Run with the Horses Marathon Race Report

Short form: Wyoming – CHECK!

Long form:

If I hadn’t already bought the plane tickets and had my sister coming, I would have stayed home. Some injuries to my feet (completely unrelated to running) have kept me off them for weeks. I had barely run at all since San Francisco last month. But, it was my sister’s birthday and she was flying in and it was Wyoming… I still regret not going to Texas when Mary was sick. Not sure bundling her up for a long car ride would have been a good idea, but I wonder if there could have been a better solution than the one I chose at the time.

So, with trepidation, I packed my bags on Friday morning and headed to the airport. In the back of my mind, I thought my experience with previous marathons might just pull me through. Muscle memory and all that.

It wasn’t a long flight to Salt Lake City and when we got there we didn’t have too much trouble finding the rent-a-car counter. The young man behind the counter told me with a tinge of disgust, the same way I talk about palm kernal oil, that we had a Chevy Cobalt. The implication was obvious – I should upgrade. I had no idea what a Cobalt was, but I just wanted the cheapest.

The drive over was uneventful. I felt like we climbed to a higher elevation coming out of Salt Lake City and never went down again. Green River, Wyoming sits at just over 6,000 feet. Turns out, our hotel is at mile 2 (and 24) of the marathon course, so my sister and I decided to drive the course. It is on the Wild Horse Loop and we thought we might see some wild horses. From the hotel, it is pretty much uphill until past mile 5. There is a 1200 foot elevation gain in this marathon and I suspect 1100 of it is between mile 2 and 5. It was dusty. There was no shade. Despite the 6:30 start, I suspected this run would be hot. It’s a good thing I am from Phoenix and accustomed to this, I thought.

At the “expo” – which was just a packet pick up – we got really cool race shirts/jackets. It is a bright yellow that will be easy to see on those cold dark morning runs in the winter. This is a very nice shirt, especially for such a low priced marathon. Then we went to the art fair and shrimp boil. I don’t think shrimp is the best pre-race meal, but it was the thing to do. I like getting the local flavor out of the marathon experience. We met other Maniacs and 50 Staters and it was fun. Afterwards, we went back to the hotel and I slept better than I have in weeks.

Race morning I got up and got dressed, still unsure of what the day would hold. Could I make it all 26.2 miles? My foot was not quite healed. I hadn’t run. Doubts filled my head. I showed up anyway. It wasn’t too cool a morning, although it had been predicted that it would be 50 at the start, it didn’t feel that cold to me. I left my gloves and sweatshirt in the car. I brought along Bruce’s iPod because I couldn’t find mine and I thought I might be alone out there for a long time. I wanted something to listen to. There was a line painted on the road, someone shouted “GO!” and we were off. 140 marathoners, a bunch of half-marathoners and some running the 10K.

In the first mile, we passed a house where two women were standing inside looking out the window at us. Each had a beer in her hand. I thanked God I was on the outside of that window. Then we climbed up and over a bridge that took us over the railroad tracks in the Union Pacific yard. The bridge appeared to be made of concrete and steel, but it bounced like the bridge at Tom Sawyer’s Island and I was scared I would lose my footing.

My first mile was 9:15. Was this a sustainable pace? Too fast? Too slow? My breathing was still getting adjusted to the altitude. I was unsure what the next mile would hold. At mile 2 the pavement ended and the uphill began. I was trading places with some women who were running then walking, running then walking. I decided that I would walk from mile 3 to mile 4. I put in the ear buds and turned on the iPod. This was not my music mix, but I thought it would be interesting. Eric Clapton was first, followed by Surfin’ USA. I removed the iPod.

I started talking to a woman from the Genome Project at Washington University in St Louis. I told her about Girls Have IT Day and asked her if they had outreach. She said yes and told me about their summer intern program for high school students. I have to remember to look that up. This woman was sponsored by Anhauser-Busch to come out here and give out their energy drink at the finish. She’s run a bunch of marathons, but today was only doing the half as she was targeting Disney in January. I enjoyed talking to her. Along the way, we’d started running again. I wondered if I would just turn around with her at the half turn around or if I could really go 26.2 miles.

