NOLA, Marathon Goddess: Rn'R New Orleans Race Report

When I woke up that morning, I knew it.  Despite only a few hours of actual sleep, I was ready for this one. 

I went through my morning routine of pacing back and forth between the bed and the bathroom, trying to get dressed, double-checking my bag, reassessing my race-wear, triple-checking my bag, filling my water bottles, pulling food out of my bag, arranging gel and bars in my pockets for the race, putting food and backup shirts into my bag, and putting my shoes on, oh and quadruple-checking my bag without turning the lights on as to not disturb my wife (who lay in bed contemplating my sanity).  I stayed in the room, munching on homemade granola and rechecking/readjusting everything while she went downstairs and ate breakfast like someone who’s never been afflicted with Pre Marathon Syndrome.

When I finally felt confident with what I was wearing and making my wife carry as backup gear, we walked a few blocks to the starting line.  We posed for a few pictures, snapped a few of other runners in outrageous shorts or pants, and I got ready for the start. 

My first critique came about 20 minutes before the race (guess what it had to do with)…

Things That Could Have Been Better

Bathrooms: Yes, bathrooms.  I know that 20 minutes before the start of a race with 20,000 entrants is not the time to seek out a port-a-pot, but has the need ever struck a runner at any other time?  Near my corral, I found about 20 bathrooms, but a few minutes in that line had me quickly searching for an alternative.  I checked 1 block up, near the starting line; same situation.  I hoped I could hold it and nestled in to a spot along the edge in my corral.

After the race, I looked back at a map of the starting area, and found that there were supposedly several port-a-pots a block or two from where I’d been.  Maybe there were enough for 20,000 nervous runners, but I doubt it.  And once the horn went off, it would be several miles before I saw another one.

Already a mix of what should have been multiple corrals, thousands of us began inching toward the starting line.  Finally, someone with a megaphone said something about “Corral 5”, counted down from 5, and sat back as Frank Shorter blew an air horn with a caught-in-the-moment smile.

Mile Markers: My impression of the first mile: the measuring was off.  My plan for the race was to take thirty second walk breaks every mile, and I still had not crossed the Mile 1 marker at the end of my first walk.  I crossed that first marker at what my Garmin recognized as 1.1 miles from the start.  Immediately, a slight panic ran through my mind as I contemplated a strategy to compensate for the extra unknown distance I would have to make up in my target time.  But this problem worked itself out.  The measurements were consistent from then on.  For the next two hours, I crossed every mile marker at “__.1” Garmin distance.  I had decided at mile 3 that whatever the measurements, I would keep my ppGm (pace per Garmin mile) and give whatever I had left in the final mile.

To my surprise, the measurements actually began to fix themselves.  At mile 14, I noticed the marker was slightly closer to Garmin mileage.  One-by-one, they crept closer to me until, at mile 23, I began my walk break the moment I crossed the marker.

 
Streets: I had heard whispers that the course would be traversing some cobblestone streets.  Although this year’s course was cobblestone-free, the first half of the course was just as bad.  St. Charles and Esplanade, while possibly two of the most beautiful streets I have ever run, are not friendly toward feet or ankles.  Most of the streets looked like they hadn’t been resurfaced in a few decades, but these two featured large slants toward the outsides, significant enough to ward off any runners from taking what would have been the shortest route as we ran west on St. Charles.  Many runners, in fact, chose to run on the soft dirt of the street car track rather than deal with the holey asphalt.  We did not see a smooth surface until Lakeshore Dr. at mile 16.5, but we had to sacrifice our tree-cover to gain that ground.

Finish Area: The greatest fault of the finish area is that it was about 5k from the starting line.  My wife, who walked with me to the start, walked down to look for me in the French Quarter, walked up to the finish line, and then walked back to the hotel with me, put in a good 10 miles of her own (I was very proud of her).  Other than that, it looked to be pretty well organized.

Things That Were Better

Water Stations: I was actually pretty frustrated with the water stations at first.  I completely missed the first one (which must have been pretty small) because I was on the other side of the road.  Waterstation 2 wasn’t any better.  I called for water, got an answer, and grabbed Gatorade.  Pet peave.  Water was on the other side of the street, and it took some athletic maneuvers to get there..  After that, the stations were much better.  My volunteer of the day award goes to the little kid who was calling out “Gatorade in green cups, water in white!”  From the mouths of babes comes sanity during a marathon.  From then on, the stations were often crowded, but that stretched about a dozen tables long, and kept both drinks on the same side of the road.

