CIM 2011 - Race Report

12/4/2011. My 26^th marathon. Perfect weather conditions (low-40s, clear and dry, maybe a slight tailwind for part of the race but mostly calm), awesome field. Well organized & well measured. The people who put on this event are exceptional and deserve much kudos. This isn’t a good marathon, it’s a GREAT marathon. The West coast standard, for sure.

On the plus side:
* made it to the starting line healthy
* PR by 0:43 (previous- 2:40:45 Boston ’97)
* 4:14 faster than last marathon (2:44:16 Eugene ‘10)
* 5^th in age group (40-44) & 6^th place master’s (yes, a 55-y.o. ran 2:36!)
* no stops during the race, porta potty or otherwise
* top finisher over 2:40:00 =)
* held it together mentally
* top 100 overall (92^nd)

On the minus side:

* at least 0:03 slower than goal time
* inexplicably, body didn’t cooperate in the final miles
* burned WAY too much muscle, which means a slower recovery which could affect Houston prep
* no idea what went wrong
* bittersweet performance given my higher self-expectations

Splits: (taken manually exactly at each course mile marker)

6:14=06:14
6:01=12:15
6:07=18:22
6:00=24:22
6:08=30:30 (5)
6:02=36:32
6:01=42:33
6:00=48:33
6:04=54:37
6:00=60:37 (10)
6:04=66:41
6:04=72:45
5:56=78:41
5:58=84:39
6:04=90:43 (15)
6:00=96:43
5:59=1:42:42
6:03=1:48:45
6:03=1:54:48
6:07=2:00:55 (20)
6:10=2:07:05
6:11=2:13:16
6:17=2:19:33
6:16=2:25:49
6:22=2:32:11 (25)
6:26=2:38:37
1:25=2:40:02 (6:06.2 avg pace)

Halfs:  79:15 (6:02.7) + 80:47 (6:09.7)

5-mile splits: 30:30, 30:07, 30:06, 30:12, 31:16 (ouch)

BEFORE

Fly into SMF arriving 1:00pm Saturday, city Yolobus to convention center, only $2, woohoo. Expo, pickup packet, check chip, walk past booths, nothing special just like every expo, leave after 15 minutes. Walk 3/4 mile to hotel, Vagabond Inn Executive (Tim Swietlik will tell you how comfortable the beds are here). Lie on bed with both feet up, really worried about persistent tight calves. Wonder if that recent strong West/Northwest wind will finally really be calm or slight East as forecast. TV & iPod. Dinner at River City Grill (salad, bread, chicken parmesan & pasta), just a couple blocks from the hotel in an outdoor shopping center. Order more bread to go, adding to the breakfast stuff I’d already planned. Take magnesium (natural sleep assistance) & L-Glutamine, try to sleep at 8:30pm, it’s not working, toss & turn for the better part of 7 hrs, maybe slept a couple. Out of bed at 3:45. Green tea, chinese “energy blend” granules, sausage patty, bread, banana, bathroom x 2, stretch, use “the stick” all over legs, bundle up, leave at 4:50 and walk a block to Holiday Inn for bus pickup. Feeling really relaxed and awesome, I know today will be my day. Long schoolbus ride, i-pod just like the guy next to me, the bus is full of lively conversation except for us two. Increase the volume to drown out the chatter. Heard shuffled tracks by Indigo Girls, Garbage, Creed, U2, Tori Amos, Midnight Oil, Fuel, blink-182, Sarah McLachlan, Smashing Pumpkins, The Cult, Eve 6, Rage Against the Machine, etc. When I hear “This time the bullet cold rocked ya, yellow ribbon instead of a swastika. Nothing proper ‘bout your propaganda…” by Rage, I think ‘Damn, this album came out freakin’ 20 years ago, and we’re still in fucking Iraq.’ Which reminds me of my first CIM back then, 18 years ago in 1993, age 22, 2^nd marathon ever. Major wall, 2:43:20 after having hit 21 @ 2:06:00. 37:20 for 5.2=Ouch. That won’t happen today, I reassure myself. I think about other politically charged songs like “American Idiot” by Green Day, but my mind won’t stay there long as it expectedly drifts right back to ‘It’s just 6:00s to 6:05s. Nothing but a long tempo run. Nothing but a long tempo run.’ Off the bus, walk around. Jog. Bathroom. Stretch. Jog some more. Can’t remember ever seeing more people warming up for a marathon. This crowd is serious. The faster women look like they’re out for blood. Good. Me too – gonna redeem & make it count this time. Bathroom again. Strip down. Should I wear my hat? Yes (good decision, as the cold continued for awhile). Cram everything else into a plastic bag & tie it tight. Scramble to find the appropriate sweats truck. Tie shoes & secure chip. One hand on a square carboard trashcan & stretch both slightly tight quads as I hear the star spangled banner. Weave through aways and line up 6-8 rows back, don’t want to start too fast. Countdown, gun & we’re moving.

