Tomorrow I head to Boston to meet up with Donna, who is running the Boston Marathon on Monday. Monday? I hear you ask, why Monday? It's Patriot's Day, a state holiday in Massachusetts, and as far as I know, something to do with revering, or someone called Revere, and some guys with funny accents who were coming, or going, I don't know, the details are vague.
Three years ago Donna and I ran our first marathon in Maui, and I wrote a piece about it back then but I didn't have a blog, so in anticipation of the big weekend I thought it might be a good time to post it here.
The Maui Marathon 2003
Friday September 19th 2003. 2 days until race day.
We'd been passed many warnings about the heat and humidity we were to encounter in Maui, so it was a relief to Donna and I to arrive and find it pleasantly warm, certainly cooler than our hot, dry training runs in Spain this past summer.
We met with our fellow teammates and boarded a bus for Ka'anapali. It became clear that the ride from the airport to the hotel was not just close to the course, it was the race course. Sugar cane fields, mills, pineapple fields, the West Maui Mountains, a snaking road up a hillside with cliffs on the left, narrow shoulders and a long, long stretch alongside the ocean awaited us on race day.
Our coaches admonished us to stay out of the sun, off our feet and resting as much as possible. Ever since a frigid swim at Stinson Beach drove me away from Northern Californian beaches, I had missed the ocean. Being told we couldn't enjoy the warm, clear Hawaiian waters was like being a dog with a biscuit balanced on its nose, being told 'staay, staaaay'.
Saturday 20th September 2003. 1 day until race day.
It was dark when I awoke. Five-thirty am; this time tomorrow we would have been running for half an hour already. The air was comfortable and cool, another good sign. I was hoping to get a decent number of miles in while it was still cool before the sun came up. Vowing to rest afterwards for the remainder of the day, I ran into the ocean and snorkled as soon as I could. Two eagle rays, one with a long tail, floated below me, as did two turtles, not bothered by the people staring and pointing above them.
Back in the hotel, I laid out my clothes into what I would wear for the race. Now I was really nervous. The number took up a lot of room on the front of the Team In Training T-shirt, covering just about the whole logo. (the Team In Training staff insist on the acronym TNT, whereas TIT would surely be more accurate). Never mind, it was bright purple, it wouldn't be hard to pick out that I was running for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. We were asked to write our names on the T-shirt, so that Team In Training supporters could see us and cheer us on. Something about this made me uncomfortable. The catalyst for my training for the race had been Dirk Milici, my friend Naomi's father, who passed away from Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma earlier this year. Since then we had received many names from people whom they wanted us to honour as well. I put waterproof medical tape on my shirt, surrounding the number. On the largest piece, I wrote Dirk's name prominently, and then on smaller pieces around it I wrote the others. My hope was that the people who were trying to read my name would cheer me on as Dirk.
In the evening we went to a TNT threw a Pasty Party. Pasta is important because it's a good source of carbohydrates, an athlete's fuel. No Atkin's meat-only diet for us. At the party were given a course description from which I took only snippets - cliffs, crosswinds, road shoulders, traffic warnings. It sounded ominous. Another speaker told us his story of how, while training for a previous marathon this year, his wife had been diagnosed with cancer and had not survived. He told the story plainly and simply, and it was very affecting. Knowing that many people there had similar stories gave it additional resonance; something I reflected on during a moment of silence. Lastly we were given some advice from the coaches:
- start slow!
- have some extra toilet paper
- drink water & liquids that are offered to you at each station... but
- DON'T drink the water from the iced sponges!
- When cooling off with the sponges, don't let the water trickle down your back, legs and into your shoes... your socks will get wet and blisters follow quickly after that
Back in the hotel room we were making sure everything was in order. A Law & Order marathon was playing on TV. Donna was nervous, expressing her doubts. I said we could watch 15 episodes of Law & Order in a row instead, so we could return and still say we had finished a marathon in Maui.
We had to be awake before 2am, since the buses were set to leave at 3am for the start line. Donna set the bedside clock for 1.45am, and I set the hotel wake-up call for the same. As back-up I set my cellphone's alarm to sound at 2am. Sleep...
