The Boston Marathon

So, both Ryan Hall and Kara Gouhcer fell short of winning the Boston Marathon yesterday. They both ran very well, each taking 3rd in their category. You just never know with the marathon, particularly Boston. I for one am extremely proud of their achievements. We can expect good things to come from each of these runners in the future.

Since I didn't get to run Boston this year and I'm waiting on my friend Jen's race report (she ran a 3:23:59), I figure I'll post my race report from my 2006 running of Boston. This is a tough course, but in hindsight the memories are always fond ones. Perhaps it's the trill of being in the Mecca of running. Perhaps it's the shared fun and pain of doing it with other running friends. All I can say is: if you ever get the chance to run this event, "Just Do It."

In any event, here is a reprint of my 2006 running of the Boston Marathon.

Pre-Race. Since the 2006 Boston Marathon fell during Spring Break this year, I took along the family for Spring Break. We stayed at the Park Plaza on Arlington, which worked out great as the gear bag retrieval area put you right outside our hotel at the finish. We arrived on Friday in time for running buddy, John Clidas, son John and I to see the traveling production of “Spamalot” at the Colonial Theatre, a gorgeous theater off Boston Common. The show was everything a Monty Python fan could hope for and more. We liked it so much, I made my wife Salome go see it the next night. I also picked up an “I’m not dead yet” button that I put on when I turned on Hereford Street during the marathon.

On Saturday, John Clidas and I did an easy run on Bolyston Street to the finish line and followed the marathon course as far as a 3/4ths of a mile on Commonwealth Avenue. After breakfast, I took the family to the observation deck at the Prudential Center for an overview of the city. We hooked up with my brother, Dave, his wife Dianna, and daughter Katelin for the trip out to the Expo. As expected, the Expo was a madhouse of shopping and excitement of the coming event. I get slightly claustrophobic at this expo due to the sheer number of people. Talk about your running Mecca. You can feel the excitement. Of course, we loaded up on gear. For dinner that night, we went to an unexpectedly nice Irish pub, M.J. O’Conner’s for ribs and salmon. OK, I had a pre-race Guinness.

Sunday morning, I went out for a Boston Globe and to pick up some Easter candy for my younger son, Alex. After a compted breakfast at the hotel, I sent the family off to the Museum of Science. Brother Dave and I went for a tour of the Museum of Fine Arts. Nice Impressionist and Colonial collections. For dinner we went to the official pasta feed. It was a little windy and cool, but the organizers gave out nice Easter candy and we got to see a mini-show from the “Big Apple Circus.” We returned back to our hotel for an early bed time.

Race Day. Awoke Monday morning, slipped into the bathroom to get ready, and was out the door without waking the family. I made my way over to the Weston hotel to have breakfast with running buddy Chris Howard who was running his first marathon as a fund raiser for the Liver Foundation. It was your basic bagels and fruit breakfast, but I met a few nice people and was able to score an inflatable raft to sit on at the Athlete’s Village in Hopkinton. It was nice to ride out to the start in the tour bus with bathroom, which came in handy. At the village, Chris and I bump into John Clidas who immediately disappears into the crowd after exchanges of good wishes. Just because he was in the last corral of Wave 1 and we were in the first corral of Wave 2, you’d have thought he couldn’t get away from us fast enough. John was going to pace with running buddy, Costas Liatsos. Soon thereafter, we locate Dianna who was hanging out in the Wave 2 part of the village while we were in the Wave 1 section. Who knew we were in the wrong place.

Since Chris is a better runner than both John and I, I walked down to the Hopkinton town square to arrange for him to get upgraded from the last placed charity corral into my corral so we could pace each other. In the town square I came across Dick and Rick Hoyt, an inspirational father/son team from the Boston area doing their 25th Boston. They were busy greeting the crowds, so I snapped off a cell phone photo and made my way to the help booth. On my way back to the village, I got a call from brother Dave, who had taken the train out from Boston. We located each other and walked back to the village to play the waiting game before the start.