About mile 6, now on rolling dirt road, we passed some guys who were talking about San Francisco. They were Maniacs and I adjusted my pace to talk to them. They were from the Seattle area and Denver. Denver had run San Francisco and I enjoyed talking to him about our experiences. It sounds like we had a similar experience, but Denver has run many more marathons than I have, so this was not his first time at SF. We ran a little faster than Seattle, so he dropped back. We weren’t setting any speed records, but I enjoyed having someone to talk to and this wasn’t my day for speed records.

The half turn around came and went. We were 1/4 of the way through the marathon and my watch said 1:15. This was going to be a long day, I thought, but it was all ok. I was ready for a long day. Denver and I stopped at every aid station and chatted with the volunteers. They weren’t handing out cups like they do at other races, but they were setting them on the table for us to pick up. It was conducive to chatting.

A woman driving a car and ringing a cow bell was cheering for Val, whoever that was. Her car had “Go Val Go” written in the dust. Then I saw a man with “Go Val Go” on the back of his shirt. Denver and I told him how much we enjoyed his cheering squad. He ignored us. He was wearing ear buds and I could hear the music blaring. I told Denver that he couldn’t hear us because his music was too loud. We would find out later that he was indeed hard of hearing and had left his hearing aids out for the marathon. His one woman cheering squad told us that’s why she used a cow bell – so he could hear her.

Denver asked if my sister was behind us or in front of us. I said she was way in front of us and we’d probably be seeing her soon. I suspected that she would already be at the turn around. The first woman to come past us looked tired and she was sweating profusely. My sister was not too far back and she looked fresh and ready to go. I thought “She’s right where she wants to be.”

At the half turn around, Denver remarked on the buffet. There were chips, M&Ms, fruit and all sorts of stuff. Two hours and thirty-five minutes had passed since the start. He’d been encouraging me to go on without him every time he had to stop and walk, but I was enjoying our run together and I thought it was helping me not get injured. I have trouble setting appropriate limits for myself. This was good. I thought I might leave him at mile 16 and run in, but at mile 16 I was feeling nauseous and I didn’t want to run ahead. I just wanted to finish.

We saw what people told us were wild horses, but they could have been anything they were so far away. A sheriff rolled by in a pickup and shouted something to us. We both said something like “OK!” and then simultaneously turned to each other and asked “What did he say?”

Somewhere along the way I learned that Denver’s name was Craig. We stopped and read the signs at the overlooks. I don’t think Craig minded the break and I had promised myself the day before on our course tour that I would stop and read them. We saw bands of white and brown in the distant hills. The signs told us that the brown was oil shale and Craig worried out loud about the folly of extracting the oil.

He saw the sheriff at the side of the road and stopped to ask what he had said. Turns out there was a big rattlesnake in our way. We missed it.

One hot dusty mile after another we made progress to the end. I was tired, but nothing felt injured. The blood I had anticipated to be pouring out of my left toe was not. All was well. I think I talked too much. Part of me was just focused on telling stories to fill the time and focus on something besides any pain or tiredness I felt. In retrospect, I should have asked more questions.

At the finish, I saw my sister with a nice award hanging around her neck. Turns out she finished second, but the woman who beat her got a rolling aid station at mile 18. For the last 8 miles of the race, where my sister had anticipated wearing her down by making her rush through the quaint aid stations, the rival had aid handed to her out the window of an SUV and she didn’t need to stop. We debate over whether she knows this is against USATF rules or not. My sister is prone to giving her the benefit of the doubt. I just say she cheated.

That afternoon my sister and I went to get moose burgers (well, she was going to have one, I was going to have the veggie option) but it turns out I was duped. The moose burgers were made of beef. We washed the car because we didn’t want the car rental company knowing we drove on a dirt road and there appeared to be a horse shoe nail in the front tire. And we attempted to climb up the hill to the giant GR on the hillside, but there were signs warning us of a $200 fine for doing so. Thankfully (because I was wearing flip flops) we stayed on the valley floor.

The horse shoe nail was a rock. We had a nice little run this morning and everything was working. I’m set for running with my team tomorrow. And our plane was on time. All in all, a very nice road trip. A very nice finishers medal. And a very nice Wyoming.

