Slaughterhouse Excerpt - Marathon writeup

Slaughterhouse 50

Start Time: Tuesday, December 8

End Time: continuing

Word Count: 4403


“Wow, I heard about you. You run marathons! That’s crazy!”

“Um, no, not exactly. I’m a triathlete. Swim, bike, run.”

“How far is that?”

“Usually I swim just under a mile, then bike 24.6 miles, then run 6.2 miles after that.”

“Dude, those marathons are crazy. What’s it like?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I’m a triathlete. I’ve never done a marathon.”

“But you could run a marathon. I mean, that’s harder than a triathlon, right?”

And as I’ve had this conversation over the years, trying to distinguish the difference between my sport and the marathon, being asked if one was easier or harder did pique my interest. Marathons have all of these stories, probably because they have more participants. “Hitting the wall,” “Rabbits,” “mile 20,” and so on. Triathlon doesn’t have as many stories, because there’s a certain kind of person who wants to test their mettle and look deep inside of their soul to find out what they’re made of – but they don’t want to get their face wet. I’ve seen shirts reading, “You’re a marathoner? Is that all you do? That’s cute. 140.6” – the number of miles covered in a full distance Ironman race.

So as happens increasingly with things that require a physical challenge, I had to find out. I had to know just how hard a marathon was. I had to be able to answer those questions, both from myself and others. It was originally my goal to find this out last year, but the race organizers were a squirrelly bunch, trying to sell the rights to the race, losing the primary sponsor, not paying vendors and the previous year’s winners. The possibility the race would not occur made me nervous, so I signed up for my first half-ironman distance race instead and made that my end-of-year goal.

This year, however, the race had been taken over by the Rock and Roll Marathon group, who put on very well-regarded races all over the country. The route was better, and the company was solid. I signed up in June and started looking into training plans, which paralleled my training for the Silverman half race. I suspected that if I could successfully complete a race of that distance, my legs could do a marathon. I was a little leery of the fact I’d be doing a half-Ironman race four weeks beforehand and was worried I may not have time to recover, but I didn’t see how I’d lose any cardiovascular ability or strength in my legs by getting the right amount of rest.

I had a very good year from a triathlon standpoint. I did five races and improved my time in all of them after course changes were taken into account. I did three running events and improved my times in those. I had my best time ever in a cycling event. My body responded well to new diet, new strength training, and a new approach. I spent a lot more time running this year than any other discipline, knowing that was where I needed to spend my time and energy at the end of the year.

Complicating matters, of the three sports that I do as part of triathlon, I like running the least. I have reached the point where I am completely at home on a bicycle, and I think it’s not a coincidence that’s where I get my best times. I can tolerate the swim, particularly when I get into a rhythm with it.

But running is pain, particularly any distance over about eight miles. Usually my legs are beaten into submission at that point, and all manner of interesting things start happening, including blistered feet and lost toenails. I don’t run as much as I shuffle. I realize the only thing that I can do is to keep moving, so that’s the only choice I give myself. And then soon, the running’s finished, and I get to the finish line, which I jump over.

Jumping over the line started as a tribute to the kids, who I told about it when they weren’t at one of the races that I finished. Jarren, in particular, knows that’s how I’m going to finish up; in the first grade he took first place in a shuttle run on Field Day and closed it out by jumping over the line. I couldn’t stop smiling when he told me, but someday I may have to explain the difference between speed events and distance events.

So after 25 triathlons, it was finally time to put the doubts out of my head, the long-term ones about how far I could push myself. I knew that my mile times would be around 9:45 from the pace that I ran the half-marathons at, both at the Silverman a few weeks back and the times I’d run that distance.

The marathon has cachet. It’s one of those things that everybody who knows anything about running understands: emaciated-looking Kenyans crossing a finish line as if the winner has been promised a hot meal; average people pushing their bodies three steps from death, a synonym for something that takes a very long time. I don’t have to explain things about strategy or transitions. (There is actually a strategy to running, which I’ll explain later.) You get out there and run. And keep running. That’s it.