The one criticism I have of the 2 wave start is that there wasn’t much time for the Wave 2 people to get to their corrals. Grove Street leading from the Athlete’s Village to the corrals was a jammed up mess. Chris and I had to go around houses and jump hedges to get to corral 11 in time for the start. Other than that, being in the 1st corral of Wave 2 was kind of cool. I never thought I’d ever be that close to the start line of the Boston Marathon.

At the gun, we took off with the crowd. Chris, knowing my propensity to let the crowd carry me away, held the pace back. I am so well known for going out too fast that I sometimes joking tell people that my name is “Rabbito Andropov.” For the first couple of miles, I high-five the young kids on the right side of the road. Chris keeps drifting slightly back, forcing me to take the pace down to a smarter speed. The cool mid-50s temperatures and the cooling slight wind in our faces made the first few miles feel great. Little did I know I was probably over extending my energy. We hit the 5K mark in 24:11 and the 10K mark in 49:09, all on course for a 3:30 type marathon pace. However, after mile 7, I start to feel my body flag a bit. I tell Chris I’m going to fall back on the pace a bit and for him to soldier on. With an exchange of good wishes, I back off the pace from 8 minute miles to 9 minute miles.

Just before I get to Wellesley, I see a 6'6" guy in outlandishly flamboyant drag doing a faux Wellesley girl imitation. Too funny. I’m not sure what’s funnier: the outfit, or the deep voice. I remember seeing the guy last year and wonder how many years he’s been doing this act. At Wellesley College, I high-five the girls. Their excitement really recharges the batteries. While I don’t stop for kisses, I high-five as many as I can. I hit the half mark in 1:50:15, now averaging 9:15 miles.

I decide I’d better take some short Galloway walk breaks before I get too tired. This seems to work fine until I get past mile 16. I’m really feeling tired and just before mile 17, I get a twinge in my right hamstring. Oh, oh! Not my weak spot showing itself so soon. I normally don’t have hamstring issues until very late in my marathons. Here I am just starting the Newton Hills and I’ve got a serious issue. Just up the first hill and BAM, the right ham locks up. I hobble to the side of the road and message out the cramp. From here on in, I will have either my left or right hamstring lock up every mile or so. With each lock-up, I hobble to the side of the road and stretch it out. Each stop adds a couple of minutes to my time. My pace must also slow in order to avoid bringing on more frequent lock-ups. I decide to stop taking my splits.

I start to wonder: maybe my body is just not designed to go 26.2 miles. Perhaps I should stick to the 10K distance. The next thought is: How the heck am I going to get to the finish line. I am miles away with plenty of distance to go. This is the worst experience I’ve ever had in my 14 marathons. It know hits me why Boston is so hard: It’s not the hills from mile 17 to 21 that get you. It’s the rolling 17 miles before you get to the Newton Hills that soften you up like Mohammad Ali has been constantly punching at your hams and quads getting you ready for the knockout punch in Newton. Last year, it was my quads that were a problem. This year, it’s the hams. Choose your poison.

So, I’m wondering what to do. However, on the realization that if I don’t finish, I do not get the medal, I decide to “Keep on Truckin.” It’s funny the difference that little piece of metal can make in motivation. I also notice that many people are starting to walk these hills. I refuse to do this. I will run the hills. So now its run to the top and lock up. Message the leg and hit the next hill. Surprisingly, this seems to work. At mile 19 I happen to glance around my left shoulder and catch the John Kelly statue. By Heartbreak Hill, it’s like “Night of the Living Dead.” It seems like 90% of the runners are walking up Heartbreak Hill. I choose to run. I somehow make it to Boston College. Yes! At least I’ve got the hills behind me.

My troubles, however, are not behind me. Last year the B.C. crowd seemed mostly guys smashed on beer. This year, there seems to be more girls and they are more enthusiastic than drunk. It has more of the Wellesley College feel to it. I start the high-fives again and pick up the pace. Oops! Ham cramp. Just after, Boston College, I meet a woman runner from Nova Scotia who is having quad cramps. We decide to try to run together. However, with each down hill she cramps and with each up hill I cramp. We keep separating and rejoining like some cosmic yoyo.