San Francisco Marathon Race Report

Short Form:  4:13 (who knew it would be so hilly?)

Long Form:

I had trouble getting psyched up for SFM.  I had a great marathon in Missoula two weeks prior and had a few great runs in Maple Valley the following week, but my last run in Maple Valley lasted just over a minute.  My hamstring seized up and it hurt unlike any time before.  I knew to keep running would mean more damage and I hoped if I stopped that it would have time to heal.  I hardly ran again.  It is tough to prepare for a marathon while camping, in my opinion. I began to entertain thoughts of not running SFM.  In my quest for running a marathon in all 50 states, I already had California.

Saturday before the race, we picked up my shirt and number early in the morning and began our ad hoc self-guided walking tour of San Francisco.  After we were done and I sat down with gmaps pedometer, I figured it was somewhere around eight miles.  I slept okay on Saturday night – better than I usually do prior to a marathon.  Getting up extra early isn’t the big deal it used to be.  The alarm went off at about 4 AM and I stood up.  Instantly, I thought “Screw it.” and climbed back in bed.  I told Bruce to forget it, I wasn’t going to go.  He said some things I forget, trying to make me feel better, and then said “We can go down later and watch the runners go by.”  then I heard my sister’s voice “I’d rather be a DNF than a Did Not Start.”  There was no way I could stay in bed and live with myself.  By this time, Bruce had fallen back to sleep, so I poked him repeatedly and said “I gotta do this.”

Getting to the start line took just a few minutes.  When we rented the house in Potrero Hill, we didn’t realize how convenient it would be for running the marathon.  It was a few blocks to a view spot and just three miles to the start/finish.  It was dark and the usual pre-marathon hoopla was going on.  I had my video camera, so I started filming and wondering if I would see anyone I knew.  I chatted briefly with the woman next to me in wave 4.  It was her second marathon and she was hoping for a PR.  Her first marathon was 4 and a half hours.  I wished her well.  I wouldn’t be getting a PR this day.

In the first four flat miles, the sun gently illuminated the fog.  My right leg hurt, but I’d expected that.  My left ankle started hurting and I thought of those guys at the Seattle Marathon during mile 1.  The first guy was listing his aches and pains to the second guy.  The second guy finally said “Look.  26.2 miles is a long way to go.  You do NOT need to tell me about every little ache and pain.”  I laughed at myself and tried to focus on something else.  There were a few chatty people, but no one I felt was going the right pace for me.  This was not going to be a run in which I would try to hold a pace.  I would just run.

I looked at the Golden Gate Bridge appearing up ahead and noticed how much higher it was than we were.  Could this course have hills?  I am not sure why I didn’t think it would.  Perhaps I was just thinking of the first four miles.  The hill was highlighted by some “Burma Shave” signs with stats about the biggest hills in San Francisco.  Worried I would forget them, I filmed them.  When I learn how to edit the film, I will post it on You Tube.  Funny I still call it “film.”

The Golden Gate Bridge was an out and back.  I saw about half a dozen people I know on the bridge.  That was fun.  After the bridge I saw a sign warning of coyote crossing.  Only in San Francisco, I guess.  We ran through some lovely neighborhoods on our way to Golden Gate Park.  Mostly, I think we ran up hill.  Coming into Golden Gate Park, we passed the half way mark.  I forget my split, but it was over two hours.  The second half was going to be ugly.  I could tell.  I stopped to film the buffalo in honor of all the buffalo we’d seen in Yellowstone.  Around mile 15, I put my iPod on and took off my long sleeve shirt.  I had overdressed for this marathon and loaded up with a fuel belt and water.  I don’t know why I had so much stuff with me.  I felt like a pack mule.

Coming out of Golden Gate Park, we ran through Haight-Ashbury.  I had always wanted to see it and it didn’t disappoint.  I wondered about what life was like there in 1969.  I was glad I could run a marathon instead of lie around in a drug-induced haze.  I ran past a banner telling me to break through the wall.  I had no wall.  This whole marathon was hard.  So hard, I forgot to take my Gu.  What was I thinking?

