Toeing the Line in Tucson – the 2007 Tucson Marathon Report
Coffee for my breakfast
Coffee for my breakfast
Shot of whiskey on the side
It's a dark and dreary morning
With the clouds covering up the sky
[Chorus:]The forecast calls for pain
The forecast calls for pain
My baby's turning cold.......And the forecast calls for pain
Robert Cray – Forecast (Calls for Pain) – from the Album “Midnight Stroll”
Yes, I did do the Tucson Marathon on Sunday, December 2. My Winter Headquarters hometown race as it were.
There were as always many amazing things and aspects to the experience, but the words that come to mind when starting this blog were “Never Mind”
Here goes:
Never Mind that I hadn’t trained a lick since Portland (okay, a 15K at the end of October, a cross-country 5k on Thanksgiving and a quick 7-miler a week ago Saturday with Cayelin’s 22-year old Speed Demon Daughter Jenna – but little consistent running, and no long distance work)
Never Mind that I hadn’t run since the aforementioned Saturday Jenna Run
Never Mind that I spent Monday through Friday this last week gone and busy, I flew up to Portland, OR last Monday, and on Tuesday helped Daniel Giamario load a 28-Foot Diesel Penske moving truck (uphill and in the rain) with all his earthly possessions (including several dozen 50-80 pound boxes of books) We also loaded his Jeep Cherokee on a car carrier, and hooked it to the truck resulting in about a 40 foot long, 12 foot high rig. We then drove 1,500 miles straight down the I-5 through Oregon, all of California, Los Angeles, then across to Phoenix, and down to Tucson, arriving late on Thursday night. Then, on Friday, we unloaded all the stuff (again, in the rain, but now in TUCSON) into his rented apartment, and turned in the truck by 6:00 pm.
Never Mind that during said journey, Daniel and I smoked several big bomber cigars, listened to Jazz and loud Rock and Roll and subsisted on such healthy fare as Taco Bell, Jack-in-the-box and Trader Joe’s Truffles. We also washed down such epicurean gastronomic fare with lukewarm bottles of Martinelli’s Sparkling Apple Juice.
(Healthy lifestyle choices, that’s Daniel and I!)
So, most of the week was either sitting in an uncomfortable rental truck seat, making WIDE turns, or doing non-stop leg-presses schlepping heavy-ass boxes and furniture.
And oh, yeah Never Mind that…hadn’t I broken a toe not four weeks back? (for details, see my last blog “Burning Race Fees”)
So, Never Mind all that….on Saturday, Cayelin and I went over to the Hilton El Conquistador on the north end of town and got my packet and timing chip for the race on Sunday.
Before I get to the race details, let me back up a few weeks.
I was really pleased at all the responses I got to my last, somewhat whiny blog about Burning Race fees and the recent broken toe injury I had suffered. A key factor in my decision to actually run this race regardless was not only my normal pigheadedness, but a kindly inquiry from my good friend Will S, who, in response to the blog wrote to me:
……how bad is your toe now? can you walk? even, painfully, without seriously damaging yourself or putting yourself too far behind in healing...if...you were to WALK the marathon?
seems the Taurean enjoyment might even be more augmented; you'd earn the shirt wearing for DARN sure; you'd still be able to say you completed six marathons this year...well, you get the idea!
It was a well-timed reminder of my self-proclaimed “Zen Training Program” practicing non-attachment to outcome – a great life lesson for all things, not just specific events.
Like Marathons.
So, Thanks Brother Will!
I think…
Read on……
I’ve done the Tucson Marathon twice before – in 2002 and 2003. Both times I remembered it as being a pretty low-key event, not a big-city type race, and fairly well run and marked. I also remembered a fairly rolling, but not hard, and mostly downhill course. The Expo was a typical small-race expo, located in the aforementioned El-Conquistador resort, a desert-type resort center, with spectacular mountain views. It was, as usual a bit of a labyrinth trying to find the correct meeting room that the expo was being held in, but we prevailed, finding it after navigating the outside courtyards, complex lobby, and a few long hallways.
I noticed right away that the Tucson T-shirt hadn’t changed much since 2002 – it’s a white cotton short sleeve, with the same emblem and information embedded on the front (it’s called the Holualoa Tucson Marathon, which sounds blatantly Hawaiian, though it’s not), and the same emblem of likenesses of Kokopelli, a Petroglyph Sun, and a Cactus, in succession.
Not much has changed T-shirt wise since 2002, thought the quality is a little cheaper. And since both the Marathon and Half Marathon shirts are the same, the sponsor for the Half Marathon – Damascus Bakeries – is also represented on the front. No one from Tucson that I talked to had ever heard of Damascus Bakeries, so who knows what that was all about? No bread, or pastries were evident during the entire event.
Yeah, I’m a T-shirt snob…..but I got spoiled in Fox Cities this year, and also in Medford at the Pine line Marathon, so I know races can get good apparel….Tucson just, apparently doesn’t.
Typical expo stuff – a Chiropracter, National Running Center, a local Shoe Store, Sunglasses and Cliff bars – however, there was a “Sock Survey” booth where you could fill out a form, which asked about your athletic sock-buying preferences, and willingness to pay up to $10 for a good pair of cushioned socks. By taking the survey, you got a free pair of socks. So, I did. Strange looking socks also – but free, however I refrained from trying them out on race day.
We were done with the expo in short order, and headed back across town. That day – Saturday - was the third day of some all-day soaking rains. Not typical for Tucson at this time of year – and I was slightly concerned that the conditions for this – advertised always as a “fast downhill course” - was going to be treacherous and miserable. Sunday forecast called for clearing and ‘60’s with 10-15 mph winds out of the East Northeast – so it looked okay.