I finally hit Beacon Street and can see the Citco sign off in the distance. Last year, it was a mirage that I couldn’t get closer to. This year, I have an idea how far away it is. I keep reeling it in. At least its getting bigger. Since Boston College I keep passing and being passed by a guy running in a gorilla suit. I wonder how much sweat he’s got pooled in his feet. He appears quite hot in the suit.

I cramp one last time on Beacon Street looking like a Keystone Cop hoping over to the left side of the road. This causes an old Boston Woman to laugh hysterically. After she stops laughing, she tells me to “Get back out there.” I figure she came out of Fenway Park and has a little chatter left over from the Red Sox game. I dutifully obey.

At the one mile mark, I again find the Nova Scotia runner and I encourage her to run again. Shortly thereafter, we hit the downhill side of the underpass tunnel, she cramps up, and I lose her again. However, I tell my body I refuse to cramp in this last mile. I actually pick up the pace. On the turn on Hereford Street, I remember the button from Spamalot reading: “I’m not dead yet....” and put it on.

I turn onto Bolyston Street. Ah, sweet Bolyston Street. Its like a victory parade. I’m not moving very fast, but the pain and the cramps are a thing of the past. I spot my older son John and yell out to him. He sees me. I turn back to him for a picture and then move forward. About 100 yards on, I see my wife Salome and younger son Alex. She yells my name and the ten people surrounding her repeat my name at the top of their voices. Now, this is sweet. Total strangers cheering you on by name for the fun of it. Salome shoots a picture and I move on for the last few hundred yards to the finish. I cross at 4:14. Nowhere near the pace I was on, but 20 minutes better than last year.

I turn back at after walking about 50 feet past the finish. I want to find the woman from Nova Scotia. We meet, hug, and thank each other for the mutual assistance. I come across Gorilla Man waiting to get my medal. He had come out by train as far as he could and ran the last 10 miles. I tell him I’m amazed he ran 10 miles in a gorilla suit. He tells me he’s amazed at me for running 26.2 miles.

Brother Dave, coming off a leg injury, was pleased to come in at 4:30. He realized he was cutting it close and had to pour it on the last mile. His wife Dianna came in just behind me in 4:18. Newbe, Chris did the amazing and clock a sub 4 hour 1st marathon in 3:55. The ever stalwart John Clidas came in at 3:42. Ironman, Costas Liatsos bested us all with an even 3:30. It figures our Greek runners would be our best finishers. Nike, brothers.

During the race, I was thinking of burning my running shoes or throwing them in the trash. This was the hardest marathon I’ve ever run. It is clearly the hardest course I’ve ever run. Perhaps it is due to being a Floridian and training in the flat lands of Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The only hill work we get is a causeway bridge that I’m sure others would laugh at as being hill work. However, we get no pity from New Englanders. Two days later, visiting my aunt at the House of Seven Gables in Salem, Mass., another guide asks me how I did. I tell her I had trouble. “Was you time in the 3:30s?” she asks. “No,” I reply, “my time was 4:14.” “Oh,” she says, “you came in with Curt Schilling’s wife.” OK, I get it. I’m not an athlete. I’m only as good as the wife of a real athlete. Boy, you New Englanders are a tough crowd.

Like many before me, I have yet to figure out this Boston course. I’m sure Chris will tell me to go out slower. I’m also pretty sure I need higher mileage to do this course justice. But, I’ll probably return next year. I previously passed along to John and Chris a quot from Barron Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the modern Olympics movement: "The important thing is not to win, but to take part; just as the most important thing about life is not to conquer, but to struggle well."

So, there it is. I hope I didn't bore you with this dated report. I really want to run this event again. However, I would not be able to do both the Boston Marathon and St. Anthony's Triathlon in the same year. This year is for St. Anthony's.

The Once & Future Kings

Ryan Hall with Bill Rodgers posing just before the finish line for the Boston Marathon.