DURING

First third of a mile and I’m right next to the 2:46 pace group. (How cool is it that they had an elite-purpose-specific pace group this year? Seems to have worked, looking at the long string of women finishing from 2:43 to 2:45. 29 under 2:46:00. I wonder how many of them are Americans and first-time trials qualifiers. Probably a good chunk. Pretty cool.) My Garmin pace says 6:20, so I pick it up a bit. Mile 1 in 6:14, perfect since I definitely wanted to err on the side of conservative the first few miles. The pace is strong but comfortable and I settle into low 6:00s after that. I run from 4 to 9 or so behind a couple young guys, who are chatting with one guy and then another he hands off to from a relay team pacing alongside them who seem to be mostly doing the relay for fun (or maybe a legal way to get some pacing from their buddies). They congratulate one of the relayers on a recent 16:40, which I presume is a 5k, sounds like XC. Good runners. The two running the full tell me it’s their first time and ask my goal to which I immediately respond “sub-2:40”. They don’t mention a time but that they want to be conservative because of the unknown. That’s smart I say – they should run even splits, thinking how zen of me and that I will be the master of even or negative splits today. They drop it to 5:55s or better, I let them go, and they have quite a gap by halfway. I wonder if I’ll see them again. I won’t. Congrats to those two, whoever they were, for running strong their first time out the gate.

I take my first GU along with a pair of ibuprofen at 9. I’d decided to carry them due to strange calf soreness the last couple taper weeks that never completely went away. Calves still feel ever-so-slightly tight despite a heavy lathering of Biofreeze but not too bad, but I decide to err on the side of caution and take the NSAIDs just in case, figuring they should last 1.5 hrs no problem and could serve a general anti-inflammatory purpose when the going gets tougher. Around mile 10, finally the sun on the road provides some much-welcomed warmth and I think that I might later write something completely cheeseball like: ‘As the sun warmed the day, it ignited the fire in my soul and under my feet as I went on to finish the race of my life,’ or some such non-sense.

Around the same time, my left foot starts to get that feeling that the laces are too tight (Nike Lunaracer1), although I swear I didn’t overtighten. No way I’m stopping unless it gets really bad, I can’t afford to lose any unnecessary time out here. The strain on those top of foot tendons has happened before, and the pain is bearable so I continue on, think about other things, and get used to it. It reminds me of something Bret Kimple said to me: “The thing about the marathon is that things can go so ugly, so early, and you’ve still got a long way to go.” This does not fall in the 'so ugly' category, I tell myself, ignoring the now moderate & persistent pain. After a few more miles, I don't even notice it again the rest of the race.

From 9 to 12 I slowly gain on a pack of 6 or so and decide to run just a tad quicker through half to pickup a good split there. I become the pack leader as we cross the halfway mats in 79-low and continue to lead it through 14 with a second sub-6:00 (check out the results to see how others with half splits in the 79:11-79:20 range fared. Looks like 3 of 8 finished strong, and the other 5, including me, faded, as I finished 4 of 8 out of that halfway pack. But it was a great pack to be in until it broke up around 17.5). About 4 times in 6 miles we see enthusiastic supporters of a guy named “Lucas” cheering him on. About the 3rd time we see his posse, someone in the pack asks “So who’s Lucas?” and a tall dude raises his hand. “Popular guy” I say, and several of us have a 3-second laugh.