Inside the bag-o-stuff from the expo was the course map with elevation chart, which showed a pretty exaggerated totally downhill course, starting at 4,800 feet above sea level and ending at 3,062 feet, with each mile marker seemingly at a lesser elevation than the one before. Net down hill, right?
Wrong. As my bitter experience for more than one race has proven to me – elevation charts LIE LIE LIE!!!!
More on that later.
So, after watching “Leap of Faith” (apropos title!) on DVD with Cayelin on Saturday night, I spent a rather sleepless night and rolled out about 03:30 am. The first bus was to leave a place called Ventana Medical Center at 5:00 am, and I did remember from years past that it was a good idea to get there early to be on the bus as they often filled up and sometimes actually ran out of room for marathoners. (they actually issue dire warnings about this in their “info for Race Day”) And, since I couldn’t sleep, I decided to catch a good parking spot and bus ride.
Headed across town in the dark, a 45 minute ride, even without traffic – Tucson is a big, sprawling city and we are definitely on the way south side. Got to the Medical center, which was located way up at the end of a “dark desert highway” and found a really long line of school buses. Parked the Toyota, and sat for a few minutes in the dark, and then headed to the front of the line of buses.
I was directed by some dark figure with a flashlight to the first bus, and stepping up encountered…..The North Pole, complete with Santa Claus and Santa Land! There was a bearded, elderly Santa-lookalike bus driver complete with resplendent white beard and Red Stocking Cap, sitting behind the wheel.
“Merry Christmas” he boomed.
“Same to you,” I dazedly replied, thinking, “Man – sleep deprivation has gotta be getting to me”
The entire bus was festooned from end to end with multi-colored Christmas lights, red garland and bouncing stuffed Reindeer suspended from hooks. It looked professionally done, but was trippy to say the least.
After ascertaining that this was, indeed, the bus for the FULL marathon, I made my way towards the back and grabbed a seat. Soon the bus was full and we pulled out for a long ride up the mountain to Oracle, where the starting line was. I was sitting next to a very nervous young Aerospace Engineering College student, who was doing his second marathon. We chatted desultorily, but mostly the bus was quiet, filled with half-asleep runners.
We were the first bus to arrive….and as it turned out later that was a good thing. Some people I talked with later in the day told me that one of the buses had taken a wrong turn and got lost in the dark, getting them there pretty late, and also one of other buses inadvertently drove OFF the road, getting stuck in the ditch, necessitating all of the runners to get out and PUSH. It was worth getting up early, that is for sure, Santa Claus and all.
By the time we arrived, there was still an hour and a half to go until Race Start. As it looked dark and cold outside, I elected to remain on the bus. As it turned out, it was quite amusing to do so. Santa-the-bus-driver decided to entertain us, and for the next half hour or so regaled us with tales from School bus land, personal anecdotes and riddles. I remember three of the riddles he had us, his rapt audience, trying to solve.
Here they are:
1) If everyone in the United States decided to paint their cars pink, what would you have?
2) If you had 100 rabbits all lined up next to each other, and walking backward, what would that be?
3) If you had a Bumblebee in your hand, what would you have in your eye? (he assured us that the bee would not be stinging anyone)
The answers follow this blog, and if you don’t want to read about the rest of the race, just scroll down to the bottom.
I remember thinking (and commenting to my seat-mates “Now there’s a man who loves his job”
After a while, I noticed that it was getting light outside and there was some glow coming over the mountains to the east of us. Santa had run out of riddles and anecdotes, so I decided to venture out of the warm bus to see what was going on.
It was f&*$#@ng cold out there…..The altitude was almost 5,000 feet - in December and in the desert, the temperature was probably 38 degrees. And, because of the rains of the past three days it was a humid (for the desert) 38 degrees. I made the obligatory Porto-pottie stop as they were wide open, and then leaned against the back of an Enterprise truck that was almost identical to the one I had just driven from Portland to Tucson. Seconds later, hundreds of runners came swarming up to use the porta potties. The other buses had indeed arrived.
By now, a DJ had started playing loud music, everything from disco to country, and they started counting down the time to race start. The group around me was high-energy, and I had several conversations from people from California, Australia, Massachusets, and of course Tucson. One engaging lady named Julie from Northern California informed me she had just taken four ibuprofen and was planning on at least another eight for the race. This reminded me to start doping as well, so I had some pre-race Aleve, knowing that I was going to need it.
“I’ve only done a seven mile training run in the last three months” This from a lean, grey haired guy who just walked up to me and started a conversation
“That’s cool” I replied.
His eyes get bigger. “But, I’ve done Boston three times and I do hundred mile bike rides”, he exclaims “I’ve done Tucson five times, I know this course like the back of my hand.”.
“Well, I broke my FOOT four weeks ago,” I reply, to do a one-up and get some skin into the conversation. (okay it was my toe, but foot sounded better)
This stops him. “Aww, dude, you shouldn’t be running on that! I know this, I’m a physical therapist”, he tells me, energetically.
Thus I met Mark, a local (from Tucson) crazy runner like myself. We spent the remaining time before the start comparing stories, or mostly I listened to his stories.
“If the Lord is with me – and my Ibuprofen holds up – I should be in around 3:35,” he tells me, right before the start.
By now the sun is fully up over the mountains, shining over the crowd of bundled up (and not so bundled up) runners. It’s still cold, steam is rising from everyone’s mouths as we all energetically talk, stretch, and move closer to the start line, which is a “balloon arch” a little way down the road.
The announcer tells us that there will be no gun, it will be a “Runners Set….Go!!!
Promptly at 7:30 am, it’s “Runners Set….Go!!” and we’re off
The first quarter mile is downhill, and directly into the rising sun. It’s VERY difficult to see, I had put my sunglasses on, but soon had to take them off as the glare and the fog from the cold and damp air made it impossible to see. I had to concentrate on the runners in front of me for about the first mile to make sure I knew where I was going – if I looked up, I was immediately Blinded By The Light.