Running into Potrero at about mile 21, I really hoped I would see my family.  I didn’t.  I tried not to let the disappointment get me down.  It’s tough to be a marathon spectator.  But then I saw Bruce and Charlie down the block.  I think I set my fastest time running towards them as Charlie ran towards me.  I picked him up in a big squeezy hug.  We chatted briefly.  He wanted to run the last three miles with me, but was discouraged to learn we’d have to walk three miles back to the house after that.  I trudged on without him.  I did not enjoy the last three miles.  They took forever.  The bands there to cheer us on were loud and not to my taste.  I ran past Barry Bonds Little League Field and I wondered about how healthy it was to have his name on the park as a role model for kids.  I ran past the AT&T Park, which was PacBell Park last time I was in San Francisco.  I ran to where I could hear the announcers at the finish ridiculing some poor guy for failing to wear nipple protectors.  They didn’t let it go and it made me mad.  28 years ago when I ran the Bay to Breakers in San Francisco, I was so fat that my legs rubbed together.  After 8 miles, I was a bloody, embarrassed mess.  I think if the guys at the finish line had ridiculed me, that I never would have run again.  The announcers should be there to cheer on the finishers, not make fun of them.  They said absolutely nothing about me as I finished.  Not even my number.  I was fine with that.

The finish had enough food to keep me supplied as I walked the three miles back to the house.  I was a little disoriented, so I think I went 3 and a half miles, but after a kind woman gave me her map, I was fine.

San Francisco was fun and I would do it again in a minute.  Only next time, I would prefer to do it with a healthy right leg and some hill training.

Missoula Marathon Race Report

Short form:  3:48, second best marathon time yet

Long form:  We had a nice dinner the night before with all the kids, Mary, Cliff and Tony at an Italian restaurant in Missoula whose name I have forgotten.  Cafe Mambo, maybe.  There were a gaggle of other marathoners there and Cliff had wisely made a reservation for us.  Afterwards we walked to Bernice’s Bakery so Mary could get her requisite piece of chocolate cake.

Marathon morning I woke up at 3:30 AM thinking, yet again, “Why am I doing this?!”  I questioned my sanity, which seems to be dangling on a thinner thread as I get older.  After I got ready, Bruce walked me to the bus.  Our hotel was located rather close to everything we wanted to do.  We did a lot of walking in Missoula.  The bus ride to the start took forever.  I was sure he’d made a wrong turn, or missed our turn entirely.  At the start, Mary connected with old friends, but I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

The gun was terribly loud and I was lucky to get to the start just seconds before it went off.  We ran the first nine miles past beautiful farm land and a paper pulp mill, which I found interesting.  The pacer for the 3:50 pace group was driving me crazy, so I set my goal to beat her.  I ran for many miles with Kim, a local woman who was running her first marathon.  She ended up placing in our division and beating me by over 10 minutes!  What a great first marathon!  She has a farm in Missoula and I enjoyed chatting with her.  At around 10 miles or so, she was feeling very good and decided to speed up.  But by then I had found Ed, a 37 year old from Idaho.  His goal was 3:40 and we seemed well matched.  He had served in the middle east like my brother and he had four kids about the same ages as mine.  He was good company for much of the marathon.

At around the halfway point, we turned into a wooded area and ran up a hill.  Ouch that hill took more than I thought it should.  I loved the downhill that followed.  The last ten miles or so were through neighborhoods that I didn’t find as interesting as the farm land.  Maybe because the last five miles were tougher than I thought they should be.  I had lost the spring in my step.  I had tried to take Gu every five miles so I wouldn’t bonk, and I didn’t, but my stomach wasn’t happy at all.  It was hot.  I was sighing a lot and wishing for the end.  Much to my pleasant surprise, the end wasn’t where I thought I was, it was closer by two blocks!  That felt great!  My boys were there to cheer me on at the finish.  My sister was stunned to see me.  Her goal had been to beat me by an hour and here it was just 29 minutes after she finished.  That was fun.

