A strong gust of wind blew down the Potomac as I went to ground for the fourth time trying to cross the Route 1 bridge toward the Pentagon under a steel-gray sky. In the river below, police boats patrolled back and forth, to ensure the security of the bridge I guess. About 25 minutes before I'd passed the 20 Mile mark, but I still couldn't see the sign for Mile 21. With legs propped against a concrete barrier, I rubbed my calves vigorously in hopes of coaxing them through the final 10km of the 2012 Marine Corps Marathon. For the last hour, those same muscles felt as though they were embedded with broken glass, each step a wince-worthy moment which in the end brought me to tears, the 21 mile mark, and the notice of marine on the Crystal City side of the water. Within 5 minutes a golf-cart was summoned, and tucked into the front seat with blanket to keep back the wind, I sat as a fireman cleared a way through the mass of runners toward the medical tent a few kilometers down the road. 5.2 miles from the finish, my 2012 Marine Corps Marathon was over.
24 hours before, I sat in the back seat of my dad's Prius, watching the landscape go by as we covered the 166 miles to Jatin's house in Germantown, a suburb of D.C. We left the house on Saturday at about 9:45 in the morning, under the same gray sky we'd had the past week. I hoped the sun would appear during our travels, and in this regard at least I wasn't disappointed.
Some time ago my friend Cj made the claim that the state of Maryland is covered with swamps. In truth, while I saw a number of swamp-like environments passing through Delaware (and in some of the estuaries around Baltimore), the same could not be said for the rest of Maryland proper, at least of those portions which I observed. In fact, one of the striking things about the coastal areas of Maryland was the brilliant foliage of the woodland and hill-country along the highway. At one point while cresting a hill, we observed a wide panorama of hills and lowland woods completely bathed in so many shades of red, orange, yellow, and gold. Coupled with the first sunshine I'd seen in days, the effect proved nothing short of spectacular.
Another thing I noticed was the way election signs change as one passes from one district to the next. Naturally the national and state-wide candidates remained constant, but each new stretch of highway seemed to yield a new congressional contest. It's a minor thing perhaps, but something I hadn't noticed before.
We arrived at Jatin's house about an hour after turning west from the Baltimore harbor tunnel. My dad made the curious observation that as we moved further inland, the trees became more bare, and the brilliant colors of the coast made way for duller, "tired" looking leaves of the interior. I wondered if perhaps inland Maryland experiences the Autumn color change sooner than the coast, which would makes sense since the leaves would have been changing and falling off the trees sooner. But alas, I do not know.
The route we took to Germantown becomes very agricultural, a bit like some places around Gettysburg and Lancaster, which I've seen in other times. The ground itself becomes more hilly, and some heights I observed in the distance looked to be high enough to be called mountains in this part of the world (though some fellows out west might disagree). In any case, the one town name I remember along our route was called Damascus. Upon seeing the "Welcome to Damascus" sign, I remarked to my dad, "I wonder if the Asad family is running the marathon." To this my dad replied, "Maybe if the rebels are chasing them." Later I learned from Jatin that the high school in Damascus has long been a big rival with his old high school, Clarksburg. In fact, the Clarksburg kids have a curious way of saying "Damascus" amongst themselves, pronouncing it "Dumb-Ass-cus." Who knew?
In any case, after an exchange of pleasantries Jatin and I proceeded to navigate the DC metro system, and arrived at the DC armory by mid-afternoon. I first had to pick up my bib, which turned out to be more difficult than expected because I'd forgotten to write down my number from the e-mail. I made to ask a marine at the information table, who said, "Okay, to get your number you need to call 1-800-show-me-your-ID." Alas I didn't notice the joke, which the marine explained a moment later. I handed him my drivers' license, and had my number a minute later. Sometimes I can be pretty dense.
Housed in the armory building adjacent to the tent where I got my bib, the running expo proved an interesting place to wander. Jatin and I roved the booths, sampling whatever energy gels, bars, or beans the various booths offered. At one point we found a wall on which one could write a message for someone running in the race. It was largely full, but Jatin managed to squeeze in near the top, "Good luck, Jeff!" In an even smaller space underneath, I wrote, "Thanks :)." It was a good time.
I spent the night at Jatin's other house in Fredrick, a curious town several miles north of Germantown with a fascinating old-city full of little shops, cafes, pubs, and several highly elaborate (and old) churches. We walked the old-city for a time, looking for a cup-cake shop from which Jatin had won a dozen free cup-cakes in a recent 5k. I found the experience both exhilarating and stimulating, since old architecture almost always puts me in a thoughtful mood. We found the cup-cake shop, acquired the prize cup-cakes, and returned to Jatin's house.