I lost Mark right away, which figured, and I continued on in the crowd.
Here is where the fun set in – in the first mile, we began this undulating uphill trek, around some corners, and through some washes, and down these two lane roads. The roadways were littered with mud, gravel and rocks washed down from the heavy rains from the day before. We soon dropped below the mountainline, and lost the direct-in-the-eyes sun, but still……I know uphill when I feel it. The combination of almost 5,000 feet and some gradual grinding uphills were pretty challenging.
To make matters worse, my legs are hurting right from the minute I started. I was immediately reminded of all the boxes of books, furniture, and household items I’d moved out of Portland and into Tucson.
In other words, I’m thinking….”The forecast calls for pain……..”
I intentionally started somewhat slowly, in order to get my legs underneath me, and conscious also of the altitude and cold. I didn’t think I was THAT slow, however, in the first half mile, the Four Hour pace group literally blew past me like I was standing still. One minute they were on me, and the next they were taillights. I watched with some chagrin as the bobbing blue-colored sign disappeared in a sea of runners.
“Kiss this one goodbye,” I’m thinking. Now I’m focused on survival.
The course continued to undulate up and down for the first four miles. During one, long, at least half-mile endless uphill, I start passing runners. I comment to one “It’s all UP hill from here!” He laughed, breathlessly, then nervously calls after me “You’re kidding…right?”
By mile four, I’ve caught and passed the Four Hour pace group, who had apparently fired their leader and slowed the pack down to a normal pace. I had hit the two mile marker at about 17 minutes, so I knew that something was awry with that pace. And, I’m hoping for some downhill by then
We started getting some of the famous downhill aspects of Tucson before mile 5. The course dropped through a small town, and started to head downhill. You could tell by the sound of feet striking where and when the hills began; suddenly the pitter patter of running feet increased it’s tempo. It’s warmer now, the sun fully up. I shed the “Run Into the New Year” Ale House long sleeve T-shirt that I had put on at the start to keep warm, and donated it to the pile of discarded clothing at one of the water stops. I add my cotton gloves a few miles later, and now I’m displaying my Marathon Maniacs yellow singlet. In checking the website, I knew that several of my Maniac brethren had signed up for the race, but I haven’t seen any of them – or any in uniform, anyway. Where could they be?
We had a great downhill stretch from miles 5-9. At mile 6, I’m averaging an 8:29 pace even though my legs aren’t feeling to great, and at that point, the course hangs a left, and empty’s out onto Oracle Road. A sign in front of us says “Tucson – Left, Globe – Right.
We go left.
Lots of mountains on the horizon, cactus, sagebrush and desert terrain all along the road. A true run through the desert. It’s a great downhill stretch and the pace picks up. I comment to a grim-looking runner next to me – “straight shot from here!” He fires back “yeah – except for the Keyhole”.
I had noticed on the course map that they were taking us off of Oracle road for a few miles, seemingly adding an inner loop of two miles out, and two back, at mile 9. I assume that because they had changed the finish line to a different spot, that they needed to add some distance to the course which used to be all on Oracle Road from the Junction to the El Conquistador Resort.
I soon found out how fun this could be.
Hit the turn at mile 9 clipping along pretty good. Across the street from me is mile marker 14, and I’m thinking…..”big loop”. The road starts winding up….and out of sight around some corners.
This was a ball-busting detour. It was the road to the BioSphere, a local attraction and it was not, in any way, downhill. Indeed, there were many “rolling hills” at the shallow bottom of which were the mile markers, which accounted for the “net downhill” indicators of the course elevation chart. But, glory be to god, these were rough and grinding uphill stretches. To add insult to injury, now there is a 10 MPH headwind, and we are heading again into the low Winter sun.
It was very tempting to “jump the median” so to speak, but I’m a good sport, and I refrained. I slogged the miles out to the Bio-Dome, watching as streams of faster runners passed on the other side, on their way back. Because the road was rolling, it was clear that the hill climb went both ways – coming and going.
At the innermost turnaround, there was, of course, a chip timing mat to make sure that no one cheated. I passed over it as it beeped loudly, made the hairpin turn, and headed back the way I had come.
Grinding my way back to Oracle Road, my legs already complaining loudly, I start seeing my Marathon Maniac Brethren with their yellow and red shirts, most of which appeared to be behind me. We shouted encouraging “Go Maniacs!” to each other as we passed going the other way. None of them that I saw looked any happier than me.
I managed to make it back to the corner, after taking a walking break or two on some of the more steeper inclines. There was actually no half-way marker to let you know where you were, but I think that I was around 1:53 – a typical time for me. There was a chip mat at the 13.7 mile marker, because, I think, of the Marathon Relay splits, and I clocked in there at 1:59:46, or an 8:45 pace. Losing time, by now….
Back onto Oracle Road, it’s time to stretch out in the downhill. The miles grind by one after another, with water stops every two miles or so. There was a Cliff Shot stop as well, but only one. I’m downing everything I can, including Gel Packs, ibuprofen, another Aleve, and a few Young Living Ninxia Red Packs that I had also brought. The sport drink at the stops was “Comp-One” a pale-green, almost tasteless drink. Nonetheless, it seemed good for a lift, so I imbibed heavily at each stop. The course volunteers were all fabulous, upbeat and encouraging at each stop.
The desert sun was warming things up, but the breeze was cool, so I was alternately warm, then cold, depending on the surrounding terrain and how well it blocked the wind. I managed to slog my way to mile 20 at 2:57:59 on my watch, and then, I had to take a walking break, as my legs were screaming bloody murder.
In my mind, I’ve already kissed a sub-four hour finish goodbye, based on the way I’m feeling. Now, it’s just about getting across the finish line, like in Quebec.
….But something in me refused to just lay down and die, painful legs notwithstanding. I calculate that I need to keep each of the next miles under 10 minutes and maybe, maybe it will be close.