Past 16 and it’s starting to feel not-so-easy. Hmmm. No panic, I just pull out my 2^nd GU and finish it by the mile 17 aid station. This is my favorite part of the course: wide, even pavement, thousands of trees in brilliant fall color lining Fair Oaks Blvd. The section where, the last 2 times I ran here, in ’07 and ’08, I started a long and persistent drive to the finish resulting in negative splits (but wasn’t racing either time, so had plenty left in the tank). As I pass 18 and approach 30k, which in my mind is the halfway point of any marathon, I feel almost exactly the opposite I’d envisioned. I’d visualized really winding it up and then unleashing 6:00s and better from 30k in, but instead I’m sensing either A) a bad patch, or B) the beginning of the end. To add to this feeling, a few guys from my pack, which has now strung out not only single file but is well splintered, seem to be realizing MY dream as they start to disappear into the distance. Why am I not able to start dropping the 5:50s and 5:55s I’d hoped for? That’s ok, though, let them go. I’m still (reasonably) comfortable at 6:0x’s. Race plan still intact.

Now nearly to 19 and my quads are both getting real sore real quick. That’s ok, I tell myself, even just maintain that 6:05 tempo and I’ve still got plenty of time. But that psychology works for less than 10 more minutes, and as I reach the mats at 20 with a not-so-easy 6:07 and just under 2:01 total, a 39 flat 10k starts to sound not-so-easy, a distance I’d already just run 3-in-a-row of at a “moderate/tempo” pace around mid-37s. I try some math, but never quite finish it. If 6:26s is 40-flat, then 39-flat is… well, under 6:20s at least. Don’t even think about using ALL that time. You don’t want to cut it so close. That wasn’t the plan. Go for 6:05-6:15s. Hold it together. Yes, it feels like you’re crawling when this starts to happen, but you’re not, it’s just a sensation. I know this from experience. But still, crap. It’s gonna hurt. BIG TIME hurt. I catch back up to Lucas, who has become a casualty of the “accelerations” at the front end of our former pack (actually, the few guys who pulled away just kept running even, didn’t really speed up, it just felt like they had because some of us started going slightly backwards- funny how that happens). I use his pace for a half mile then go by him and a woman who was well ahead of us and has completely exploded. I’m taking any tangent I can find, running in the gutter when possible where the road curves. I feel ok up the little bridge, which I think is at 21.5 but can never remember for some reason. Not feeling so good down it, super-ouch on the quads as I wonder if they might give out completely, sending me to the pavement. I keep drinking Ultima every mile, hoping somehow the electrolytes will give a boost, but I know it’s too late. Starting to be in a daze, everything is slowing down and becoming sorta surreal, like the dramatic point in a movie where it goes to slow-mo and the star doesn’t see or hear anything other than what they’re intently focused on. Somehow I miss the final GU handout I’d been planning on. That’s ok, I think, because experience tells me that if I think I need 4 GUs in a 2.5 hr period (I also ate one on the starting line), that 4^th one won’t do a damn thing for me. I know it's just mind vs. body the rest of the way anyway. There's no such thing as a magic boost or second wind once this feeling begins. I know this all too well.

Mile 23 in 6:17. Lord. 2:19:33. I’d been telling myself the week pre-race that a 2:20-flat here would be key to going sub-2:40, but had also thought about how different a 2:20 with 3.2 to go would feel if I was feeling good vs. feeling cooked, and how I would deal with that mentally. Well, I wasn’t just cooked, I was overcooked. I wasn't just well done, but completely burnt, inedible. I was that burger left on the grill for 4 hrs and discovered at the end of the party. My legs were oh so torched. Completely rubberized. Dead meat without a bit of spring left, the muscles sustaining more and more damage with each step. I was no longer burning fat, glycogen, or anything you’re supposed to in those final miles. I had resorted to fueling my dream race with 100% muscle. That wasn’t the plan. Triple ouch. Quadruple ouch. Anyone who’s experienced this knows the feeling I’m trying to convey. Honestly, it's indescribable.