Sunday 21st September. Race day.
Beep.. beep.. beep. My cellphone is ringing It's 2am?! What happened to the other alarms? I turned on the lights, woke up Donna. The bedside clock showed the incorrect time. Damn! Hurry hurry. We were getting changed when Donna asked but why is the bedside clock reading 11? Wait, 11 to 2, that's three hours. Three hours... three hours... oh crap. Would you be very upset with me if I told you my cellphone was on San Francisco time and we have another three hours? Grumble grumble. We were too tired not to fall asleep almost immediately. I am wondering when this blunder is going to come back to haunt me.
The alarms rang again, all too soon. We dressed and went downstairs, where a mass of purple shirts awaited. The buses left for the start line at 3am sharp. The course was already marked out with orange cones, but the buses could barely fit through. Thump, thump, thump, they knocked them all over. It felt like a long drive to the start.
We gathered in a car park in the dark, being served coffee and water. Lots of Japanese people. Very long lines at the portaloos. I tried to settle myself by wandering the crowd, seeking out friends and wishing them luck. An announcer over some loudspeakers roused us in both English and Japanese. Out of the 1,500 or so runners, there were 500 from Japan, another 500 from California alone, and the rest (another 500 or so) mostly from other US states, but also several from the UK, and at least one from Spain. It was a big mixed crowd. A local celebrity came out and led us in about 10 minutes of warm-up exercises. Finally, we all headed to the start line. Baaa! Baaa! I said as we all shuffled en masse through the street. We stopped, seemingly arbitrarily, about 10 yards from the actual start line. It was pitch black, the only light coming from the street lamps and a bigger light at the start. Almost everyone else on the island was wisely asleep. Yesterday we were told that there would be a hula ceremony of sorts to announce the start, but despite being able see over everyone's head, I couldn't see if anything was going on. I think 5am was a little to early for the hula dancers. A few minutes later a conch shell blew and the wheelchair participants set off. Five minutes after that, the crowd surged, and we were off.
It was dark. Completely dark. I was running slowly, and it seemed as if everyone was passing me. I was trying not to trip on the reflectors in the road. Donna was nearby, a little ahead, and kept looking back, to see where I was. I wanted to tell her to look ahead and focus on her own race. Soon she disappeared into the dark ahead of me. The first mile took a long time. As slow as I was running I wanted to try and maintain that pace for at least the first 5 or 6 miles before picking up the pace a little. Over the next couple miles we were funnelled down until we were running along the shoulder. I was trying to stay slow, but I picked up my pace a little from the start.
There had been a big demand for the portaloos before the start; those who had not been able to relieve themselves were escaping into the sugar cane fields under the cover of darkness. I tried to focus on other people around me who seemed to be running the same pace as me, but before I knew it they were either far ahead or behind me. Finding my own pace and keeping it was hard.
The sky brightened behind us. I grabbed water at the first aid station, 2 miles into the race. At the 4 mile aid station I grabbed some more water, but like Ted Stryker in Airplane! with his drinking problem, more of it spilt on my face and shirt than in my mouth. I told myself I would slow my pace through future aid stations.
Before the darkness lifted too much, I sought some relief in the fields at the side of the road. Thank goodness it wasn't until later that I found out about the aggressive breed of spiders that lived in the sugar cane and had a nasty habit of attacking people.
Back on the course, I tried to focus on form; straight back, holding in my stomach, leaning forward, breathing steadily, small strides. It was hard to concentrate for any length of time. I started to gain speed, slowly catching up to Donna. I wasn't sure how far ahead she was. Cocks were crowing from the farms all around us.
There were few spectators; occasional family members, and TNT supporters. Still, their enthusiasm was welcome. I caught up to a friend, Scott, and we ran together. He commented on how the first several miles had been one gradual uphill, and I realised he was right. It didn't seem like much at the time but it was undeniable. I told him I was imagining a string connecting me to Donna, pulling me along the course. At a large open bend about half a mile ahead of us, as if on cue, I saw Donna. She wasn't hard to see - she was the only one wearing long running tights.