So, I run…and walk for a few steps….run, and walk for a few steps. I’m having the familiar experience of the “last 10-k Do-Si-Do” – that of passing other runners, and then having them pass me a few minutes later as I take my 10 second walking breaks…..then passing them again. Inexorably, the finish line starts drawing closer as my fevered mind is calculating splits, counting seconds, and making deals with myself mentally. By now, I’m not only energetically writing checks that I can’t cash - I’m throwing wallet, credit cards, jewelry, artwork, real estate equity and future earnings out the window to keep myself moving forward and upright.
This stretch of the course is along a busy segment of Oracle Road with gas stations, restaurants, retail stores and all kinds of traffic. Not terribly pleasant, but at this point I couldn’t care less. I pass a gas station and there is a litter of change on the ground in front of me – dimes, nickels and pennies. I wasn’t about to try and stop and pick them up. Possibly, it was change from all the wealth I'm flinging out, whilly-nilly to the universe?
At mile 24, the course hangs a left off of Oracle and……heads up hill. Not too terrible, but at this point I’m ready to scream. We go up and over a ridge, and then behind, of all things, a shopping center – bar, grocery store, and sandwich shop, where patrons from the bar have set up a “beer stop” I grimace at them and keep slogging.
At the top of the rise behind the shopping center and right before the 25 mile marker are stationed the Famous Tucson Taiko drummers (I’m probably not spelling it right) and they are hammering away. The heavy drumbeats sustain me to the top and round the corner to…another hill.
We continue about a third of a mile down a two lane road and hang another right. I know I’m in the final mile but it seems endless. There is actually a water stop at 25.5 and I grab a cup of Comp One.
“That stuff won’t absorb now – you’re wasting your time!” Mark, my friend from the start line suddenly materializes at my left elbow. Startled, I inhale a mouthful of the green stuff (I’d figured he’d been done for a long time and was far in front of me) and when I get done choking said “I need it anyway”
“This Course Sucked!” he shouts testily. “Wasn’t this a killer course??
“Ball Buster", I agreed, and I’m starting to run again. “Let’s get it done”
We start running. After a few steps he says “Forget it – you go finish!” “Okay, I will!” I call back to him.
“You’re making me look bad!” he shouts as I pull away, but by then I don’t care about anything anyone has to say
Having run multiple marathons, the resiliency of the human body still amazes me. Even though in excrutiating pain, we can perservere for far more and far longer than we think we can. I’ve heard that the experience of women’s childbirth is much like that, and that, when overcome by the actual delivery, Amnesia sets in, and we are then ready to start the cycle again. The last miles of some marathons are very much like that, again, underlying my personal hypothesis that in many ways the Marathon is a Metaphor for the Whole Life Experience
I never remember from race to race how I make it across the finish line. Sometimes, (like in Portland) there is this “Divine Wind” or, as my old running buddy Ralph from Illinois used to call it “A Big Hand comes out of no where and pushes you to the end!” Other times, the race is just suddenly over, as my mind may be elsewhere and not consciously registering the final miles and steps. And on many occasions, it’s nothing more than pushing past pain, heart rate redlining, second after agonizing second, to maintain forward momentum as the finish line grows slowly but inexorably closer.
Minutes after finishing some marathons, I’m downright crippled, lurching along Frankenstein-like on solid, unbending, 4X4 legs that, minutes before, were clipping along at 8-10 minute per mile pace. Interesting, that, no? A finish line is indeed…..a FINISHED line.
So, the course hung yet another right at about mile 25.7 onto yet another rolling two lane road, and there are a sea of runners and walkers shuffling to the next corner, where, I assume the finish line chute is. Again, I lurch along on stiff legs, up and around the corner. I’m making a conscious choice not to look at my watch because at this point, I just can’t do anymore than I’m doing.
Round the last corner, another 500 or so feet and I’m crossing the finish line. The finish line announcer says “And here’s Peter Klein from Oak-a…..OCK-a….How the heck to you say that?? “
“OCONOMOWOC,, “ I shout breathlessly as I hit my stop watch and, finally, grind to a shuffling halt in the chute
Overhead clock says 3:58:29, my watch is 3:57 :42, which is later scored as 3:57:39. Again, I’m struck by the possibility that, at some point in that desperate rolling desert Jerico slog, that the sun must have stood still…….
Not as fast as either Fox Cities or Portland, but far better than I expected….
And here was the kicker…..When I looked at online results the next day, there were 1,017 finishers and I was number 509 across the finish line – not “A” midpacker but “THE” Midpacker. A fine distinction and metaphor for Balance, is it not??
There was a non-descript finishers medal and the finish libations were not much either….Whole wheat tortillas, which people were slathering with peanut butter and wrapping around whole bananas….Yuck!
A lurching walk to the shuttle busses with my new Tucson running Colleague Mark (about 95 seconds behind me at the finish) who complained loudly the whole way to anyone who would listen, and then I drove across town in the Toyota to enjoy the rest of another beautiful Tucson day.
So, I made it down the mountain – and up a few more along the way, putting Marathon number Six for the year and my 39th over all into the books (and now the blog) However, the rest of Sunday, Monday, and into part of Tuesday, I was an absolute cripple, hardly able to walk, get up or down, navigate stairs, or even rest without stabbing leg pain. And, an unfortunate side aspect is that for the first time in recent memory, I’m not jonesing for the next race experience. As I complete my story right now from my home in Snowy Oak-Ock…Oconomowoc, I have to confess that this week I haven’t had much desire to run as I really taxed my legs and physical resources to the utmost on this one.
…..but give me some time and I know I’ll be back….As I re-read these words a week later, I can feel the amnesia setting in and I am remembering the beautiful course, sunrise, downhill stretches – and also my finish time.