I got my stuff set up the same way I would for a triathlon, but try as I might, couldn’t obsess over it enough. A bicycle has things to check, items to tune, flasks to load, gear to remember and set up. I didn’t have to worry about which sock went into which bicycle shoe to set on which towel at my transition spot. All I had to do was decide what I was going to wear, and I knew the answer to that even before I knew what the weather was. Once I found out that race morning temperatures would be in the mid-30s, I made one concession to the weather – a sleeveless Dri-Fit shirt over a sleeved Dri-Fit shirt for two layers. The other options were the usual: black shorts (though for running and not for cycling), black hat, wraparound sunglasses, Las Vegas sign socks (I’d be passing the genuine article in the first quarter-mile) and New Balance running shoes. I threaded the metallic timing chip through the right laces and assembled what was going in my pockets.

This part was different. I put my driver’s license and health insurance card into the secret pocket on my right hip, three Gu packets into my right pocket, and a very important addendum to this race, a laminated card with 27 names on it. The explanation for that is here.

I got dialed in to my usual pre-race hydration and nutrition plan, even though I didn’t totally know what to expect. I did everything I could to avoid thinking about the race itself. It’s like a final exam in a subject you’ve been studying for years, or even a little like a game show audition; either you know it or you don’t, so don’t stress about it when it’s time to find out. I was smiling as a friend explained the all-uphill running path we were driving along: “It just goes on and on and on.” I got the usual poor night’s sleep before the first one of an event and was up in three and a half hours.

My office was located 700 feet from the starting line, and would actually be barricaded in by runners for the first 45 minutes of the race. That meant that one of the best parking lots on Earth for the race I was about to participate in with 27,000 other people was where you can usually find my vehicle between Monday and Friday. All I had to do was find my way into the lot, so after a quick negotiation with two traffic officers and the Nevada Highway Patrol moving two squad cars, a roadblock and three cones, I was past the security gates and settling into the comfort of the Information Technologies Fabulous Pre-Race Lounge. There I would meet with my fellow co-captains of our bureau’s running team, Johnny Lopez and Lisa Zelazny, who were also running their first marathons.

We had some guys in working on a maintenance project, so I said hello to everyone and sat down at my desk. At this point it was 4:15 in the morning and the outside temperature was 36 degrees. Johnny showed up a few minutes later, started getting his shoes on and playing scenes from “Run Fatboy Run.” We were soon joined by Mike Lamoureux, who explained that, “You’ve seen the movie “Rudy,” right? Where he says that if he makes the dress list, he’ll go to the game? Well, you guys made the dress list. This is too big a day for me not to be here.” Lisa showed up in a few minutes. After a little music and my breakfast of cream of rice with oregano and red pepper, we got bunched up next to the door and prepared to head into the cold.

“You’re going to freeze to death.”

“I’m going to be running for 26 miles. I’ll have plenty of time to warm up.”

I had my legs under me, and once we opened the door I wish that warmup was at hand right away. I could feel my feet going numb and my teeth chattering. I tried to walk faster to get to the starting area, accessible by turning the corner at Russell, walking a block to Frank Sinatra, hanging a right and walking through the parking lot to the start. We took some pictures in the dark and made our way through the masses of people. Lisa stopped to say hi to her Rockin’ Roadrunners group, and then we headed into the maelstrom of runners. Johnny was in Corral 3, on account of a patently insane estimate that he made to the race organizers that he would finish in three and a half hours. We asked how he expected to do so without the benefit of rocket skates. Lisa was in Corral 24, nearly in front of the Luxor, a mile or so from the start. I was in Corral 15 and was one of the few people there early by comparison to some of the other locations. Our start time was estimated not to take place until 6:24, nine minutes after the gun went off to start the race.

