Race Weekend

I start to think about the race a little bit. Yes, I am competing for a time. I am not running to finish. Finishing isn’t the point for a runner since before puberty. For a runner who at the age of 21, can now say he has been running for over half his life, it is difficult to explain my feelings for the Sunday. You grow up watching runners. You go to the Twin Cities Marathon every years since you can remember and have seen your coaches places in the top 20 on a number of occasions.

The marathon to me, is something very very different than to the general public. It is an 18 mile tempo run followed by an 8.2 mile race. That is how I see it and expect it to be. The lactic acid will not swell my veins until the very final miles and I will be in pain, a lot of it, but nothing compared to that boy. At that point, it will be like any other cross country race, my body will be completely worn to shreds. It will be a mind game. It will require positive thoughts. It will require my favorite songs to be on replay in my mind.  It will require inspirational thoughts from those who I look up to most. It will require to think about everything that makes me angry and take that surge of adrenaline out on the pavement. I will fight, no flight this time. It will require me to think about the people I cherish most in this world, my work friends, my family, my AEPi Brothers, my coaches, teachers, rabbis. I will visualize them cheering me on in spirit. I will do anything I can to ensure that I put one leg in front of the other, and fast. Thoughts like only four miles left will not occur.

Lance Armstrong’s “Pain is only temporary” quote will be in my mind. The Wayzata coach who said, “Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful” will be there. Jamie Kirkpatrick, Matt Gabrielson and Jason Lemkhule’s sideline words of inspiration will up in that crazy brain of mine.

Now onto logistics. I will not speak about my finishing time this weekend. It is only in my mind and yes, I have a finish time that I want, down to the minute. Matt Olson, will be the only person I really speak to about my times, but here’s the game plan: I will do my first two or three miles slow. Very slow. Dead slow, relatively speaking. My pace will slowly fall for the next ten or so miles as my average pace time will not actually be hit until at least the half. At the half, I expect that I will be feeling pretty good, as I usually have on my pace runs. This is when I shift up the gears. Hoping to go through the half a minute or two slower than what I would be doing if I were running even splits, I will up the pace to a controlled tempo. At this point, I will try to control myself until mile 17 or 18. At mile 18 (or that’s what most pros I’ve talked to say), I will throw my parents my watch and I will run. I will race. I will find some guy and try to pick  him off, and like a man climbing a ladder, I will pull myself closer and closer to that beautiful downhill finish. At mile 18, for lack of a better term, shit gets real. This is where my hill runs, tempo runs, strength training and speed work will truly be tested. I have done everything that has been asked of me, and more. My body is well rested and my diet has been strict (except for the few glasses of red wine). Then there is the part that makes me quiver like a child. Those last 4.2 miles. Miles 22-26.2, and yes, that point two will be the hardest of them all. Those are the miles I’ve never run before. These are the miles that will make or break me. And this is where all those nasty thoughts are going to be battling to enter the forefront of my mind. This is where the race no longer becomes a thing of fitness, but a game. A very, very difficult mind game. A mind game that is still unfathomable to a virgin marathoner.

I will finish strong. I refuse to do anything less. My friends and family that are there will be giving me specially prepared fluids and pre cut cliff/power bars on the way. I will burn some 3,300 calories and lose about 2 pounds during this run. Glucose tablets and things of the like will be essential to spike my blood sugar when I absolutely must have it. My entire race depends not only on me, but the success of getting these bags on time. If all the stars align as I assume they will, I will be on top of the world come Sunday afternoon.