Robert Cray – Forecast (Calls for Pain) – from the Album “Midnight Stroll”
Yes, I did do the Tucson Marathon on Sunday, December 2. My Winter Headquarters hometown race as it were.
There were as always many amazing things and aspects to the experience, but the words that come to mind when starting this blog were “Never Mind”
Here goes:
Never Mind that I hadn’t trained a lick since Portland (okay, a 15K at the end of October, a cross-country 5k on Thanksgiving and a quick 7-miler a week ago Saturday with Cayelin’s 22-year old Speed Demon Daughter Jenna – but little consistent running, and no long distance work)
Never Mind that I hadn’t run since the aforementioned Saturday Jenna Run
Never Mind that I spent Monday through Friday this last week gone and busy, I flew up to Portland, OR last Monday, and on Tuesday helped Daniel Giamario load a 28-Foot Diesel Penske moving truck (uphill and in the rain) with all his earthly possessions (including several dozen 50-80 pound boxes of books) We also loaded his Jeep Cherokee on a car carrier, and hooked it to the truck resulting in about a 40 foot long, 12 foot high rig. We then drove 1,500 miles straight down the I-5 through Oregon, all of California, Los Angeles, then across to Phoenix, and down to Tucson, arriving late on Thursday night. Then, on Friday, we unloaded all the stuff (again, in the rain, but now in TUCSON) into his rented apartment, and turned in the truck by 6:00 pm.
Never Mind that during said journey, Daniel and I smoked several big bomber cigars, listened to Jazz and loud Rock and Roll and subsisted on such healthy fare as Taco Bell, Jack-in-the-box and Trader Joe’s Truffles. We also washed down such epicurean gastronomic fare with lukewarm bottles of Martinelli’s Sparkling Apple Juice.
(Healthy lifestyle choices, that’s Daniel and I!)
So, most of the week was either sitting in an uncomfortable rental truck seat, making WIDE turns, or doing non-stop leg-presses schlepping heavy-ass boxes and furniture.
And oh, yeah Never Mind that…hadn’t I broken a toe not four weeks back? (for details, see my last blog “Burning Race Fees”)
So, Never Mind all that….on Saturday, Cayelin and I went over to the Hilton El Conquistador on the north end of town and got my packet and timing chip for the race on Sunday.
Before I get to the race details, let me back up a few weeks.
I was really pleased at all the responses I got to my last, somewhat whiny blog about Burning Race fees and the recent broken toe injury I had suffered. A key factor in my decision to actually run this race regardless was not only my normal pigheadedness, but a kindly inquiry from my good friend Will S, who, in response to the blog wrote to me:
……how bad is your toe now? can you walk? even, painfully, without seriously damaging yourself or putting yourself too far behind in healing...if...you were to WALK the marathon?
seems the Taurean enjoyment might even be more augmented; you'd earn the shirt wearing for DARN sure; you'd still be able to say you completed six marathons this year...well, you get the idea!
It was a well-timed reminder of my self-proclaimed “Zen Training Program” practicing non-attachment to outcome – a great life lesson for all things, not just specific events.
Like Marathons.
So, Thanks Brother Will!
I think…
Read on……
I’ve done the Tucson Marathon twice before – in 2002 and 2003. Both times I remembered it as being a pretty low-key event, not a big-city type race, and fairly well run and marked. I also remembered a fairly rolling, but not hard, and mostly downhill course. The Expo was a typical small-race expo, located in the aforementioned El-Conquistador resort, a desert-type resort center, with spectacular mountain views. It was, as usual a bit of a labyrinth trying to find the correct meeting room that the expo was being held in, but we prevailed, finding it after navigating the outside courtyards, complex lobby, and a few long hallways.
I noticed right away that the Tucson T-shirt hadn’t changed much since 2002 – it’s a white cotton short sleeve, with the same emblem and information embedded on the front (it’s called the Holualoa Tucson Marathon, which sounds blatantly Hawaiian, though it’s not), and the same emblem of likenesses of Kokopelli, a Petroglyph Sun, and a Cactus, in succession.
Not much has changed T-shirt wise since 2002, thought the quality is a little cheaper. And since both the Marathon and Half Marathon shirts are the same, the sponsor for the Half Marathon – Damascus Bakeries – is also represented on the front. No one from Tucson that I talked to had ever heard of Damascus Bakeries, so who knows what that was all about? No bread, or pastries were evident during the entire event.
Yeah, I’m a T-shirt snob…..but I got spoiled in Fox Cities this year, and also in Medford at the Pine line Marathon, so I know races can get good apparel….Tucson just, apparently doesn’t.
Typical expo stuff – a Chiropracter, National Running Center, a local Shoe Store, Sunglasses and Cliff bars – however, there was a “Sock Survey” booth where you could fill out a form, which asked about your athletic sock-buying preferences, and willingness to pay up to $10 for a good pair of cushioned socks. By taking the survey, you got a free pair of socks. So, I did. Strange looking socks also – but free, however I refrained from trying them out on race day.
We were done with the expo in short order, and headed back across town. That day – Saturday - was the third day of some all-day soaking rains. Not typical for Tucson at this time of year – and I was slightly concerned that the conditions for this – advertised always as a “fast downhill course” - was going to be treacherous and miserable. Sunday forecast called for clearing and ‘60’s with 10-15 mph winds out of the East Northeast – so it looked okay.
Inside the bag-o-stuff from the expo was the course map with elevation chart, which showed a pretty exaggerated totally downhill course, starting at 4,800 feet above sea level and ending at 3,062 feet, with each mile marker seemingly at a lesser elevation than the one before. Net down hill, right?
Wrong. As my bitter experience for more than one race has proven to me – elevation charts LIE LIE LIE!!!!
More on that later.