The volunteers were great all the way along the race.  The course marshals did a fantastic job with traffic control and telling us where to go.  The drinks were plentiful and there were even two gel stops, although I carry my own, it was nice to see.  The half marathon walkers, who were on the same course, were very nice about moving over when I shouted “On your left!”  (I had little lateral movement left and they were often spread four and five across making it difficult to pass them.) The only bad part was at the end.  There was no plain water at the finish, just flavored water and I really sincerely just wanted plain water.  I would absolutely recommend Missoula to any marathoner.  Nice town.  Lots of fun.  Well done race.

Later in the afternoon, my sister, Charlie and I hiked up the mountain behind the football stadium to the M.  I have pictures of it somewhere and will try to remember to add them later.  It was fun and a great way to recover.  I don’t feel sore at all.  Ready for SFM in 10 days!

Fort Collins Marathon Race Report

Short Form: Colorado…CHECK!

Long Form:
Bruce and I flew up on Saturday. Excited but filled with trepidation. Neither one of us had had the training we’d hoped for due to myriad reasons. Arriving at the Denver airport, the counter clerk at Avis tried to “up sell” me to a full size car – which would give me more head room and comfort – I stuck with the sub-compact, which turned out to be a Toyota Yaris. The Yaris is a lot like the ‘Cho and I felt right at home.

When we got to the hotel in Fort Collins, a light rain had started to fall. The expo was modest, but everyone was friendly and helpful. When we got to our room, I decided to check out the results from last year. The female winner was Mercedes Gil, a local gal who would be 47 now. She ran a 3 hour marathon last year and was far and away faster than the rest of the field. There were other women in my age group who ran faster than I expected to, but not a whole bunch of them. Depending on who showed up, I could be competitive. I went downstairs and asked if Mercedes was running this year. She was not. I tried not to freak myself out getting concerned with competition. I wasn’t in shape to be competitive.

The rain grew heavier and colder. I wondered if we would find ourselves at the start in the snow. I decided not to bring my camera with me. I didn’t sleep well. I never do before a marathon. But thank God for podcasts. I listened to queued up episodes of the Wall Street Journal Tech Briefing. I knew 3:15 AM would come awfully early – especially since it was really 2:15 Phoenix time.

When the alarm went off, there was a very light drizzle outside. We drove to the busses that left from near the finish line. I had looked up the race on Marathon Maniacs and there were supposed to be six to eight Maniacs in this race. Turns out, Bruce and I, both Maniacs, were seated with two other Maniacs on the bus. It was fun chatting as we drove through the darkness to the start.

The start was cold, but it wasn’t raining at all and it wasn’t too cold. Bruce and I got separated, but I found myself talking to other women who wanted to run about four hours. One of them, Rachael, would run with me for almost the entire first half of the race. She’s from Denver and spent her college years playing soccer. She was very nice. The scenery was beautiful. A raging river off to my left, mountains going up both sides of the canyon we were running through. Clear, crisp blue sky. Rachael kept saying she was going to slow down, but she never did. She ended up finishing ten minutes ahead of me. I was feeling good, but I didn’t want to pay for running too fast later. My first half was 1:56. Including three minutes in porta potty lines. TMI?

The Colorado Marathon at Fort Collins has a marathon, half marathon and 5K all run on the same course at the same time. The bib numbers were different colors, but bibs were worn on the front, so without being able to see the numbers, I kept wondering when we would come upon some half marathoners.

At about half way, I met Norma. She was a local mom, 43, running her first ever marathon. She was easy to talk to and we held a strong pace. It felt really good running with her. Like running with Susie on days when we are both in the groove and just stretch it out. Her family cheered for her at mile 16, then drove ahead to cheer for her later.

At about mile 17, I passed Bruce. He can write his own race report.

Then there was a hill. An uphill. Norma walked. I kept powering through it. At the top, I wanted to puke. The nausea reminded me of being pregnant. I didn’t like it. I wondered if it was the altitude taking affect on me. We ran through a park with a river for most of the last 10K. At one point, we ran over a long bridge that shook like a suspension bridge. The experience exacerbated my nausea.

