Maine: The way marathons should be

I had a good run at the start of July, a twelve-miler where my legs felt so alive I daydreamed for a half second after about signing up for another marathon. I was near a computer at the time, and my credit card was within arm’s reach, so I did: Maine Marathon, October 5.  

The next eight weeks saw a crazy mix of running every day, intense speed workouts nine times a week. I ate nothing but spinach and lean protein. Managed to drop that stubborn twenty pounds I’d been carrying around my middle since forever.

Okay, so maybe that’s all a little untrue.

Here’s what really happened: I ignored warm summer temperatures and my natural vacation inclination to sit around and read. Instead, I spent every extra minute at the gym. Worked my way up to six weeks of running 65 miles, took two minutes per mile off my pace, dropped ten pounds, not twenty.

I wish.

Here's the truth. Seconds after I signed up for the marathon, my running mojo abandoned me. During most of my training, I pretty much sat around and ate. After a couple of half-hearted attempts at speed workouts, I decided it was too hot to push myself. Instead I went slow but long. I lost a couple of pounds by the end of August, probably all water, and gained all that back plus a little extra once school/ stress eating began.

But at least I stayed healthy and on track.

Portland, Maine, the home of the Maine Marathon, is just a two-hour drive from where I live, so the ride straight up 95 was easy and uneventful. The expo at Southern Maine University was quiet and oozed Hometown, USA. There were truckloads of free pretzels and animal crackers, a few folks selling running clothes, and the requisite running store stand with assorted Gus, gels, and foam rollers.

The volunteer who gave me my bib number asked if this was my first marathon. That immediately shook my confidence. Did I look like someone who’d never run a marathon before? I told her it was my sixteenth.

“Wow. You’re hard core,” she said.

Now I started wondering if maybe I was a little too obsessive. 

Um. Yeah.

Our goody bags were environment-friendly reusable grocery totes with the Maine Marathon logo on the outside and lots of treasures within, including five bags of gummy dinosaur candy, store coupons, several tubes of lip balm, a can of B&M baked beans, Larabars, Luna bars, a pack of dried cranberries, KT athletic tape, and some tablets for nasal congestion.

The night before the race, I spread my treasures out on the hotel bed and admired it all. For a minute or ten, it occurred to me that maybe I should quit while I was ahead, drive home fast with my stash, before I actually attempted this train wreck of silliness. I checked the weather report, hoping for a monsoon. Sadly, the weather was due to be perfect, 50s and partly sunny.    

Next morning, I’m at the starting line with all the other runners, 3,500 of us. About a thousand of us are signed up for the whole distance. The rest are doing the half or the marathon relay. I’m in the back, behind the 10-minute-plus pace sign. I’m wishing I’d run more this summer and eaten less. I worry that I’d bitten off more than I should be chewing.

I start thinking of a  conversation I had with my class earlier in the week. One of the kids asked if I’d ever won a race.

“I win every time I get to the starting line,” I said.

All twenty-three kids looked at me like I’d just grown another head. I explained that every time I put on my sneakers and headed for a run, I was taking a leap of faith. Training alone can be hard. Nobody cares that you’re running except for you. No one’s applauding you, or saying “Way to go!” It’s easy to quit. Lots of people quit.

“Getting to the starting line is a triumph in and of itself,” I said.

I remind myself of the truth of this as I wait for today's insanity to commence. There are snippets of conversation all around me. Some folks are asking about the course. Others are talking about injuries, the weather. I hear someone call my name. I turn to find a young woman next to me. She’s my height and wears her dark hair in a tight ponytail. She looks vaguely familiar. She says I had her brother in school. We talk a bit. I remember her. She was a student in the classroom one over from mine. I ask how she’s doing. She tells me she’s a college grad. She bought her first house last spring. It’s been fourteen years since the last time we saw one another.

I asked her how she knew it was me. She says she recognized my face. She remembered, over the course of all these years that I run marathons. She was looking for me. My eyes start to sting as it hits me that maybe this is why I'm here today, to receive this reminder that sometimes when I talk about my running, my students listen. Maybe, on some greater level, this ridiculous 26.2 mile endeavor does matter.

GF was there to run her first half marathon. We hugged and I told her she was going to be awesome.

She was. I saw her on the course about an hour later. She had a big smile on her face and looked fast and strong.

As for me? I just did my best to enjoy the day. My legs started off heavy and stayed that way. The course was hillier than I expected, but prettier too. The first couple of miles, we ran on a wide boulevard alongside a cove.  Then we turned onto a road surrounded by woods. As the hills began, the front runners of the half marathon started returning our way. In addition to my young friend, I exchanged thumbs-ups with lots of other runners in shorts and t-shirts, a mustachioed guy in a black top and hot pink leggings, and at least one runner dressed as a moose.

The rest of the course was hilly and quiet, though for awhile we saw marathoners headed back our way. Part of the way, I ran with a couple of guys who were in the habit of running marathons most weekends. Sometimes I ran alone. About two hours into my run, I got to give a big hug to Larry Macon, the remarkably gifted gent who holds the world record for most marathons in a year. Larry had taken the early start and was moving forward heroically. Last time I’d seen him was in Ashland, MA, at mile three of the Boston Marathon when, like me, he'd been running that day on behalf of the American Liver Foundation. He's an inspiration. I got to tell him that last week. 

The last part of the run was tough. Lots of uphills. I spent several miles trotting behind and next to a contingent of about fifty soldiers, who were doing the course in full gear, with heavy packs on their backs. Their presence reminded me to count my blessings. Really. Any ache that I felt was nothing in comparison to their discomfort.

The course finished on the same wide straightway on which we began, with the cove to our left this time. As we turned the corner to the finish, I decided to do something I rarely ever have the energy to do. I sprinted ahead of a couple of folks, and finished strong. 

It wasn’t my best race. I hadn’t trained all that well. I admit I was possibly relying too much on the training from my two spring marathons a whole five months earlier. But to be fair to myself, I’d never run three marathons in one year before. I was afraid that my body might rebel. I was worried about stress fractures, and other infirmities that tend to hit older folks who push the limits a bit too much. I guess what I'm saying is that for the most part, my laid-back approach to training this summer was cautious and deliberate.  

Only problem for me was a troubled tummy, most likely the result of being out on the course for so long. A nap in the car on the way home, and a couple of bags of chips seemed to take care of that.

My one regret: I wish I’d had another couple of weeks to train. I would have liked to have gotten in a few more long runs, though Maine was in fact a training run of sorts.

I have another marathon coming up in a few weeks, then another a few weeks after that. I’m working on a new dream: one marathon for every state. Maine was state number seven. Only 43 left to go.  No deadline for hitting all fifty. No time goals for any of them. I just want to run and see what happens. After all, every marathon gives me something.    

Maine Marathon: state #7, marathon #16.                 

Every single time.