Hundreds of spectators lined the streets, standing behind portable metal fencing. Most of the people near me wore sweatshirts they planned on discarding or plastic garbage bags with holes cut in them for the head and arms. As this was my first marathon, I was glad to have another moment that I would spend at a race and think to myself, “I should have thought of that.” Standing at the front of my grouping, I looked back and saw a runner in a SILVERMAN FULL sweatshirt. We exchanged triathlon pleasantries as we sort of recognized each other. Most of the runners weren’t local, but then again, standing in the middle of the strip on most occasions is a great way to find employment as a hood ornament. It’s not like this is an easy route to run under normal circumstances. You’re crossing some very busy streets in an area that’s famously inhospitable to pedestrians, where your feet aren’t even allowed to touch the pavement other than the sidewalk. Running the Strip is a rare treat because it’s not allowed.

Standing in a crowd of people, we could hear the fireworks go off to start the elite runners, and the crowd cheered loudly as that meant we were a little bit closer to starting ourselves. The cold was horrible, but there was a breeze at our backs that wasn’t quite actually windy. I downed my first Gu packet 20 minutes before our scheduled start. At the moment, all it was doing was making me shiver. My teeth were chattering, jumping up and down wasn’t helping any, and I needed to quickly dive out of line to find a restroom even after the last gel. Several other runners and I arrived at the same decision, and we jogged up the hill towards a line of porta-potties 200 feet from the start line. I found the other people at my pace in the corral and returned.

I tried to empty my mind of any thoughts. I started wondering, do the usual tri rituals apply? I could start the watch when the yelled “30 seconds!” during an in-water start; I’d wind up just fumbling with the buttons here. Did I shout, “Good luck today, everybody!” for karmic purposes? Would they hear me? Nearly everyone had headphones, as did I; I was jumping up and down, bobbing along to Kanye West’s “Gold Digger” and shuffling along to loosen up my hips. The crowd started surging forward some more. I saw Mike taking pictures along the fence, and I pointed and smiled. It was time to get to it. My headphones started playing “The Warrior’s Code” by the Dropkick Murphys. We surged toward the start line and I grabbed my watch to start it.

Mile 1

Honoree: Margaret Lyden (my mom)

They had us segregated pretty well by waves, but it was still very important to watch your surroundings and feet. In a 5K this is hideous – since it’s the shortest competitive distance, people cut you off if you’re not moving fast enough, only to get passed as they get winded toward the finish. (That’s one of the little joys that running distances brings me; passing people who can’t hold a pace.) As we passed under the starting arch, there was a band at the top of it – two guys dressed as the Blues Brothers playing “Gimme Some Lovin’”, which I viewed as a positive omen. A link to Chicago on my mom’s lap, one of a zillion cool coincidences I’d see today. Gelled follow spotlights shone down on everyone in a barrage of color as we crossed a giant PF Chang’s logo. We were underway!

The biggest concern about this part of the course was a hairpin turnaround at Sunset, at a point where it still felt as if runners were trying to adjust to their pace. I got myself to the inside lanes and planned to drift with everybody. One of the other things that I needed to keep in mind with the people who were pacing around me was the ratio of participants. I’d read that of the 27,500 people racing, 20,000 were doing the half-marathon only. Those people were going to run differently because they aren’t going as far, and when we got to the split at Mile 10, when it was time to Stand Up and Be Counted if you were going for the full distance, they would have only three left and I would have 16. A major difference. Once I hit the mile marker indicating the first marker was complete, marked with a giant banner and a digital timer under it, I looked at my watch to see if I could figure out the delta between the race time and my own watch; it was something more than a half-hour. My race plan was to not look at my watch until the half-marathon was marked off so that I wasn’t caught up in seconds ahead, seconds behind, just to worry about getting in a rhythm and getting comfortable. If anything, I was only going to look at my watch to know when it was time to eat more Gu.

