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| Smiling, crying, hard to say... |
This marathon pretty much wraps up my "marathons I don't want to write about" because even though I didn't know it at the time, this would end up being my last shitty marathon. Ever. Sorry, but there is no better word to describe what running marathons had become, due to my obsession with running a 3:45 marathon time. (In order to qualify for the Boston marathon). Perhaps it's fitting that I can't find but a few pictures taken that week-end. Maybe I will come across them some day and add them here. It wasn't all bad, because in the end I ran my hardest and fastest marathon yet, a 3:47:17, but I had missed my ultimate goal and wasn't happy.
In 1998 the San Antonio marathon wasn't yet a part of the Competitor's group of Rock and Roll marathons, so it was a much smaller event, which I preferred, especially since I had just ran their first ever Rock and Roll event in San Diego earlier that year--madness! I liked the course too, pretty scenic tour of San Antonio with a finish at the Alamodome. My family came down to watch, and Toby actually brought along a mountain bike to follow me along the course with.
On race morning when I stepped out and felt the 90% humidity and warm air I actually started crying. I knew what was in store for me. If only I could have done then what I do now, (slow the hell down and enjoy the ride), but hey some people need to get hit over the head with the hammer. And so the story goes, I was doing a pretty decent job of hitting my pace at the mile markers, and every time I'd see Toby on the bike I'd talk about dropping out. I was so miserable, and there was my family at mile 16, happily cheering for me as I came by. I'd like to think I put on my game face for them, but I bet I said something that would make a sailor blush. Later in the race I started slowing and cramping and was having trouble finding the mile markers, so I wasn't sure of my pace at times, and how close I was. (And some mile markers seemed to be "off" too). If only I had a GARMIN back then! I knew I was close, but really had no idea how close until I got to mile 26, looked down at my watch and saw the time: 3:45...My heart sank. Running as fast as I could for the remaining .2, which included the uphill to the Alamodome would take too long to make it in time. I had missed it yet again. But something happened then that I will never forget. A little old Hispanic woman was on the side of the road, pointed me out, and with her fist pumping into the sky she shouted out in broken English, "You are an animal! An ANIMAL!" It made me laugh and it made me cry at the same time. To this day I use her expression to get through rough patches. "I am an ANIMAL!!!" It works!
After San Antonio I made a necessary mind shift. If I was going to run a 3:45 it would have to come to me. I wasn't going to try to force it upon myself without regards to the weather or whatever else stood in the way, as it was now apparent that I was pretty close to running whatever my true potential was. I had ran the best I could and I needed to be happy with the end result. Period.
Not that all of the marathons that I have ran since been rosy. I've had a few that took me to the "ugly place", and really challenged me in ways only the marathon distance can, but I have always been OK with what the clock says at the finish line on every single one of them. Finishing a marathon should always be something to be proud of!
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