Northern
Central Trail Marathon, 26.2 miles
24 November, 2001
Sparks, Maryland
Reported by Steve
Thorne
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The cast of characters:
Objectives: To qualify for Boston for Jacob (sub 3:10) and Steve (who as a newly minted old guy, has to beat 3:20) -- both of us are guessing we'll cruise in at 3:10 or so; Cecilia, to complete her first marathon running and in-style.
Course Description: This smallish marathon (approximately 350 participants) is staged on an out-and-back course that follows the northern section of a rails-to-trails conversion. The surface is primarily compacted dirt with occasional paved sections. As a prior rail line, the course is very flat, with a 1/2 percent grade climb on the way out and a corresponding 1/2 percent grade on the return. The course is rated a 2+ on the 10 point marathon difficulty scale (1 for the fastest courses, 10 for the most challenging). I can recommend this course for anyone attempting a personal best time and for those who prefer softer running surfaces (at the minimal cost of a few seconds a mile decrease in speed).
The Event: The first 1.8 miles are run on country roads to thin down the 350 odd person start pack before entering the 15 foot wide Northern Central Trail. It's raining ever so lightly, misting really, and the temperature is in the mid 50s.
The first miles are quick, run sub-6:30, but once on the trail I settle my pace to just shy of 7 minute miles. I'm in a group of 3 and draft the runner in front to the degree possible. Though the effects aren't as pronounced in running (compared to cycling), there is a noticeable advantage. At this stage I want to run just fast enough to meet my target mid-course split of 1:30. I almost stumble a few times while imagining myself falling asleep with relaxation -- eye lids heavy, relaxed brow, no tension in arms, shoulders or back, torso upright, eyes focused ahead on the vanishing point of the trail. It's trance time. I know that with my minimal preparation, the grimaces and labored effort aren't far off. For now, my goals are simply status quo pace and maximal energy conservation.
Just after the 9 mile mark I notice that the pace of our little group is slowing so I pull around my companion of the last few miles and move gently forward. I miss the draft but also begin to feel liberated, alive, and full of joy at running along rivers and through Winter's sparse forest. Must be the endorphins Š
My 13.1 mile split is just about 1:30 on the dot. Approaching mile 14 I see Jacob coming towards me with perhaps a 2 or 3 minute lead. He looks strong as we call out encouragement to one another. A few hundred yards up I make the designated 180 degree turn and am now literally headed back toward the finish. This charges me up and I accelerate. Miles 14 - 18 are fast and smooth, in the 6:40 per mile range. I pass a number of runners along this stretch but am also cognizant that my legs are slowly loosing energy. Running form (and its deterioration) are highly correlated with speed (or lack of speed) toward the end of an endurance event. I am having to consciously focus on stride and frequently run through a check-list: relax arms and shoulders, face and forehead; pull the torso upright; are the legs running in a square instead of a smooth elliptical circle?
Mile 20 is a key milestone. A time check shows 118 minutes elapsed, leaving a reasonable 42 minutes available for the final 10k if I'm to best 3 hours. But each stride is requiring concentration. I constantly have to correct my degenerating form. The mile markers are taking too long to appear.
At mile 22, a couple of runners come into view who are having at least as hard a time. My right calf begins stuttering into cramp at regular intervals. I remind myself that pain is temporary, glory is forever (Cal Cycling team motto, 1999). Despite the dark truth of this cliché and passing a few runners who have been consumed by the distance, I am falling ever deeper into an abject well of suffering.
This sucks. The forests we are passing through look like Blaire Witch Project terrain. I'd gladly accept a night in those woods, avec Witch, to stop running now. A bit past the 24 mile marker a runner I'd met earlier in the day passes me and urges me to stay with it. I jump into his draft. It helps tremendously to have a pace setter.
Rounding the final bend, the 26 mile marker and finish line come into view. The final meters are a relief. Preemptive melancholy floods over me and I briefly consider crying, but don't. I cross the line, unsteadily pull into the shoot, am wrapped in a foil blanket, and begin recovering my senses.
Jacob and I find one another, put on warmer cloths, and walk/lurch back along the course to wait for Cecilia and cheer her on. We are both sore as hell, and with only a few cups of Gatorade after the event, are dramatically under-fed. The tunnel vision is kind of cool, but having to crouch down from light headedness is tough on the legs. Cecilia eventually emerged from the drizzle, running with a gentle cadence and looking fresh as a Spring morning. She definitely made her first marathon look far too easy!
Steve and Jacob are off to Boston.
Post-Script I wore a bike jersey with the usual pockets in the back -- great idea since I could carry a thin hat, arm warmers, and my food conveniently. Plus, I was wearing my Cal Berkeley jersey and a number of spectators yelled out ³Go Bears!².