Norma got a pacer. She was going to be very close to a BQ. At mile 22, she was just 30 seconds off pace. Norma and her pacer went on ahead. I was unable to keep up. I was digging deep. My muscles were screaming at me. Every step made the one spot I neglected to lube with Vaseline stab with pain. I wanted to throw up. And I would have if I thought it would help, but I feared that once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. One step at a time. Noiseless steps. Don’t drag that right foot even though the hamstring was a mess. I really must go back to physical therapy.

I tried to say encouraging things to the people I passed or who passed me. Another woman had a spry, fit looking pacer who said to both of us “You can do this! Just one mile left! Anybody can run a mile! ANYBODY!” I know that isn’t true. Not everybody can run a mile. But I could. And I would finish as strong as I possibly could. I did not want to be passed in the last mile by some woman who would place and I wouldn’t. I didn’t mind if I finished like Friesan Fire, but I didn’t want to do it in the last mile.

After we passed mile 26, we turned for the finish. It seemed to take forever. Suddenly, there was a woman next to me and she was accelerating. “Not today!” I said to myself and I kicked it into high gear. I prayed the race would end before I threw up. She gave up pretty easily and suddenly she wasn’t there anymore. I kept running as strong as I could all the way across the finish line. I finished in 3:55, which was just what I thought I would run.

A kind young man wanted to take off my chip. I said “Only if I can hang on to you.” He asked if I was ok. “Yeah” I answered, hoping that I wouldn’t throw up on him has he got my chip. I got my finisher’s medal and it sure looks nice. I grabbed a water bottle and walked back up the course to try to find Bruce. I found him at about 25.8 and ran in with him to the finish. We found the posted results and learned I was second in my age group.

And Colorado is in the books.

Nevada!

Running from an Angel Marathon, 1/3/09, Race Report

Short Form: There isn’t one. A marathon is a long distance. This race report is long, too.

Long Form: I was born in a sleepy little town by the sea 46 years ago…

On Friday we dropped the kids at my mother-in-laws with Charlie clinging to my leg and looking at me with a touch of worry in his eyes begging me not to go. I was not sure what that was about, but I assured him that he would have fun and I would see him in a few days. We drove to Boulder City but had to take a few detours to avoid traffic. Hoover Dam was an amazing sight (still). To think about how much work it must have taken. They have already been working on the bypass bridge for longer than it took to build the entire dam and it doesn’t look as though they are any further along than they were last time we were at Hoover Dam, the day after my first marathon in St George, Utah in 2006.

When we got there, we checked into the smokey, seedy hotel with plentiful slots and gambling opportunities. I wanted to drop a coin into a slot machine, but they only took dollar bills. Driving into town, we found the street where my mother-in-law lived while her father worked as a timekeeper on the dam project during the depression. We found some over-priced antique shops and a quaint historic hotel.

At packet pick up I met Bart Yasso and bought his book. I stayed up late reading it and laughing out loud about some of his running exploits. It was very windy and Bruce kept looking out the window to check how far the trees were bending over.

Saturday morning was not quite as windy… Or so we thought. We got to the start in plenty of time to chat with the other Marathon Maniacs who were there. One had a number in the low 100s, all the others seemed to be in the 600s. Bruce was amazed to see me reach out my hand and say “Hi. I’m 466.” He really wants to be a Maniac.

The first .2 was uphill. Really uphill. But after that, I thought we would enjoy some gently rolling hills for the remainder of the race. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I know it isn’t possible that the out and back course was uphill into a head wind both ways, but it sure felt like it at times. I enjoyed the downhill and tried not to put the brakes on.

I allowed Bruce to go out faster than I did. I had already planned to run my own race. For awhile I ran with Jill and Julie who are from Illinois and convinced me to try to get to Champaign-Urbana for the Illinois Marathon in April. But they weren’t going as fast as I wanted to, so I started running with John from New Mexico. When I asked him what he did, I could have sworn he said “Professor of Forest Psychology” which sounded really weird, but it turns out it was “Professor of Forest Ecology.” He complimented my ability to attack the hills. I didn’t realize I had an ability to attack the hills, so I just said “Thank you. We really don’t have much opportunity for hill training in Phoenix.”