Mile 2

Honoree: Jay Lyden (Dad)

Amazingly, there was a water and Cytomax (this race’s version of Gatorade) station about two hundred feet before the second mile marker, and runners who didn’t seem too sure about what they were doing bolted towards the edges of the road to partake. By this point we hadn’t been running for ten minutes; it was a like a kid who announces he has to go to the bathroom before the car has left the driveway. Really? You hadn’t thought of this just a couple minutes ago? The rest of us plugged along, trying to watch out for people who were going to stop for no reason. I’d settled into a pretty comfortable rhythm and picked out a couple bodies that I thought were doing the full race rather than the half, hoping that I could keep pace with them or, failing that, keep them within sight. This mile took me back past the office and gave me a good look back at everyone I was ahead of. A band was covering the Black Crowes covering Otis Redding underneath the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, and pretty soon we were back at the start line, where a few walkers were still making their way through the gates. I was trying to hold my usual outdoor pace, staying comfortable, and paying careful attention to a few different trouble spots that could make me slow down.

The first one was my left foot, which hadn’t felt right since after the Silverman race. It never hurt much while I was running, but once I stopped, there would be swelling and a large bump on the top of it that, through rigorous comparison testing and a scientific tactile analysis, I noticed wasn’t on my right foot, which didn’t hurt. It was tendonitis, an extensor tendon issue, or a stress fracture. It had survived a 5K race two weeks earlier and didn’t feel bad while I was running. I was ignoring reams of good advice from magazines, trainers, physicians, and common sense by not getting this looked at sooner, but I was relying on my own experience with stress fractures and the knowledge I’d be unable to walk if I had one. My other fear was that any sensible doctor would say that the safe side of dealing with foot pain is not to run for 26-plus miles, and that was an unacceptable answer. As long as the foot didn’t feel so bad I couldn’t stride correctly, I wasn’t going to panic about it.

The second were my quadriceps muscles, which usually bore the brunt of the impact when I was running and had the greatest amount of soreness. If I took too aggressive of a pace, they would get really tight, making it more difficult to keep a stride as I got later along in the race.

The third were my hips, which along with my lower back were going to be responsible for my posture, and if they started hurting a lot I would be very, very surprised. Typically my hips have been pushing me around on a bicycle for a while before I get to running. Even a race this long would seem like a vacation, so I figured if I was having any trouble with them , it would be an indicator of real problems and I would need to slow down.

Mile 3

Honoree: Ken Faikus

I was starting to pass by the MGM Grand, the very first hotel I stayed in when I was on that first trip to Las Vegas 13 – thirteen!! years ago this week, and Ken was among the travelers on that fateful journey. I thought of the thousands of miles that I’d traveled on foot from here to there, and checked all of the vital signs to ensure that everything was pacing out well. Crowds were cheering for us from the pedestrian walkways overhead, and I pumped my fist to acknowledge their cheers, so they cheered louder. There were dozens of people lining the streets everywhere we looked.

And you had to look, because every once in a while a pedestrian would attempt to cross the street, particularly in places where we wouldn’t expect them, like right in front of us. I don’t know what prompted these idiots to turn our race into their own personal Pamplona – I mean, the whole field was going to be at walking speed in just a couple more minutes. The other racers nearby and I were joking about it. “I was really clipping along until I got taken out by the pedestrian.”

Mile 4

Honoree: Brian Mascheri

Brian was also on that first trip, and we were also passing by the Hawaiian Marketplace. In one of the more entertaining coincidences of the day, I looked up and saw someone running in a CHELIOS 7 Blackhawks jersey. Every mile so far had something that tied back to the person who I’d chosen, and I was starting to feel like all of the omens were good. The first water station where I was going to drink anything was on this portion, straight across from Harrah’s, because it was the time limit of 45 minutes after eating my first Gu packet. I reached into my pocket and tore it open, then grabbed a cup of Cytomax and strode purposefully as I squeezed the gel into my mouth, slugging the drink afterwards and adding water after that. Toss the cup and start running again. I’d done all of this in eight steps.

Also on this mile was the run-through wedding chapel, where 200 couples were either getting married or renewing their vows. Without involving a drive-thru, your marriage cannot get more “quickie” than this.