So, after watching “Leap of Faith” (apropos title!) on DVD with Cayelin on Saturday night, I spent a rather sleepless night and rolled out about 03:30 am. The first bus was to leave a place called Ventana Medical Center at 5:00 am, and I did remember from years past that it was a good idea to get there early to be on the bus as they often filled up and sometimes actually ran out of room for marathoners. (they actually issue dire warnings about this in their “info for Race Day”) And, since I couldn’t sleep, I decided to catch a good parking spot and bus ride.
Headed across town in the dark, a 45 minute ride, even without traffic – Tucson is a big, sprawling city and we are definitely on the way south side. Got to the Medical center, which was located way up at the end of a “dark desert highway” and found a really long line of school buses. Parked the Toyota, and sat for a few minutes in the dark, and then headed to the front of the line of buses.
I was directed by some dark figure with a flashlight to the first bus, and stepping up encountered…..The North Pole, complete with Santa Claus and Santa Land! There was a bearded, elderly Santa-lookalike bus driver complete with resplendent white beard and Red Stocking Cap, sitting behind the wheel.
“Merry Christmas” he boomed.
“Same to you,” I dazedly replied, thinking, “Man – sleep deprivation has gotta be getting to me”
The entire bus was festooned from end to end with multi-colored Christmas lights, red garland and bouncing stuffed Reindeer suspended from hooks. It looked professionally done, but was trippy to say the least.
After ascertaining that this was, indeed, the bus for the FULL marathon, I made my way towards the back and grabbed a seat. Soon the bus was full and we pulled out for a long ride up the mountain to Oracle, where the starting line was. I was sitting next to a very nervous young Aerospace Engineering College student, who was doing his second marathon. We chatted desultorily, but mostly the bus was quiet, filled with half-asleep runners.
We were the first bus to arrive….and as it turned out later that was a good thing. Some people I talked with later in the day told me that one of the buses had taken a wrong turn and got lost in the dark, getting them there pretty late, and also one of other buses inadvertently drove OFF the road, getting stuck in the ditch, necessitating all of the runners to get out and PUSH. It was worth getting up early, that is for sure, Santa Claus and all.
By the time we arrived, there was still an hour and a half to go until Race Start. As it looked dark and cold outside, I elected to remain on the bus. As it turned out, it was quite amusing to do so. Santa-the-bus-driver decided to entertain us, and for the next half hour or so regaled us with tales from School bus land, personal anecdotes and riddles. I remember three of the riddles he had us, his rapt audience, trying to solve.
Here they are:
1) If everyone in the United States decided to paint their cars pink, what would you have?
2) If you had 100 rabbits all lined up next to each other, and walking backward, what would that be?
3) If you had a Bumblebee in your hand, what would you have in your eye? (he assured us that the bee would not be stinging anyone)
The answers follow this blog, and if you don’t want to read about the rest of the race, just scroll down to the bottom.
I remember thinking (and commenting to my seat-mates “Now there’s a man who loves his job”
After a while, I noticed that it was getting light outside and there was some glow coming over the mountains to the east of us. Santa had run out of riddles and anecdotes, so I decided to venture out of the warm bus to see what was going on.
It was f&*$#@ng cold out there…..The altitude was almost 5,000 feet - in December and in the desert, the temperature was probably 38 degrees. And, because of the rains of the past three days it was a humid (for the desert) 38 degrees. I made the obligatory Porto-pottie stop as they were wide open, and then leaned against the back of an Enterprise truck that was almost identical to the one I had just driven from Portland to Tucson. Seconds later, hundreds of runners came swarming up to use the porta potties. The other buses had indeed arrived.
By now, a DJ had started playing loud music, everything from disco to country, and they started counting down the time to race start. The group around me was high-energy, and I had several conversations from people from California, Australia, Massachusets, and of course Tucson. One engaging lady named Julie from Northern California informed me she had just taken four ibuprofen and was planning on at least another eight for the race. This reminded me to start doping as well, so I had some pre-race Aleve, knowing that I was going to need it.
“I’ve only done a seven mile training run in the last three months” This from a lean, grey haired guy who just walked up to me and started a conversation
“That’s cool” I replied.
His eyes get bigger. “But, I’ve done Boston three times and I do hundred mile bike rides”, he exclaims “I’ve done Tucson five times, I know this course like the back of my hand.”.
“Well, I broke my FOOT four weeks ago,” I reply, to do a one-up and get some skin into the conversation. (okay it was my toe, but foot sounded better)
This stops him. “Aww, dude, you shouldn’t be running on that! I know this, I’m a physical therapist”, he tells me, energetically.
Thus I met Mark, a local (from Tucson) crazy runner like myself. We spent the remaining time before the start comparing stories, or mostly I listened to his stories.
“If the Lord is with me – and my Ibuprofen holds up – I should be in around 3:35,” he tells me, right before the start.
By now the sun is fully up over the mountains, shining over the crowd of bundled up (and not so bundled up) runners. It’s still cold, steam is rising from everyone’s mouths as we all energetically talk, stretch, and move closer to the start line, which is a “balloon arch” a little way down the road.
The announcer tells us that there will be no gun, it will be a “Runners Set….Go!!!
Promptly at 7:30 am, it’s “Runners Set….Go!!” and we’re off
The first quarter mile is downhill, and directly into the rising sun. It’s VERY difficult to see, I had put my sunglasses on, but soon had to take them off as the glare and the fog from the cold and damp air made it impossible to see. I had to concentrate on the runners in front of me for about the first mile to make sure I knew where I was going – if I looked up, I was immediately Blinded By The Light.
I lost Mark right away, which figured, and I continued on in the crowd.
Here is where the fun set in – in the first mile, we began this undulating uphill trek, around some corners, and through some washes, and down these two lane roads. The roadways were littered with mud, gravel and rocks washed down from the heavy rains from the day before. We soon dropped below the mountainline, and lost the direct-in-the-eyes sun, but still……I know uphill when I feel it. The combination of almost 5,000 feet and some gradual grinding uphills were pretty challenging.
