Marine Corps Marathon 2008 Race Report

So another year of training has gone by and my first full (well, that is debatable) triathlon season has come to an end. But before I could even think about what my fall racing series was going to be a received a phone call. ENTER Janet Patton and Genna Griffith: co-workers and colleagues in the acting world and more importantly all-stars for the ACHILLES TRACK CLUB of NY. You may remember last year when Janet (who was working on Nobody's Perfect over at the Kennedy Center with me) asked if I was interested in running the NY Marathon as a guide to a disabled runner through her organization up in NY. "So you want me to run the NY Marathon? One of the most prestigious racing events in the world, on your dollar and help guide someone through the race? Where do I sign up?" Forget the fact that I had just raced the Marine Corps Marathon the week before, getting to run in the NY Marathon would be unbelievable no matter how you participated. That experience was probably in my Top 5 of all-time experiences---so, why not do it again...this time twice. Run the Marine Corps Marathon and the NY Marathon, both as guides. If I could race one and then guide another last year, certainly guiding two races would be much easier...right?...right?...?

As my recovery time from IM Wisconsin stretched from 2 weeks to 3 weeks, which meant I only ran once and biked once during that time, I became a little worried about the marathons--not to mention I had committed to the Backyard Burn Series this fall. As you know, the BYB Series began on the 19th of Oct. with their first race so if all goes well, I would be racing every weekend except one until Thanksgiving. Overachieving? Not really...not if everyone does around a 4-hour marathon. Emphasis on EVERYONE. That luxury was quickly dispelled when I found out the gentleman I would be guiding in NY wanted to run a 3:10 marathon. Now I'm capable of running a 3:10 marathon---I might not walk the next day, but I could pull it out of my ass. But that would mean training needed to start ASAP with no hiccups. My goal: Get some long runs in of about 90-120 minutes long, continue my speed work at the track on Wednesday mornings, race the first BYB 10 miler and use Marine Corps Marathon as a training run for NY. Sound good? Great. Will it go according to plan? No -- Not when you find out that the gentleman you're guiding in MCM wants to do a 3:30 marathon. That's an 8-min/mile pace which isn't incredibly difficult, but it will allow very little time to recover for NY and run a 3:10 there. Panic sets in, but what can you do?

I met Neil the night before at the pasta party thrown by the Arlington's Station 5 Fire Department and was excited to hear he had also competed in IM Wisconsin last month. I was even more excited to hear he hadn't been running too much since the race and was hoping to only do around a 4-hour marathon (9-min/mile). With the weight of the off my back, I settled into to some late night discussions with a few of the athletes, pleasantly relieved I was going to have to run all out tomorrow. The race would indeed become the training run I had hoped it would be for NY the following week.

Race morning came sooner than expected and with the alarm buzzing and my clothes pack I dressed myself in my 2XU compression shorts and calf tights, threw on my hat, searched 30 minutes to find my gloves and headed out the door. Metro in DC opens at 5AM on the morning of the race and with our plan to meet at the Rosslyn Marriot Hotel, the morning would go smooth as silk.

Neil and I, along with Sarah - his girlfriend, walked down to the start line a little early to watch the handcrank athletes take off and then settled in for what should have been an easy day. With a little nip in the air, an extra T-shirt or jacket to stay warm at the start and an extra dose of the "Crazies" this year's marathon promised to be picture perfect. The weather forecast was probably the best I've seen for any marathon I've run and with the new course changes (running around Hains Point earlier in the race than usual) the race now provided the perfect PR opportunity for any seasoned marathoner. But I wasn't racing, just helping out Neil.