Over the next three miles I slowly gained on her. The sun was up by now but we were still in the shade. As we started to gain altitude on the hilly part of the course, I caught up to her. I noticed that the tape with the names on her shirt had already come off, probably from the sweat. Waterproof indeed. I looked down at my own and I saw that Dirk had come off too. I imagined that he was going to be waiting for me at the finish line, as Naomi had promised.
As we reached significant mile markers, we were told our current time and our pace. We were on track to finish in a little over 4 hours. I was worried that I was running too fast, but aside from minor soreness I was feeling fine, so I kept going at that pace.
We reached the Pali tunnel. We had been told it was going to be closed to 2-way traffic for several hours, but this was not the case. We stuck close to the walls. We tried to recite the Hawai'ian name our bus driver had told us for the tunnel, but all we would remember was 'Na'pali Wikiwiki somethingsomething'. It translated roughly to 'Kiss me quick in the Pali tunnel'. I had asked Donna to oblige but she had other things on her mind.
The tunnel marked the end of the cliff road, after which we descended down to the straight road, all the way from mile 12 to the end. I had imagined that the worst was over, that it would be a straight shot. But I had used up more than half my energy and I was not yet half way there. It started to heat up, we were in the sun now. The ocean was on our left, beautiful and monotonous. Palm trees, surfers, fishermen, cars.
Donna struggled with her knee. Her brace was slipping and she had to grit her teeth against sharp pains with every step. Around the 14th mile, she said it was too painful to continue. I made a deal to stop and stretch with her. We stopped for a couple of minutes before setting off again.
I was marking the race by ever decreasing distances. The next mile, distance to an aid station, fragments of miles, distance to the next tree, orange cone, or shade. I tried to think of it in manageable chunks. 7, maybe 8 more miles to Lahaina, then only 5 or 6 to the end. We had run those distances before, during many many training runs, and all the time during our holidays. I knew I could do this. To keep focused I tried to sing myself songs in my head. They can prove useful in keeping pace as well. I can only remember one of them now, a nursery rhyme - Tom, Tom, the piper's son, stole a pig and away he run...
A mile or two later I pulled ahead of Donna. She told me to go on, which I did after making sure she wasn't injured. Alone again, feeling my energy flagging, I started talking to myself. I'm done. I'm at the finish. I'm lying in the pool. I'm done. It became an almost obsessive chant.
If I shifted my hat slightly and there would be a momentary blissful coolness, akin to turning over the pillow on a hot night. The air was still, there was no breeze at all. Crosswinds sounded appealing now. I lingered more at the aid stations, drank slower, and took time to really squeeze out the water sponges all over my head. I tried to keep them out of my shoes and socks as the coaches suggested but I think it dried before it got down there.
At this point the few people ahead of me were becoming familiar. We were all running at the same pace. Occasionally I would pass one but then I would slow for a bit and they would invariably pass me. So it went. I would fix on some part of their clothing and stare at it, step after step.
I started chatting to a girl; this was her 2nd marathon, she was shooting for under 4 hours 30 minutes. She completed the last one in 3 hours 45 minutes, but she had recently had a baby delivered via C-section. So this was a 'bad' running day for her. She pulled ahead, wishing me luck. I think I was still on pace for a 4:10-4:15 finish, but I was having problems. It was around mile 18 now, and I was walking more often. I would see aid stations and walk to them, hoping that they mark the ending of another mile, but more often than not the mile was still somewhere beyond them. Young hula dancers and drummers entertained at the stations. What troubled me was that walking didn't really revive me, I merely felt I was moving slower, and even more tired. Was this the wall we had been warned about?
When estimating how much was left I would take off 2.2 from the total. I knew I could run those last couple miles, and bringing up the mental finish line to mile 24 would seem to make things seem more manageable. That didn't really work either. The monotony of the landscape was hard to take. When did it get so hard? I'd run 20, 21 miles during training and had felt fine, I could do this, I was doing this, I had finished this. Trudge trudge. I had run too fast, too soon, spent all my energy, and all the power drinks or water in the world weren't going to help me for this last stretch.
