it felt so, so good to just keep walking. Boz and I finished our conversation and I attempted to run.  I couldn’t have made it another quarter mile or so before I was walking again.

Boz:  “The Abbey bells are ringing for him!” Jodi replied when I texted her to say that Nick was looking better with 6 miles to go.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the bells ring every 15 minutes, even when Nick is not running triathlons.

I drove up mile10.7, which was also mile 2.4 for those on the “out” portion of the run.  It really was a tale of two races at this point, with those at 10.7 smelling the finish and those at 2.4 dreading what was to come.  To give the runners a boost, I blared Rocky music out of the trunk of my Chevy Impala.  If you want to feel valuable, head out to a race with “Gonna Fly Now” and “Eye of Tiger” on your I-pod.  Everyone will love you and you may even get a comment like I did from one runner, “I just want to shake the hand and say thank you to the man who saved my life.”

I was checking my watch and observed that Nick’s pace seems to have slowed considerably.  I was worried.  And as each minute passed and it seemed impossible that he would be taking this long, I worried even more.  Perhaps he took a short cut?  No he wouldn’t do that.  Maybe he collapsed, and I will be the one in charge of telling his wife and three young children.

Finally, I saw Nick coming in the distance and he raised his hands above his head when he heard the music.  I asked him if he had any final comments before I saw him at the finish line, “This sucks.”

I asked him if he wanted me to jog with him to the curb, not wanting to slow him down, and he laughed heartily and somewhat eerily, almost as if I had just asked him if I could eat his first born

I said, “Okay.  I guess you are good walking for a bit.”

Nick replied, “Now it hurts.  Now it is marathon pain. All I can think now is that I need to focus.  I think I quit sweating.”  I wanted to offer him some of my sweat, as I had more than enough for both of us, but decided against it.

“Yeah, not too much left now, though” I said, and then realized that I spoke too soon.  Relief doesn’t really come until you have less than one mile to go. The next mile and a half were going to be very, very tough on Nick.

As he soldiered onward, I called out, “See you at the finish buddy!” even though it may have been more appropriate to phrase it as a question instead of a statement.

Nick:  The sun was now directly overhead and shining down on my back.  It was just plain hot, and I could feel the heat radiating from the blacktop onto my cheeks. I doused my head with ice water and could feel it heat up as it streamed down my back. I walked for a bit over a mile, and then tried to run again.  I got through another mile at about a 9:30 pace. I slowed to walk yet again and ate my last gel. At this point a few other guys and I start to leap frog each other, alternating turns walking and running. We’re all doing the same thing: running for a couple minutes, walking for a few minutes.

I spotted Boz’s car again just around the street corner ahead. As his windows rolled down, I could hear the Rocky music loud and strong. I attempted to mimic Rocky and run towards him with my hands in the air, but didn’t make it very far. He met me and I gladly walked again. I now told him that this was as close as I can remember to the feeling of mile 23 of a marathon.

But the difference that I couldn’t express at the time was that I was actually more tired than sore. I still hurt, but it was mainly my knees and feet. During a marathon, my whole body would hurt. My back, my shoulders, my neck. Everything. The pounding of the marathon definitely hurt worse.

I was also overheating and couldn’t drink enough water. I brought a 750 mL water bottle with me on the run, and I’d refilled it 4 times already. I was occasionally squirting water over my head and back, but over half of it was definitely entering my body.

We walked together for about a block before we parted ways.  But this time, I didn’t even pretend to try to and start running again. A few moments later, Boz buzzed by with Rocky still blaring. I gave a fist pump and just kept walking, hoping I had enough left to make it the final 2.4 miles.

Next Up:  The Finish?

Part VII may be found here:  http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/703-part-vii.html

The chairs that should have been advertised for rent instead of for sale.

I am sure there is a reason for this type of apparel, I just don’t know what it is.  I also wonder how much time he lost due to the drag of his beard.

I never thought I would refer to Nick as a sight for sore eyes, but after not seeing him for an hour, this was good.

As my wife can attest to, I have trouble drinking water without spilling when I am just sitting in a chair.  Here we see Nick carrying 2 glasses of water and dumping them into his water bottle, while running.

Feeling the pain.

Back up the hill, where you can see the out-and-back effect and how people had to jog into the road as a result.

This guy ran with an unusual open hat so that he could have a bag of ice directly on his head!  I mentally referred to him as Ice Hat Dude whenever I saw him.

Everyone play follow the leader now.

I love the intensity.

Goodbye until I see you again.

A few pics while blaring the Rocky music and waiting for Nick at the 10.7 mile mark.

At long last, he arrives, looking much better than he feels.