After about 9 miles, he backed off and I kept going. Mile 10 was a delicious downhill, but I was not relishing the idea of running up it later. Going downhill, I could see the uphill on the other side and thought that the turn around was half way up the other side. I was wrong. We had to go over the next hill to get to the turn around. Going up the next hill, the guy in bike shorts in front of me stopped to pee. Right there on the course. In the wind. I was behind him by about 10 yards and had to slow down lest I get sprayed. I was mad. I thought I should catch up to him and give him a piece of my mind.

I saw Bruce near the turn around and said “Looking good!” He was maintaining a steady lead on me and it looked like he had found some buddies to run with – the guy in white and the guy in dark blue. I hoped he wouldn’t blow up. John had asked me if I was trying to catch him and I said “No. I really hope I don’t.” But if you want to know the truth, I was thinking that I might in the later miles.

Back up the mile 10 hill, which was now the mile 16 hill, Pee Man decided it was time to go again. Why couldn’t this guy just step to the side? There was plenty of desert if he chose not to use the porta potties stationed at every other aid station and only a quarter mile down the course from where he was now peeing. Again I had to slow down. I was really mad now. I rehearsed the vile things I would say to him at the finish. I caught him before mile 17, but I was so mad, I didn’t say anything at all. We ran over a mile side by side in silence.

Then I caught Bruce at an aid station. He was struggling. I had been on pace for a BQ, but it was going to be close. My miles were averaging just under 9:05. We chatted briefly and he encouraged me to keep running. I thought about it for a minute and said “No. It will be more fun to stay with you.” He was doing a combination of walking and jogging which was tiring me out. It was fun to talk to him, but this was going to take forever. John caught us and offered Bruce gummy bears, antacids, and other things I forget. He was very nice. I love the comraderie of runners!

After three miles, a woman came up behind us. I said “Honey, I gotta go. I am the fourth woman right now and I don’t want to be fifth.” He encouraged me to go. After 20 miles, I always have the toughest time in a marathon and this was no different. A few times I thought I must be dizzy because I was having trouble with my footing, but then I realized it was the wind knocking me off my feet. The cross wind was the worst. Bruce hated the head wind, but I felt most unstable in the cross wind.

At mile 23, I started to worry that Bruce was really having trouble and he hadn’t been honest with me. What if he were having heart trouble and needed someone to perform chest compressions? On this course with no spectators, it was likely he could be down for a while. I remembered hearing him say he was taking his last Gu. Was this the last one he wanted or the last one he had? I stopped at the aid station. “Please do me a favor.” I asked the volunteer. “My husband is 3 to 4 minutes behind me and he is tall in a long sleeve maroon shirt. Please give him this Gu. He is struggling and he needs it.” She agreed. As I left the aid station, I shouted “His name is Bruce!”

At mile 24 or so, there was a photographer. I stopped to chat with him. “I am worried about my husband. I don’t know if I should stay and wait for him or if I should go on.” We chatted for a few minutes and he said “I will cheer for him!” So I left, seeing the woman and a bunch of other runners, whose genders I could not determine, cresting the hill behind me.

The last two miles took forever, but not really. I was tired, but was still feeling pretty good. I was envisioning finishing, then running back out to get Bruce. I finished in 4:08. Grabbed a water bottle and a wet wash cloth and headed back up the hill to get Bruce. He was just rounding the corner. He didn’t want water or the wash cloth. He said “After I finish.” and we ran in together. He finished in 4:14.

The finish area was well stocked with delicious food of all types, including hot soup. There was even a toaster for bagels and english muffins! The finish set up showed how well Calico Racing and Race Director Joyce can put on a race. Everything was handled with apparent ease and professionalism. We wandered over to the awards table to look at the awards. They were beautiful slate plaques in the shape of Nevada. Hand painted. But they only went one deep in each 10 year age category. I was disappointed because I thought the women ahead of me looked like they were in their 40s. At least two of them did.

Turns out, I was wrong. In this wind, with these hills, my 4:08 was good enough for first place in my age group! And Nevada can be checked off the list. Only 40 states left to go.

Bruce has reconsidered his marathon goals and instead of going for a specific time goal, he has decided that he wants to try to run a marathon and have fun. I like that idea. I think that is always a good goal.