Mile 5

Honoree: Beth Badrov

Because this was the first portion of the course that was adjacent to vacant land – the former site of the imploded Stardust and the future site of the Echelon project, which Boyd Gaming was forced to abandon, this was the first portion where litter had a chance to blow onto the course, and I got to experience one of those only-in-Vegas marathon moments: pornographic litter! I was developing the television commercial for this race in my head; a runner blazing through an aid station, tossing the cup to the side of him, only to be met at the end of it by a short non-English speaking gentleman whacking a rolled up newspaper flyer against his hand and attempting to hand it to him; runners doubled over and fighting off cramps as someone attempts to sell them a timeshare, and yet another aid station handing out yard-glass margaritas.

Mile 6

Honorees: Jenn and Ed Brusven

By now I was holding pace well and was really amazed at how well my breathing was going, knowing that what was going to hold me up was eventually going to be pain in my legs and not in my chest, air drumming along to Van Halen’s “I’ll Wait.” I started rolling my shoulders backwards and shaking my hands, as I was getting concerned that keeping my fingers clenched tightly on such a cold day was going to affect my circulation. We hit out second “speed bump” at the 10K mark, where our race timer chips were reporting back how the second phase of the race had gone.

Mile 7

Honoree: Zoe Albright

Zoe got the funniest mile, the one that took us through the seedier parts of downtown towards the Fremont Street Experience. Many of the hotels along the first six miles were showing Channel 8’s telecast of the race on their Jumbotron screens, others were congratulating their employees who were running it. Planet Hollywood was offering a Twitter relay to anyone who wanted to send messages to a racer who might possibly see it if they looked up at the right 10 seconds (sadly, none of the entries I saw used my favorite race-card sign suggestion of GOOD NEWS - SHE’S NOT PREGNANT) but most of the signs were congratulatory. I was looking forward to seeing what they would come up with at the Olympic Garden, but the establishment was dark. Across the street, though, we were being cheered on by a crowd gathered in front of a dive bar who were handing out cups of beer, which the patrons were handing over with great amusement. A block further down, a gentleman who clearly didn’t expect 27,000 people in the middle of the street at the end of his night was loudly cheering us on. We passed an adult bookstore with the signage

CHECK OUT OUR

STIMULUS PACKAGE

LAP DANCES $10

USED DVD SALE

COME IN AND GET DEEP THROAT

Some of my fellow racers looked aghast, others cracked up. I was in the latter category. My legs were still holding up as much as I hoped we would, my hips and back weren’t hurting, and everything looked good. At this point I was still convinced that the course would go through the Fremont Street Experience, because no civic event would be complete without it, but they elected to turn us around a few blocks further south, amongst the older row houses and well before we got to the World’s Largest Pint, a designation I’ve never completely understood (a pint is an actual measure, so calling something the World’s Largest Pint is like calling something the World’s Heaviest Pound) and we turned the corner to make our way back south.


Mile 8

Honoree: Siobhan Greene

Downtown’s Arts District goes to Siobhan, and right about here was where my left foot got a little twinge in it, and it started to become apparent I’d been running with the breeze at my back. There was a short hill and I could start to get an idea of how much of the field was still behind me, as we started looping backwards towards the Stratosphere. As the walkers emerged by the time I got past there, all that I could think to myself was, thousands of people were still chasing me. I also noted that if any of those quickie run-through weddings didn’t work out four miles ago, we were about three blocks away from my divorce lawyer’s office.

At this point the race felt like it had gone on for a while, but it didn’t feel interminable. We were still on the Strip, we were still moving at a good pace, the music was still keeping me alert and I wasn’t hurting, so I just decided to roll with it. (I did make the decision to fast-forward through a cadence-inappropriate, but historically significant, song, that being Oasis’ “Cigarettes and Alcohol.” As hard as I wanted to laugh at this point, it simply wasn’t going to happen.