We didn't sleep long that night, having to make an early start for DC the next morning. We drove into the city to a major metro hub, and took one line down to the Pentagon station, about a mile from the start of the race. I must say that coming up the stairs of the metro with the Pentagon rising to my left proved quite a way to start the morning. A little ways beyond Jatin pointed out to me the Air Force monument, and overhead we watched passenger jets taking off from nearby Ronald Reagan International. From the top of a steep rise we could see the the lines of grave markers in Arlington National Cemetery. To the right, the Potomac flowed peacefully toward the sea.
The non-wheelchair portion of the Marine Corps Marathon began at 7:55am with the firing of a howitzer. I won't lie, a howitzer shot is quite a way to start a race. It is faintly reminiscent of a Paul Short 8km race years ago which began with the firing of a shot-gun. Needless to say, the howitzer proved a bit more muscular, but that is the Marine Corps for you.
I took the early stretches of the race easy, climbing the long hills through Rosslyn with caution and care. In training I typically started a marathon session with hills to mimic this portion of the course. The pace was a bit slow all the same, but I think the preparation in this regard paid off. I repeated the exercise on the hills west of Georgetown, and had similar success.
Unfortunately, I started having problems on this second hill. On the inside, bottom portion of the second (left) toe, I began to feel a rub after about 4 miles. Strangely enough I'd never felt such a rub in training, even when using the same pair of socks on a wet run. Rubs are never good in races, particularly long ones; they usually lead to blisters, altered running form, and in some cases, injuries. I couldn't think of anything to do, so I just kept going on it.
After the Georgetown hill I felt my stride really open up, and soon I was clicking away at a happy gallop, glad to have those hills behind me. My left foot became increasingly stiff, however, though for the next few miles I managed to ignore it. Everything else was going well, and soon we entered the parts of DC I'd always read about in books.
At about mile 14 things began to fall apart. My stiff foot forced me to run only on the left side of the road, so as to limit the amount it had to pronate on each step. I could feel a mighty blister growing, and increasingly I had to run on the outside of the foot. My gallop slowed first to a trot, and around mile 16 a walk. At this point the "broken-glass-in-the-feet-and-calves" feeling began, and when I ran into my parents I walked off the course and admitted that I probably couldn't go on. My dad insisted I just try and finish, even if only at a walk, but I really didn't want to take another step. After a minute or two of sitting on the curb, however, I felt a little revived and rose to continue--as my dad put it, even if only at a walk.
So up I went past the Washington Monument, through the National Mall, and past the Smithsonian museums and the Capitol building, clicking away at about 15-minute/mile pace. At times I walked and at times I jogged, trying to cover the distance and end what had become an increasingly tortuous experience. By now my left foot was really in a bad way, and my right foot began to follow suit. Under my breath I muttered obsessively, "You're okay, you're okay," in rhythm every four strides.
I clicked the "split" button on my watch as I passed the 20 mile mark, a point only a few hundred meters short of the Jefferson Memorial. By now I closed my eyes most of the time, trying to imagine being somewhere else. The Route 1 bridge appeared with its bright, concrete road-bed and terribly long span. The crossing afforded little protection from the wind, which soon had me shivering and seemed to put an even sharper edge on the metaphorical broken glass in my muscles. Four times along that span I stopped and tried to nurse those suffering sinews. Eventually I realized my socks were rather tight, and when I removed them the pain subsided a little. The blister on my left foot was about the size of a chick-pea. A few steps later everything hurt as before, and having finally arrived at the far end of the bridge I told the marine there on station that I'd had enough.
There's really no getting around it; I'm disappointed I couldn't make it to the finish line today. Going in I thought the final stretch might be run through the opening salvos from Hurricane Sandy, but it turned out the weather held just fine. Aside from a little wind, conditions were about perfect for a good race, and I felt ready to take advantage. It didn't happen though, and that is disappointing.
Yet I believe that much can be learned from failure, even if they are lessons dearly bought. I learned that by drinking a little less I could avoid the problems (possibly hyponatremia) which caused me to slow in the latter third of last year's race. I also learned that one should avoid rubs on the foot if at all possible. And finally, I learned that the socks I'd been using constrict my feet too much during long races, and should probably be substitutes from something looser. These are good things to know, and in time I'll probably realize others. The point is, I'll be a little better prepared next time, and that's the idea really. So while I'm upset about dropping out, the experience proved both worthwhile and illuminating. Next time, we'll do better.
Special thanks to my parents for helping me with logistics and coming to watch the race; to Jatin and his family for having me; and to everyone else who supported me through the training. Also, my apologies to Mr. Seth (who ran a 6 minute PR today--go Seth!) for not getting the chance to meet again. We shall do so the next time.
Happy Sunday, friends :)
there are absolutely no swamps in maryland!
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