Pursuing the Dream

As the steady rain turned into a heavy downpour while I was standing on the start line of the Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a karma-induced storm. I mean, throughout my training, the weather always seemed to get crappy just after I was done with my workout, or clear up just beforehand.

Mother Nature decided to remind me just who was in charge at The Pig. But, being a low-tech runner should mean the weather affects me less than other people, since I don’t chicken out and run on a treadmill when it gets bad out.

My plan was to go 6:00 or under on the flats and downhills and hope the uphills didn’t slow me down that much. Hopefully, if I could hold everything together, I’d place in the top ten.

By the third mile, I was glad it was raining out. We went under an overpass, and I was nailed with a blast of humidity that I wasn’t accustomed to. I think the temperature was around 68 degrees at 7:00 a.m., and the only thing keeping it from being completely miserable was the rain.

At mile five, I saw my cheering section; my mom, dad, brother, sister, sister’s fiancé, former coach Sean Hart and his wife. Hart yelled that the pack a block in front of me was 11th place. I caught that pack in the next mile and tried to put some distance between us. That was my second mistake of the day – the first being not holding back the first couple of miles.

At mile seven, we started the steepest climb of the course. After this hill, it was a net downgrade for the remainder of the race. I started to make up time over the next several miles, but I wasn’t really passing anybody. Oh well, I just tried to settle in and relax, drinking water and Gatorade every couple of miles and burning a Gel every five.

At mile 21, I was not in a good mood.

When mile 15 came rolling around, I started to get a little worried, because I was getting tired. I knew then that I had been working way too hard the first part of the race. I think I was still around 12th place, but couldn’t be sure. According to the volunteers, one mile, I was in 10th, but the next mile, I was in 13th. Nobody passed me in that mile, so I didn’t know what was going on.

Mile 18 was where they had Gels on the course. I had two left in my hand, so I was good. Plus, for whatever reason, the volunteer decided to smear individual gels on piece of wood. What the heck were we supposed to do? Scrape it off with our fingers and lick them clean before the next water station?

Oh, those are clumps of Vaseline, I realized as I got closer and heard him say, “Vaseline!” No thanks, buddy. I lubed up beforehand. Clearly, I was delirious at this point, and my pace was going down the toilet. Yeah, I definitely went out too hard.

It wasn’t until mile 21 that I saw my cheering section again. Dad told me that I was in 12th place; 11th was just ahead of me, but 10th was nowhere in sight. After the race he told me I looked strong and smooth, too. I sure didn’t feel like it.

I went ahead and took 11th, but managed to let three more guys go around me in the final five miles. I tried to keep with them, but my legs just weren’t having it. I hit the wall.

Former coach, Sean Hart, and I at the finish.

I received a small shock as I approached the finish line. The dude on the P.A. system, encouraging runners to finish strong, actually pronounced my last name correctly. For those who don’t know, it sounds like “rain” but with an “M” on the end. Not Ram or Rom. This guy got it right.

As I was wandering through the crowd at the finish, I realized that my family and I didn’t pick a place to meet. About 30 minutes after I finished, I finally ran into my dad. “So where do you want to meet at the finish?” I asked. He just laughed.

After I had dry clothes on, it was time to hobble the mile back to my hotel and get a bacon cheeseburger from a nearby brewery. I had hopes for free bacon at the finish line, but since it was still pouring down rain, I didn’t look too hard.

Post-race bacon cheeseburger and beer.

I guess I can’t complain too much about chopping nine minutes off my personal record (PR) in the rain on a hilly course that I wasn’t prepared for. The fact that I did PR off of crappy conditions and a terrible race strategy is a testament to the higher mileage and more relaxed work schedule that FSW is giving me.

The race did teach me a few lessons. I’m going to incorporate them into my training before Chicago, but that training doesn’t start for another week or two. Until then, I’m in rest, recovery and get-caught-up-on-some-work mode. How sweet it is.

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