To make matters worse, my legs are hurting right from the minute I started. I was immediately reminded of all the boxes of books, furniture, and household items I’d moved out of Portland and into Tucson.
In other words, I’m thinking….”The forecast calls for pain……..”
I intentionally started somewhat slowly, in order to get my legs underneath me, and conscious also of the altitude and cold. I didn’t think I was THAT slow, however, in the first half mile, the Four Hour pace group literally blew past me like I was standing still. One minute they were on me, and the next they were taillights. I watched with some chagrin as the bobbing blue-colored sign disappeared in a sea of runners.
“Kiss this one goodbye,” I’m thinking. Now I’m focused on survival.
The course continued to undulate up and down for the first four miles. During one, long, at least half-mile endless uphill, I start passing runners. I comment to one “It’s all UP hill from here!” He laughed, breathlessly, then nervously calls after me “You’re kidding…right?”
By mile four, I’ve caught and passed the Four Hour pace group, who had apparently fired their leader and slowed the pack down to a normal pace. I had hit the two mile marker at about 17 minutes, so I knew that something was awry with that pace. And, I’m hoping for some downhill by then
We started getting some of the famous downhill aspects of Tucson before mile 5. The course dropped through a small town, and started to head downhill. You could tell by the sound of feet striking where and when the hills began; suddenly the pitter patter of running feet increased it’s tempo. It’s warmer now, the sun fully up. I shed the “Run Into the New Year” Ale House long sleeve T-shirt that I had put on at the start to keep warm, and donated it to the pile of discarded clothing at one of the water stops. I add my cotton gloves a few miles later, and now I’m displaying my Marathon Maniacs yellow singlet. In checking the website, I knew that several of my Maniac brethren had signed up for the race, but I haven’t seen any of them – or any in uniform, anyway. Where could they be?
We had a great downhill stretch from miles 5-9. At mile 6, I’m averaging an 8:29 pace even though my legs aren’t feeling to great, and at that point, the course hangs a left, and empty’s out onto Oracle Road. A sign in front of us says “Tucson – Left, Globe – Right.
We go left.
Lots of mountains on the horizon, cactus, sagebrush and desert terrain all along the road. A true run through the desert. It’s a great downhill stretch and the pace picks up. I comment to a grim-looking runner next to me – “straight shot from here!” He fires back “yeah – except for the Keyhole”.
I had noticed on the course map that they were taking us off of Oracle road for a few miles, seemingly adding an inner loop of two miles out, and two back, at mile 9. I assume that because they had changed the finish line to a different spot, that they needed to add some distance to the course which used to be all on Oracle Road from the Junction to the El Conquistador Resort.
I soon found out how fun this could be.
Hit the turn at mile 9 clipping along pretty good. Across the street from me is mile marker 14, and I’m thinking…..”big loop”. The road starts winding up….and out of sight around some corners.
This was a ball-busting detour. It was the road to the BioSphere, a local attraction and it was not, in any way, downhill. Indeed, there were many “rolling hills” at the shallow bottom of which were the mile markers, which accounted for the “net downhill” indicators of the course elevation chart. But, glory be to god, these were rough and grinding uphill stretches. To add insult to injury, now there is a 10 MPH headwind, and we are heading again into the low Winter sun.
It was very tempting to “jump the median” so to speak, but I’m a good sport, and I refrained. I slogged the miles out to the Bio-Dome, watching as streams of faster runners passed on the other side, on their way back. Because the road was rolling, it was clear that the hill climb went both ways – coming and going.
At the innermost turnaround, there was, of course, a chip timing mat to make sure that no one cheated. I passed over it as it beeped loudly, made the hairpin turn, and headed back the way I had come.
Grinding my way back to Oracle Road, my legs already complaining loudly, I start seeing my Marathon Maniac Brethren with their yellow and red shirts, most of which appeared to be behind me. We shouted encouraging “Go Maniacs!” to each other as we passed going the other way. None of them that I saw looked any happier than me.
I managed to make it back to the corner, after taking a walking break or two on some of the more steeper inclines. There was actually no half-way marker to let you know where you were, but I think that I was around 1:53 – a typical time for me. There was a chip mat at the 13.7 mile marker, because, I think, of the Marathon Relay splits, and I clocked in there at 1:59:46, or an 8:45 pace. Losing time, by now….
Back onto Oracle Road, it’s time to stretch out in the downhill. The miles grind by one after another, with water stops every two miles or so. There was a Cliff Shot stop as well, but only one. I’m downing everything I can, including Gel Packs, ibuprofen, another Aleve, and a few Young Living Ninxia Red Packs that I had also brought. The sport drink at the stops was “Comp-One” a pale-green, almost tasteless drink. Nonetheless, it seemed good for a lift, so I imbibed heavily at each stop. The course volunteers were all fabulous, upbeat and encouraging at each stop.
The desert sun was warming things up, but the breeze was cool, so I was alternately warm, then cold, depending on the surrounding terrain and how well it blocked the wind. I managed to slog my way to mile 20 at 2:57:59 on my watch, and then, I had to take a walking break, as my legs were screaming bloody murder.
In my mind, I’ve already kissed a sub-four hour finish goodbye, based on the way I’m feeling. Now, it’s just about getting across the finish line, like in Quebec.
….But something in me refused to just lay down and die, painful legs notwithstanding. I calculate that I need to keep each of the next miles under 10 minutes and maybe, maybe it will be close.
So, I run…and walk for a few steps….run, and walk for a few steps. I’m having the familiar experience of the “last 10-k Do-Si-Do” – that of passing other runners, and then having them pass me a few minutes later as I take my 10 second walking breaks…..then passing them again. Inexorably, the finish line starts drawing closer as my fevered mind is calculating splits, counting seconds, and making deals with myself mentally. By now, I’m not only energetically writing checks that I can’t cash - I’m throwing wallet, credit cards, jewelry, artwork, real estate equity and future earnings out the window to keep myself moving forward and upright.