RACE

I'm often forgetful of why I race. My usual answer is because there's no hatred on race day. Everyone is out there wishing everyone well. There's a sense of community that only comes with understanding the sacrifice everyone has made to get there. But more importantly, it's a wonder to be a part of something grander and bigger than you could ever imagine. 30, 000 people congregating on to one tiny speck of the planet. An infinitely small space when looking at the big picture, but to my eyes the magnitude of the event itself is overwhelming enough to make your heart stop and wonder at the miracle that is life. You're reminded of all that you're thankful for and before you're done, the gun goes off and the race has begun. I'm not even "competing" but this sense of gratitude is unshakeable for the first few miles. It's hard to run up those early hills without laughing and crying at one another. One athlete dives across the street to kiss his wife and say goodbye to his son ensuring him they'll see each other again in a few short hours...hopefully even sooner. Another drops his gloves, he's misjudged the temperature. And several athletes misjudge their bladders. It won't be the last time you'll see a sea of runners relieving themselves in the woods, but two dozen at the edge of a parking lot - that doesn't happen too often. It's a day full of unabated shame and humility in which one could careless at how they look, rather how they finish. Today vanity takes a back seat to glory and in a world of Cosmo and Vanity Fair, it's a breath of fresh air. Today finishing is more important than winning, yet for some showing up is the most important of all. And today, allowing yourself to be pushed harder and farther than you could ever imagine is the name of the game. So what makes this race different than all the others I've run? I'm not caring. I'm not pushing myself. I'm not doing the calculations in my head, not carrying the one, not dividing by 2, no longer reconsidering my strategy - I'm taking it all in and loving it. Last year's NY Marathon was different, we had a 2-hour head start on the field which provided it's own beauty, but I had never been in the middle of the pack looking ahead at sea of runners knowing there were that many behind me too. I never had the chance to witness the trials of another runner, I was too worried about my own. But not today. Today I take it all in.

As we passed the spot where I made my choice last year to attempt a 3-hour marathon (and fail) I noticed we had been almost running for an hour. I had no idea. Neil and I chatted along the way, discussing everything from sports, to school to IM Wisconsin and when time allotted, we told some jokes. Most importantly, we had fun, and the first sign of the fun to come was the Key Bridge. What a sight! The cold morning air, combined with the rising sun and temperature had left the Potomac river a virtual river of fog. As we approached the bridge ahead and looked left, the belly of the beast had begun to engulf the bridge. Runner after runner made the turn and slowly disappeared, being swallowed whole by mother nature. For most is was an awesome sight and for others the zero visibility and lack of Georgetown up ahead loomed large in their minds. What lay ahead in the darkness and blindly fog was unknown - they were in uncharted territory. A perfect metaphor for the rest of their day.

With only the tip of Georgetown's tower looming overhead, the scenic race continued through the tree tunneled roads of the Macarthur Blvd. Beautiful to say the least. And as the sun began to blind us as we made the turn back to the Mall, the waves of steam escaping off the heads of those in front of us, it was just another reminder that body temperatures were rising and the 10 mile mark loomed ahead. It was around here that my job began. Not for Neil, but for a couple of handcrank athletes. They weren't from ACHILLES, but it mattered nonetheless. They were athletes needing assistance, and that's what I was there to do. So with a burst of speed and some fresh legs that I was unaware existed, I surged forward preempting the catastrophe ahead that was called...a downhill. For those of you who are familiar with Georgetown and the hill connecting M street to Macarthur Blvd. are certainly aware of the steep grade it possesses when heading out of town, but few know the harrowing quick descent it owns when you're in a handcrank wheelchair barreling downhill at 20-30mph while dodging a few THOUSAND RUNNERS! Needless to say, I say what could have been a disaster, sprinted past the "chairs" (that's what everyone calls them on the course) and shouted "Make a hole in the middle! Hole in the middle! Make a hole!" Easy enough right? Not when everyone is wearing a pair of headphones. I said it last year and I'll say it again. For the safety of everyone involved, you should not wear headphones in a race. But if you must, still be cognizant of your surroundings. WIth a nasal voice and a determined outlook, a path was made, the chairs were safe and I was out of breath. Thank God for water stops. Refueled with a little bit of Powerade and water, said goodbye to the two guys,spotted Neil and we were off again. We had hit a bit of an incline getting on to M Street so the chairs were slowing as we continued to maintain our pace of 9-min/mile. All was well...except my lungs. :)