Pick it up, then sonofabitch, muscle limitations slow it back down. Pick it up again. Repeat every 30 seconds, like a fartlek. Less than 20 minutes to go. I can do this. It’s mine to lose. I’ve worked so hard. 4:30am tempo runs in the pouring rain. Amazing long runs. XC races. 4 1/2 legs at Hood To Coast. Speedwork. Not just runs, real workouts. I deserve it, dammit. Focus. Keep the legs moving, it doesn’t matter how far your feet come off the ground. There are no points for style. Pass more people than pass you. Mile 24 in 6:16. Hurts like a mother but good split, only 2 to go. Head still in it. Final major turns. Downtown now. Marked parking spots and meters. More spectators. Holding signs and placards. Where’s the next one? There. 25. This had better be 2:31:high. 2:32:11. Holy hell, that was a 6:22. God, I’m just bleeding time here. If my race was televised TDF-style, Phil Liggett & Paul Sherwen would be saying, “Oh, now look at this, Aronson has cracked. He’s moving backwards on the road. Yes, it certainly doesn’t look like he’ll be able to recover from this. He seems to be working hard, but I can tell you, this guy is no Jens Voight.” One more mile, gotta make it faster than that. Getting passed by 2 guys in a half mile, not a good sign, and I know they’re not exactly negative splitting it because I had passed them a couple miles earlier. Crossing 16^th, is the turn on 8^th, 9^th? Doesn’t matter, it’s less than 5 minutes from here, ALL that matters is the clock. Go as hard as possible. Where’s 26? Where’s 26? Ok, closing in on it. But was that a 6:26 (pace showing on Garmin)?! Lord. Head still in it. I’ve got this. I’ve got this. Sprint it in. Legs won’t respond. A few stumbly, uneven strides and then have to shorten them again to avoid falling. 2 more turns. Clock before the final turn 2:39:38. Arghh, maybe I don't got this. Keep pushing, dammit. As tight a line as possible around the last corner, nearly stepping on the metal barricade stabilizing feet. I use everything (which by now is, of course, nothing) I have left to will myself across the line, but it can hardly be called a kick. I see 2:40:04 as I approach but I know it’ll be a few more seconds; the last time I see on a clock is usually from a bit out, not when I’m right under or beside it.

I stop my watch 4 strides past the line in 2:40:04, and I KNOW as soon as I look down that I didn’t make it, that I’m just BARELY on the fat side of 2:40. Crap! Having started my watch right on the starting mat and within a couple seconds past the finish mat, instinct tells me it it’ll be in the 2:40:00-2:40:03 range. Of course I’m hopeful for some chip miracle, but am pretty sure that’s not gonna happen, and the results later confirm that to my horror: 2:40:02. Holy crap. I was ‘that’ guy. You know, the guy (or gal) who doesn’t quite make it, who comes in right AFTER the announcer does the exciting countdown to a symbolic time like 2:40 or 3:00, heartily congratulating those who barely make it and then going eerily silent as others filter in. Although I suppose that’s better than him saying, “Oh, so close, all of you. Better luck next time, guys!”

But you know what. I’m 40 freakin’ years old, been running for 30 years, have completed 26 marathons and just ran a PR over 14 years after my previous PR, in a finish time I had long ago written off as never being able to touch again. So regardless of what the future holds or whether I ever break 2:40, I’ll always know I laid it ALL out at CIM 2011. If I could have run 3 seconds faster, I would have. But I couldn’t. I tried. And tried. Never gave up. Never stopped pushing. It took every ounce of physical and mental capability I had to cover 26.22 miles in 2:40:02. And because of that, I’m pleased with my race, even if less-than-estatic about my time. Had I thrown in the towel it could’ve been 2+ more minutes, easily. Easily. I saw people doing that out there. They couldn’t have been any more cooked than me, but at some point just said, “It’s not worth it.” Mental toughness can get you through, even when your body screams “No More!”.

AFTER

Met up with my dad at the finish; he was out from Colorado to help with my grandmother (now 97) down in Stockton. Photo, sweats bag, pancakes & food for later (can’t ever eat right after). Back to hotel for shower, check race results & print boarding pass from shared computers, then to Stockton to see Gram for awhile, and check out the new board & care place she’ll be moving into this week. Realize that it is a gift to have the mobility I do (she’s currently bed ridden with a pelvic fracture), and although I’d said my A, B, C, and D goals were all to break 2:40, it is always a sense of accomplishment to finish and to give it your all. I guess that would be E) None of the Above. Back to the Sacramento airport by 4:45 for a 5:50 flight. Finally super hungry after just snacking all day. 2 burritos + chips from the Coyote Café for only $11, finished it all. Uneventful flight home.

Internet race results. Envious of locals like Chris Stelzer (76:18+75:03=2:31:21) and Rocky Wing (75:09+77:45=2:32:54), and of guys in my mile 12 to 17 pack who went on to finish in 2:38 and 2:39. Good for them, but that was supposed to be me too. In fact, had it been, I would've had some great guys to work with those last few miles. I wonder if they trained harder, smarter, had better days, inherently better genetics, or what. Perhaps just luck of the draw. Whatever. Too tired. Bedtime. Slept really well.

Thanks for reading. Comments welcome.