This stretch of the course is along a busy segment of Oracle Road with gas stations, restaurants, retail stores and all kinds of traffic. Not terribly pleasant, but at this point I couldn’t care less. I pass a gas station and there is a litter of change on the ground in front of me – dimes, nickels and pennies. I wasn’t about to try and stop and pick them up. Possibly, it was change from all the wealth I'm flinging out, whilly-nilly to the universe?
At mile 24, the course hangs a left off of Oracle and……heads up hill. Not too terrible, but at this point I’m ready to scream. We go up and over a ridge, and then behind, of all things, a shopping center – bar, grocery store, and sandwich shop, where patrons from the bar have set up a “beer stop” I grimace at them and keep slogging.
At the top of the rise behind the shopping center and right before the 25 mile marker are stationed the Famous Tucson Taiko drummers (I’m probably not spelling it right) and they are hammering away. The heavy drumbeats sustain me to the top and round the corner to…another hill.
We continue about a third of a mile down a two lane road and hang another right. I know I’m in the final mile but it seems endless. There is actually a water stop at 25.5 and I grab a cup of Comp One.
“That stuff won’t absorb now – you’re wasting your time!” Mark, my friend from the start line suddenly materializes at my left elbow. Startled, I inhale a mouthful of the green stuff (I’d figured he’d been done for a long time and was far in front of me) and when I get done choking said “I need it anyway”
“This Course Sucked!” he shouts testily. “Wasn’t this a killer course??
“Ball Buster", I agreed, and I’m starting to run again. “Let’s get it done”
We start running. After a few steps he says “Forget it – you go finish!” “Okay, I will!” I call back to him.
“You’re making me look bad!” he shouts as I pull away, but by then I don’t care about anything anyone has to say
Having run multiple marathons, the resiliency of the human body still amazes me. Even though in excrutiating pain, we can perservere for far more and far longer than we think we can. I’ve heard that the experience of women’s childbirth is much like that, and that, when overcome by the actual delivery, Amnesia sets in, and we are then ready to start the cycle again. The last miles of some marathons are very much like that, again, underlying my personal hypothesis that in many ways the Marathon is a Metaphor for the Whole Life Experience
I never remember from race to race how I make it across the finish line. Sometimes, (like in Portland) there is this “Divine Wind” or, as my old running buddy Ralph from Illinois used to call it “A Big Hand comes out of no where and pushes you to the end!” Other times, the race is just suddenly over, as my mind may be elsewhere and not consciously registering the final miles and steps. And on many occasions, it’s nothing more than pushing past pain, heart rate redlining, second after agonizing second, to maintain forward momentum as the finish line grows slowly but inexorably closer.
Minutes after finishing some marathons, I’m downright crippled, lurching along Frankenstein-like on solid, unbending, 4X4 legs that, minutes before, were clipping along at 8-10 minute per mile pace. Interesting, that, no? A finish line is indeed…..a FINISHED line.
So, the course hung yet another right at about mile 25.7 onto yet another rolling two lane road, and there are a sea of runners and walkers shuffling to the next corner, where, I assume the finish line chute is. Again, I lurch along on stiff legs, up and around the corner. I’m making a conscious choice not to look at my watch because at this point, I just can’t do anymore than I’m doing.
Round the last corner, another 500 or so feet and I’m crossing the finish line. The finish line announcer says “And here’s Peter Klein from Oak-a…..OCK-a….How the heck to you say that?? “
“OCONOMOWOC,, “ I shout breathlessly as I hit my stop watch and, finally, grind to a shuffling halt in the chute
Overhead clock says 3:58:29, my watch is 3:57 :42, which is later scored as 3:57:39. Again, I’m struck by the possibility that, at some point in that desperate rolling desert Jerico slog, that the sun must have stood still…….
Not as fast as either Fox Cities or Portland, but far better than I expected….
And here was the kicker…..When I looked at online results the next day, there were 1,017 finishers and I was number 509 across the finish line – not “A” midpacker but “THE” Midpacker. A fine distinction and metaphor for Balance, is it not??
There was a non-descript finishers medal and the finish libations were not much either….Whole wheat tortillas, which people were slathering with peanut butter and wrapping around whole bananas….Yuck!
A lurching walk to the shuttle busses with my new Tucson running Colleague Mark (about 95 seconds behind me at the finish) who complained loudly the whole way to anyone who would listen, and then I drove across town in the Toyota to enjoy the rest of another beautiful Tucson day.
So, I made it down the mountain – and up a few more along the way, putting Marathon number Six for the year and my 39th over all into the books (and now the blog) However, the rest of Sunday, Monday, and into part of Tuesday, I was an absolute cripple, hardly able to walk, get up or down, navigate stairs, or even rest without stabbing leg pain. And, an unfortunate side aspect is that for the first time in recent memory, I’m not jonesing for the next race experience. As I complete my story right now from my home in Snowy Oak-Ock…Oconomowoc, I have to confess that this week I haven’t had much desire to run as I really taxed my legs and physical resources to the utmost on this one.
…..but give me some time and I know I’ll be back….As I re-read these words a week later, I can feel the amnesia setting in and I am remembering the beautiful course, sunrise, downhill stretches – and also my finish time.
And also....my broken toe didn't - and hasn't - given me a bit of trouble, pain, or otherwise!!
Thanks for reading all……looking forward to 2008 and all of the adventures it will bring for us all!!
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OH Yeah - Answers to the Santa Riddles
1) A Pink Car-Nation
2) A Receding Hare (hair) line
3) Beauty. (Because Beauty is in the eye of the Be(e)holder)