A slight turn onto Rock Creek Parkway, running past the Kennedy Center and on towards the Lincoln Memorial we evaluated our level fitness and comfort. "If we continue to do this and feel good at the end, we can probably haul ass to the finish line over the last 6 miles," Neil said. "Sounds good to me." I reassured him, HE was going to set the pace, not me. I was just their for support. He nodded at this without making a sound and trotted along, found Sarah in the crowd, kissed her hello and caught back up. We were comfortable, we were getting confident, we were nearing the halfway point and we were happy to be getting through Hains Point without any problems. That might explain why we started doing an 8:45 mile pace. Now, 15 seconds is not a lot, but it was enough of a sign that both of us felt good. Great in fact--much better than expected. This run was actually shaping up to be a pretty decent training run. And then it happened. Mile 16.

I'm not sure how it happened, maybe it was just my need to help out, but my instincts took over again for the 3rd time that day. I began to clear the way for two more chairs. Now I'm not 100% sure, but I'm pretty confident that it was the same two guys from earlier in the day, but this time there was no hill, only the flat road surrounding the Mall. Ergo, they were traveling at speeds faster than everyone else and no one was getting out of the way. Time for another surge, only this time it wasn't just a surge. Neil came along with me - Neil had now become the guide instead of the guided. (Which makes sense since he finished IM Wisconsin at only the age of 22. CRAZY!) The dynamic guiding duo of Neil and Kip cleared the roads. "Move to your right! Make a hole! Chairs Coming!" Whatever we needed to say we said, however fast we needed to run - we did. And wouldn't you know it - the chairs got faster!!! (Sidenote - I think the reason I love guiding wheelchairs so much is that it's never boring. Slow on the uphills, fast on the downhills. It's a never ending roller coaster of speed work.) Mile 16, Mile 17, Mile 18. You concentrate so much on making people get out of the way that you're oblivious to the mile markers. We've done 3 miles already? That's insane. And before I knew it we were approaching Mile 19...a disastrous Mile 19. Why disastrous? Disastrous because I was an idiot. I was an idiot because I assumed I would only have to clear the road of runners impeding our way, not spectators too! I was an idiot to think that spectators who not attempt to cross the road in the middle of a race! I was an idiot to assume people would look both ways when crossing the road! I, apparently, was an idiot. (Have you picked up on the sarcasm yet?) And this wasn't just any woman, she was clearly over 200lbs. and she had fallen straight onto the midsection and then legs of this athlete. Legless and metal plates and screws in his right arm, the woman had just committed this guy to a death sentence. Chair #512 was in pain, but miraculously nothing broke. Not his arm, not his prosthetic, not his chair. It was miraculous. And had the woman not been in such deep remorse for being...you guessed it...an idiot, I would have gone off on her. But this was not the time nor the place, #512 was OK for the most part and the race was passing us by. We the moved the wreckage off the road, I stole a swig of her Vitamin Energy drink and we took off. (Hey, it was the least she could do.)

I looked for water for both the guys and had no luck, the next aid station was only a jelly belly stop and my guys were dehydrating. Even the little incline near the Smithsonian castle was proving too much for #512 and I already knew before they did that their race was a metaphoric uphill battle from here on in. And yet this whole time Neil was right there with me. Each time we hit the downhills he would eventually catch us on the uphills, it gave us a sense of purpose - To make sure these guys were taken care of. But soon our chivalrous acts were becoming less and less. #512 was having a hard time and with the 14th Street bridge looming ahead, I knew it was going to be rough. But what should I do? Stick with Neil and stay behind and make sure these guys made it in safely? I didn't make a choice. I didn't need to. Neil made the choice for me. He told me he was going to go up ahead and continue on. He knew these guys needed my help more and sacrificed himself for them. I asked him if he was sure, and he said, "Absolutely." I told him that once we finished the 14th St. Bridge we would catch back up to him...but it was never meant to be. I never saw Neil again during the race. I kept looking for him at all the turnarounds hoping to gauge how far ahead of me he was, but it never happened. I even entertained the idea that if the chairs were "OK" after the bridge, I would jump the race and join up with Neil making sure we finished together. I wanted to finish together, even if it meant I wouldn't have actually completed the whole race. I was OK with that, but it wasn't in the cards. I learned later Neil finished a respectable 4:10. Nice work considering he hadn't run over 10 miles since IMWI almost 7 weeks prior. I couldn't say that about my two new athletes. It was #512's first marathon and he had hit the proverbial wall. The 14th St. Bridge was killing him. I had flashbacks of Laura in NY last year when I had to help her up the hills at the end, but I didn't want to do that this time. I knew by looking in #512 eyes, he wanted to do this himself. No pushes, no pulls - just himself. It was awhile before we finished that section of the course, but it was over now and as we headed to the off-ramp I told him there was only one more hill to go...the end...Iwo Jima.

