Race #6 of the Grand Pricks Series, #6
Too Cocky (a kinda personal account)
This is Race #6 installment in the twenty one race series. Most running mags who report on these races center around who won and quick times. This blog revolves around the seamy underbelly in each race; the also-rans: the has-beens: the crippled: the infirm: the insane.
These are my people. Read on.
The New Hampshire Marathon at Newfound Lake
September 30th, 3006
Two marathons six days apart. And this is the second one.
Glad it’s over.
I had to work a half a day the Friday before. I had everything packed and ready to leave from work.
I was looking forward to six hours of solitude between noon and the 6 o’clock rendezvous with Gail and Dave Martin for the pre-race pasta feed at the Masonic temple in Bristol. The drive only takes 2 and a half hours to get there so I had plenty of time to get there.
It’s nice to carve out a chunk of time for yourself to do nothing.
The marathon last week and more importantly "the marathon" to get ready for these marathons was exhausting. Now a nice leisurely drive.
After the DeMar marathon where I had a good finish and I felt great, the week leading up the New Hampshire was uneventful, great to mentally prepare for it. Driving I took country roads stopping to take in the sights.
I get to Bristol and locate the Masonic temple, buy my Meal Ticket and go over to the school to pick up my number. I cruise every road in town and find a nice park next to the river to relax.
At six I head over to the Masonic Lodge for chow. Meet the Martins. I gave them my cell but no service prevented us from communicating. The dinner was great, Six huge crock pots full of six different home made spaghetti sauces. Everything from Vegetarian to Venision Sausage.
As much as you wanted.
The place was packed. The meal started at 5 o’clock and we were the third seating with still more coming through the door. It turns out that this weekend was a very special weekend to the fifty state marathoners cause of this race on Saturday and the Maine Marathon on Sunday. Folks from all over the country converged here in Bristol to “bag” two marathons in one weekend here in the northeast. I have a whole new respect for these folks. I was struggling to survive two marathons in six days and I’m in a room full of people running two marathons in two days!
Gail, Dave and I yap it up and chow down with abandon. The spread at the DeMar ( hosted by Keene State College) was top shelf commercial feed, this was down home cooking! Both good in vastly different ways.
By 7:30 we push away from the table, the Martins staying Danbury Inn and in for a heavy night of partying till sunrise but they didn’t know that yet. I simply pulled my truck into the back of the Lodge. The Lodge was a single family red brick house built during the Civil War complete with servant quarters in the back by the towns grist mill owner. Back in the day, you brought your harvest to Bristol. A lot of History here in this seemingly simple little hamlet.
My truck/SUV serves yet again as sleeping quarters, fold down the rear seat fill the Thermarest mattress and crawl into the Marmot mummy bag for a good night sleep. By 6am I’m looking at my watch deep in my little womb, I get dressed, the same clothes I wore for the DeMar and head over for the same pre-race breakfast of Drunkin-Blownuts Coffee, Bagel and Cream Cheese. I had to find a banana since I didn’t bring one, I had one last week. I ran well. I thought I had a recipe for success. So I hit a couple of convenience stores none had a banana, by now it’s seven o’clock and Shop n’ Bag/Hannafords just opened and I get three bananas for fifty cents.
The race starts at nine, I’m dressed and ready to go so I park in the school ot and wait for folks to show up. The parking lot fills quickly. Mike Tamarro brings a ringer: Brain McNeiece. Brian looks fast just standing there talking to me. He is the eventual winner. Jim Boss is there Mike Ferrari, Dan Ravenelle, Don Burke, Jeff Gould, Dave Tyler, Manny Arruda, Ron Trippet, Judy Ramvos, and Steve Lombardo. A virtual repeat of the DeMar. Tough RATS. I’m tellin’ ya. Pete Wallan brings his son Joe to officiate the RAT business. Caroline Ceialles, Pete Brook, and Steve Pepe leads the Somervile Road Runners in RAT points today.