Finally, we turn off the main road around mile 21 towards Lahiana, through some residential streets. People are outside their houses with hosepipes spraying any runners who want the coolness. It's very welcome. When not running I'm hobbling, unable to hide the pain.
I offered to trade places with some young guys who were sat outside drinking with their feet up. Only later did it occur to me that they were already drinking beer at 8 o'clock on a Sunday morning. Aid station volunteers about a quarter of a mile down the road are encouraging me along "come on runner! come on!". "I'm going as fast as I can", I tell them, "I'll get there eventually, be patient!".
Lahaina Front St. No cheering crowds or masses of people were waiting for us, just a few tourists out for a morning stroll. The volunteers had time on their hands, and it was hot. They were having a water fight with the hosepipes and buckets of water. They handed me a sponge to cool off with. A girl with her back to me was spraying a friend with water. Running past her, I squeezed the water out over her head, there was a piercing scream. I didn't look back. It was very satisfying.
Just beyond Lahaina, there was a bridge. A bridge?! It was small, but agonising. It must have been mile 23 or 24 by now? Starbucks had erected small signs announcing the free Frappuccinos that were available at the finish line, along with the remaining distance. I don't want to know.
The race rejoined the main road. A flurry of signs announced 'less than 2 miles to go'! I didn't believe them any more, I could see the resorts in the distance, markers of the finish line. That had to be more than 2 miles.
Stopping to drink at the final aid station, a familiar shape ran past me. It was Donna! We had about 1.5 miles left. I didn't think I could but I ran with her. She was cursing. I tried to encouraged her, saying as many reassuring things as I could, but she shushed me. Later she told me that when she had been close to dropping out of the race altogether, she had sung a song to herself to keep her focused and able to run.
My bologna has a first name
It's O-S-C-A-R.
My bologna has a second name
It's M-A-Y-E-R.
Oh I love to eat it every day,
And if you ask me why, I'll say...
'Cos Oscar Mayer has a way
With B-O-L-O-G-N-A!
We ran ran ran. I was sure this was close to our best mile time all race. I could see the traffic lights marking the turn-off towards the finish line. We started to see familiar faces of TNTers who'd already finished, wearing medals. We were not quite to mile 26.
And there it was. The finish line. Photos were taken, our names were announced, and we ran fast across the finish line together. Four hours, twenty-three minutes. I turned and high-fived a pained-looking Donna. We were funnelled through, our numbers taken, and I barely registered the young hula girl who placed the medal around my neck.
Donna, limping badly, went off to find a loo. I fell onto the grass and sat crying, unashamed. An ambulance departed with someone. Another person was carried across the finish line. Donna, however, was ok.
Stats:
Juan-Luis Sanchez. Division: 30-34
Time: 4.23.09 (10.03 minutes/mile)
Overall: 349 of 1525
Males: 230 of 712
Division: 45 of 109
Donna Lanasa. Division: 30-34
Time: 4.23.09 (10.03 minutes/mile)
Overall: 350 of 1525
Females: 120 of 813
Division: 30 of 172
Kalid Abdalah (1st place. 2 hours 21 minutes)
I don't know what happened to my body... the last three miles is where I lost time.. I really tried to set the record. I don't know what happened to me exactly
James Sheremeta (2nd place. 2 hours 38 minutes)
It started hitting me at about the 14th mile. I started having problems, wondering, you know, 'Am I even going to get through this race?'. I kept going through a roller-coaster ride, going down and then coming back up again. The last two miles were absolutely brutal.
Akiko Sekiya (women's 1st place. 2 hours 58 minutes)
My leg felt very good, but it was very hot today.
Juan-Luis Sanchez (349th place)
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Afterword
If you made it down here, congrats! I haven't run another marathon since, but I hope to soon. The Boston Marathon will be Donna's FOURTH marathon, and she's almost shaved a whole hour off her Maui running time. Go Donna go!
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