There's a beauty and a power knowing the course when you're racing, but it's something different when you're guiding someone else through it's pitfalls. "Just up ahead we'll do a turnaround. Only 1/2 a mile until we get water. Sharp right up ahead!" I looked for anything I could use to break up the race into smaller chunks for them. Mileage markers, turns, hills...they all became tools to motivate them to go faster. And now the biggest motivating factor came into play...they could smell the barn. After a quick bathroom break for the two of them we made the turnaround in Crystal City and headed back towards the Pentagon and eventually home. The finish line was only a few short miles away and these guys had been troopers, but #511 wasn't about to let #512 finish alone. He made have been stronger, he may have been faster, he may have even weighed less, but he was a friend and there was no way he was going to finish this race without his buddy. 23, 24, 25...the crowds were growing, 25.5. Only .7 miles to go, 26.......................And something happened that many did not see coming. #512 couldn't make the hill. His arms were too tired. What had become a victory on the 14th St. Bridge had now become the underlining cause of his defeat. He was trashed, tired and tried. To come all this way and come up short is heartbreaking. But somewhere, somehow #512 reached deep within himself and made his way up. Not up the hill, No. Up and out of his seat. With his left hand grabbed the front of his chair and with mine holding the opposite side, we both stood there looking up at what was in all practical terms, to him, the Mt. Everest of hills. But today there was no snow, no ice picks, no glorious mountain-top view of the world. There was only a medal and a Finish line...and I was his sherpa. I took one look at him and asked him, "Are you ready?" And with that he began what I consider the most inspiring .2 miles I have ever seen - that certainly anyone who was at that finish line has ever seen - and, in what I could only describe, as the most deafening feat anyone could witness. Deafening because there were only two sounds I heard. The first was each and every step that #512 took on his two prosthetic legs up that grueling climb and the other was the sound of jaws hitting the ground once they realized what they were witnessing. The crowd was stunned to silence. As each individual grasped the concept that this man was now out of his chair for the last few feet of this race after having been through sheer pain in the latter half was mind numbing to them. Literallly. As we shuffled up the hill you could hear the crowd get quieter with every step. I caught the eyes of one woman as her brain processed what was happening. And I raised my arm. Raised my arm so violently I thought it was going to come out of my socket. Raised it as to say, "Come on damn it! Start cheering!" And so they did, louder and louder as we neared the finish line. A lot of Marine Corps sayings were being thrown around every which way, none of which I understood except in sentiment. They were proud, they were happy, they were respectful, they were grateful this man had served his country and they were in awe. And then...nothing. It was over. He did it. #512 had done it. Congratulations were spread around and as I shook #512's hand I said,

"I'm Kip."

"I'm Zach."

"Nice to meet you Zach. Congratulations!"

And with a hug I continued up the ramp, grabbed my food bag and headed for the hotel.

Andrew Tong #511
Yelm, WA M30-34
4:37:16

Zachary Briseno
Fort Worth, TX M20-24
4:37:34

Neil Schalk
Richland, WI M20-24
4:10:00