There is a 10K going off at the same time so we all line up at in front of the school to listen to announcements through World War II vintage/Blues brothers style speakers. The organizer fires the gun and we’re off. I fall in with Steve Pepe and we yap it up for five before he peels off for the first of his four pees he’ll take during the course of this little stroll. Together we set a 10 minute pace. By mile eight, the bare foot guy, Ric Vilarreal passes by and we yap it up, he never misses this race. I seen him at a lot of marathons over the years and never got a chance to talk to him. By the left turn at the top of the lake, mile nine it’s been all uphill, you reach one rise in the road only to be greeted with another, the hills are relentless and the toll on my body starts. The starting elevation of this race is 430 feet it reaches 700 by mile nine, then descends one hundred feet to mile ten and back up another 100 feet in a half mile!
I grit my teeth and dig in not slowing my pace, not walking through water stops as was my plan for this race and not taking water at the stops.
These are two monstrous mistakes that will decimate me later on. For the record, I was wearing my Camelbak 40 ounce filled with water that I sipped on.
At this point I was passing people by the bushel, I felt great and really leaned on it setting (for me) a potentially lethal pace. I pass Ron Trippet and Manny Arruda around 12. This course continues uphill to the halfway point for a final elevation of 750 feet at the Sculptured Rocks. In contrast the DeMar was all downhill for the first half. Past the turnaround and into mile fourteen I get a second wind and lean on the pace some more and I know I’m pushing my luck but I didn’t feel too bad. Then behind me, I hear a lot of huffin' and puffin' and it's Ron Trippet! Together, we trade leads through fifteen and back into the hamlet of Hebron and the turn onto West Shore drive, the second set of rolling hills kick in. An uphill hill at sixteen, downhill through seventeen uphill though eighteen. At this point Ron catches up to me and passes me for good.
Some fatigue kicks in but I ignore it.
In contrast to the largely downhill DeMar I walked through the water stops for a minute.
I was writtin’ checks my body couldn’t cash.
At mile 21 I was on pace to finish in 4:15, 18 minutes faster than last week and I was oblivious of the destruction to come.
“Hitting the wall”. I’ve always heard this term.
I’ve come up to “the wall” and bumped into it in previous marathons and had to walk the rest in from 21.
Today I smashed into “the wall” with such force that just after mile 21, I blacked out and buckled to my knees.
A runner, caught me and I was alert enough to fool this guy into thinking I simply stumbled. I thought for sure somebody would call the authorities and the jig would be up. I felt like DORANDO PIETRI in the 1908 Olympics.
I was able to walk, my face and left side completely numb (Transient Ischemic Attack (TIA) ), my heart racing out of control, legs and stomach cramping horribly. More runners passed me by slowly clearly worried about what they just saw. I guess I was a good enough actor to fool them I was all right.
As I walked on I became increasingly more noxious with each step.
More runners pass by, I hear Manny Arruda coming up behind me telling me: “You know your walking sideways?”
Everyone is asking if I’m okay. I didn’t let on my predicament as I considered my options. For the oddest reason, I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I felt it would be a big waste of time, inconveniencing everyone. I staggered on become weaker with each step. By mile twenty three I wanted to lay down but didn’t cause someone would see me and alert the volunteers along the course.
I walked on for what seemed an hour, I don’t remember the scenery or seeing the 22 mile marker.
I do remember seeing the bridge at the mile 24 marker and thinking: That’s it. I gotta stop.
Then I saw the cops.
I approached the intersection where two police were stopping traffic for the runners to cross on the main road.
Before they see me, I walk across the street into a parking lot and sneak around the cars to avoid them seeing me, I knew if they saw me, they could tell I was in bad shape.
It doesn’t work. One cop sees me and yells to me to cross the road were he’s at.
I do a passable job of walking briskly upright, but the second cop looks me over and asks me: "Are you all right?"
“Oh yeah”, I say, shuffling my wooden legs
I pass mile 25 with my guts writhing and wanting to puke.
Then as suddenly as it started I felt better.
I walked on and by 26 I even trotted in to the finish.
I stagger over to my truck without talking to anyone, crawl in back and laid down fetal position. I passed out for two plus hours. The race long over, people breaking down the tents, a few cars remaining.
Refreshed, I crawl in front to drive home.
I’m hungry and it’s like nothing happened.
I stop and get something to eat, get back to Boston, jump in my power boat and wind up camping on Lovells Island in Boston Harbor that night.