The Woodlands Marathon 2016

I was originally planning just a short write-up, but decided to get the full report done this afternoon since I'm just hanging out and then get on with the serious business of performing at work and school without trashing my family tomorrow. So, you're getting a rare same-day race report.

Run March 5, 2016.

Funny how feasible things can sound when you've had a few glasses of wine. I was in such a state when Kate's best friend, Kelli Brown, mentioned that her husband, Adam, was thinking about running The Woodlands again and my presence would likely be the clincher. This was said less out of concern for Adam than to present an excuse to get Kate flown down to Texas so they could spend some time together. I wasn't sloshed, so I immediately picked up on the ulterior motive, but my rational mind was just enough inhibited that the idea of a four-day marathon weekend in the middle of the semester seemed like something that could be pulled off. The little matter of training for the thing was a detail not even considered.

As I finished in the money last year (literally, there's a modest cash prize for the 50+ win), the Elite Coordinator blithely places me in the elite field again. He doesn't ask if I've got time to train and I don't volunteer the answer. But, really, the 3:02 standard for 50+ elite seems pretty doable even on the reduced regime. Of course, I have no empirical evidence to support that view; I've never even been under 3:05 without 100-mile weeks.

I actually do manage a couple 100-mile weeks during the break between semesters and the 12 weeks preceding the race each contain two reasonably stout workouts, but it's not enough. I run the Frostbite half in January, finishing nearly three minutes behind last year's time. Subsequent workouts provide more evidence that a sub-3 is very unlikely and even the 3:02 is in serious question.

The race-day forecast doesn't provide much cause for optimism, either. The dew point is expected to follow the temp from mid-50's at the start to mid-60's by 1 hour in. It will stay flat from there, but the temp will continue on to high 70's by the finish. Oh, yeah, sunny, too. Well, it is Texas. Nothing to do but show up and give it my best shot. It's not like I'll get in trouble if I don't run the standard; it's just a little embarrassing.

I decide my best shot is to hang with the 3-hour pace group as long as I can and then try to gut out a decent finish. At number pickup, the pace team coordinator assures me that the pair handling the 3-hour group have an excellent track record of nailing the pace.

Race day weather isn't quite as dire as the forecast, but there is plenty of fog along the river. As an elite, I get to drop my stuff right at the start and don't have to worry about getting into the corral before it closes, so I wish Adam luck and get in a brief warmup. At five to seven the wheelchair racers are sent off and the elites are called to the line. As with last year, there are 20 in the field, 13 men and  7 women. I'm the only  50+, but there are four other masters (40+). The hoards are brought up behind us and off we go.

I had the foresight to seek out the 3-hour pacers before the start. They cross the line just a few seconds behind me and within a few hundred meters, they've pulled up alongside me with a dozen sub-3 hopefuls in tow. They take us through the first mile in 6:44, 6 seconds fast, but that's entirely appropriate since the conditions at the finish will be a lot worse than they are now. Their names are Carey and Chris and, in addition to accurate pacing, they lead the group in affable chatter. The message is clear: "Relax and leave the driving to us." I'm more than happy to oblige.

We get to 10K still just a handful of seconds ahead of pace. The opening miles are  slightly net downhill and, despite the fog, it's still pretty good conditions, so I appraise my condition skeptically. However, even in that light, I'm surprised at how well I'm doing. It seems like I might just be able to hang with these guys the whole way.

The fog burns off in the next few miles and I notice that several in our group are completely soaked in sweat. I've been drinking a bit at each aid station and don't seem to be sweating much, but I make a note to check my condition each mile. By the half (in 89:54) several in our group have succumbed to the conditions and we are reeling in quite a few from ahead. Chris and Carey continue our to lay down nearly perfect splits and, while I'm feeling the effort, I'm not sensing any impending doom.

During mile 16, we do a short out and back to get the course to exact distance. The turnaround is considerably closer in than it was last year. We chalk it up to the fact that the start was moved. However, when we get to the flag at 16, Chris and Carey both comment that the mile split is way under expectations. It could be a misplaced mile marker, but when 17 comes up 6:50 later, we conclude that it was the turnaround cone that was misplaced.

Well, you run the course they give you. While it might make the time bogus for those who care, I'm pretty sure I'm leading 50+, so it's about getting to the line first, regardless of the distance. We soldier on.

By 18, our group is down to just five. I stride out a few meters ahead to provide the photo op from Kate, who has journeyed about 26.2 meters from Kelli's living room to the side of the course. While the effort does no damage, it does reveal how close I'm getting to my limits. I hang on for another two miles and at 20, I have to relent. My legs still feel OK, but my stride is shortening (as it always does just after 2 hours, even in training runs and ultras; it seems to be a function of duration, not pace) and I'm overheating. At first, the loss is small, but by 23, my pace is really flagging; Chris and Carey are nearly a minute ahead.

It's time to dig. I knew I was likely to run into trouble holding this pace but, to use local parlance, this ain't my first rodeo. I've been in worse spots. I alternate between pumping my arms harder and switching to 2-step breathing (out on the left foot, in on the right; I normally breathe out 2, in 1 near the end of races). This gets me through 24 without much further loss, but leaves me reeling from the effort. I try quickening my turnover; no dice. I take a few minutes a bit easier, trying to summon some reserves. There aren't many.

At 25, I check my watch: 2:50:40. Sure, it's a dubious time, but a sub-3 on paper is enough to motivate one last push. I'm running through the back of the half marathon field now, but it's not too hard to get around them. I hit the timing mats at 2:59:10.

I turn around to see that my final push has not been mere vanity; John Robertson crosses just 15 seconds behind me. Staying ahead of him scored me the third masters spot along with a repeat as grand master winner. It also means that, while I didn't embarrass any of the true elites, I did finish exactly midway in the masters elite field, so I didn't embarrass the elite coordinator, either.

I get a quick meal and change in the elite tent, then get back to the line in time to see Adam finish. He really got hammered by the heat at the end, but his 3:48 was still a PR by a fair margin.

Now, about that time. As, I mentioned, I wasn't keeping splits, so I really don't know just how short mile 16 was. Given that Chris and Carey were running nearly perfect pace, I expect this equates to a 3:01 or 3:02. If this was a PR, I'd stress a bit over how to list it. As it's not, I'm just going to let the official time stand as my 7th fastest marathon without an asterisk.

And now, I'm going out to dinner with Kate, Kelli, and Adam. We will have wine. If anybody mentions that I should accept the elite invite to next year's event that will undoubtedly follow from the repeat win, I will laugh in their face.