 
Elevation Change:  Around mile 14, a runner near me remarked, “Oh my God, a hill!”  A moment later, we experienced a slight drop in elevation, and then a short incline as we emerged on the other side of the highway we’d just run under.  This was the first “hill” I had noticed, too.  A few miles later we made another short and certainly not steep climb to reach Lakeshore Dr. for our run along Lake Pontchartrain.  I made a mental note to use that short drop to energize me at mile 22, and continued along the flatness of the bank.  The only legitimate climb would come as we crossed a bridge just before and after mile 20.  At that point, the warmth and lack of shade were beginning to fatigue me, but I found myself climbing that hill well, and picking up plenty of speed on the way down to gain a little wiggle room for my pacing on that mile.

Scenery: But of course, the best part was the scenery.  The magnificent trees of St. Charles Ave. loomed over us, providing both encouragement and humility to all who passed under their outstretched limbs.  Their leaves remained still in the morning, almost intrigued by our sport.  And Esplanade certainly had the historic-looking vegetation to match, along with intricate and effervescent houses that could survive nowhere else.  Along these streets, there was no room to think about the task that lay ahead or the energy already spent, only to admire the beauty that architects, human and natural, had created together.

The Rock n’ Roll

When I met my cousin (who had run the Half) in the family reunion area, she confessed to being a little disappointed with the music.  “It wasn’t bad,” she commented, but she expected a little more from a series claiming so lofty a title.  I agreed, recounting that it was no better than the hubris-free Flying Pig Marathon, but there were a few moments when the bands certainly did help my energy and mind-set.

I have to give credit to the bands who took time to play songs that have sentimental value to a very small group of people, namely the band between miles 2-3.  After the frustration of missing my first water station, hearing a cover of Better Than Ezra’s “Good” was a major mood-changer.  I hummed for a bit and got right back on pace.

Other moments of inspiration came between mile 8-9 when, while trying to make up lost time from a pee break, I saw a troop of men in kilts playing “Jump”.  And I did.  Then again at the intersection that we crossed at miles 16.5, 18.5, and 22, another lively band provided a little excitement long after the initial thrill of the race had worn off.  Kudos to those guys.

Personal Feelings

This was my breakthrough marathon.   

My first two marathons had resulted in my walking a major portion of the last 6 miles, and as calmly as I tried to act, I was pretty nervous about a three-peat.

As I sat down among the roots of a tree, waiting for my wife to find me post-race, I didn’t think about the race.  I just sat, and enjoyed sitting.  There were no “what if’s”, NOLA helped me achieve peace with the Marathon.  There was closure, not just with this race, but every race that had come before.

At mile 17.5, I started getting emotional because I knew that this was it.  I felt too good not to commit to finishing with the pace I was running.  Until that moment, I had tried not to think ahead of myself, but then, I knew this would end with me running, whether or not that meant pain.

At 21, I came close to shedding a few tears.  I was farther than I’d ever been and knew that I was going to finish it.  During my first Marathon, I cried at the finish because I was so thankful it was over.  This time, I was overjoyed to be in the race.

I slowed down near the end.  After 23 miles between 8:33-8:37 pace (minus mile 8, which included a 30 second pee break in a bush in plain view of a few thousand people, and two miles after that to make up the time), the best I could do was 8:40.  Then 8:56, then 9:17.  But I kept running.  My strategy had been to take a 30 second walk break every mile, and, although my body told me to cheat at 25.7, I stuck to the plan.  When I saw that beautiful “Mile 26” sign, my body jerked to life.  I didn’t care whether the course measurements were off, I ran as hard as I could until they told me to stop.  I changed gears so quickly that my hamstrings went from undaunted to almost snapping in under 2 seconds.

I crossed the line at 3:45:57, 57 seconds behind my target time.  But it didn’t matter; I finished the race.  I finished it.

For months, while running intervals around the park in 30 degree weather, missing Ravens games to get my long run in, and leaving my wife and our warm bed to run in the rain, I envisioned what it would look like when the Marathon gods smiled on me.  There’s no picture of it, but I bet it looked good.