With the Boston Marathon coming up tomorrow, you strict triathletes will have to indulge me for today. Coming from a running background, nothing gets me more excited than the running of the Boston Marathon. This proud tradition dates back to 1897 after the event was essentially invented the year before at the first modern Olympics in Athens in 1896.

American had a proud tradition in this race going back to seven time winner Clarance DeMar in the '20s and early '30s, John A. Kelly and Tarzan Brown in the 30's and 40's, John J. Kelly in 1957, Runner's World writer Amby" Burfoot in 1968, Alberto Salazar in 1982, and Greg Meyer in 1983. On the women's side, we had the great Joan Benoit Samuelson win the women's race twice in the late 70s and early 80s on her way to win the first Women's Olympic Marathon title.

But probably the greatest American runner of the Boston Marathon is Bill Rodgers, who won the event in 1975, 1978, 1979, and 1980. During this same era, he also won the other great marathon of the time, the New York City Marathon, four times. After Bill Rodgers no American dominated the marathon like he did.

In the late 80s the Kenyans and Etheopeans started owning the world major marathons. They pretty much do to this day. We got a resurgence in American marathon running the last six years or so with the major win being the double podium finishes of Meb Keflezighi (silver) and Deena Kastor (bronze) in the 2004 Athens Olympics. Deena went on to win the Chicago and London Marathons in the next few years, but the Kenyans pretty much dominate the sport. Bill Rodger's 4 time modern era streak was recently matched last year when Kenyan Robert Cheruiyot won last year for the fourth time. He runs again this year and threatens Billy's record.

Coming up the ranks in the last few years, however, is Ryan Hall, an American runner who also trains at altitude like the Keyans. He broke the American half marathon record several years back and has run competitively in London Marathon the last couple of years. Ryan trains in Mammoth, California like Meb and Deena, so the advantage of altitude training the Keyans and Ethiopeans naturally have is matched. Ryan is young for a marathon runner and very dedicated to his faith. Can he match the Keyans tommorrow? Bill Rodgers thinks so. I also think he has a shot. Let's hope he can run smart and dig deep into his faith in God and in himself. It would be great to see an American win the Boston Marathon again.

On the women's side, there is also renewed hope of an American women winning the race. Deena took a shot at it 2 years ago, but had some unfortunate intestinal problems that took her out of contention. This year we look to Kara Goucher, a 5k and 10k racer that moved up to her marathon debut at the New York City Marathon last November. She finished in third place in a time of 2:25:53 becoming the first American on the podium since 1994.

Here is a preview video from Runner's Word:

Runner's World Boston Marathon Preview Video

On the home front, I'm in taper mode for St. Anthony's Olypmic Triathlon in St. Petersburg, Florida next Sunday. I did a sprint distance brick (10 miles bike/3.1 mile run) on Saturday as a tune up. Buddy John did an Olympic brick (25 bike/6.2 run) to verify his recovered calf muscle can hold up. I did that for the MIT Olympic tri last month and I fear it may have taken out too much from me for the event. So, I cut it back a bit and hope to break 3 hours at St. Anthony's.

Speaking of "Once and Future Kings," my young son Alex had a field day at school last Wednesday. I tried to get my older son, John, into the running and biking thing, but he doesn't seem interested. Perhaps Alex will take over from me when I can no longer do these events.

I attach a video of his hurdles event.

The Disney Marathon: I'm Not Dead Yet

Then the one day you find, ten years have got behind you. No one told you when to run. You missed the starting gun. Pink Floyd, "Time"

The week before the Disney Marathon, I received an unwelcome gift in the mail. Someone needs to tell the people at AARP that the last thing one wants to receive the week they turn 50 is an invitation to join an organization that "fights to strengthen Social Security and make health care affordable for older Americans." They might as well just send a birthday card that says: "Welcome to the old persons club. Enclosed is your discount card to matinees." Of course, my wife eagerly opens the envelope that I would just as soon throw away. "Its funny," she says. "I'm not dead yet," I reply (a la Monty Python's Holy Grail) .

On Thursday, I get a reminder that we can only put off that aging process so far with all of our fitness training. Good friend and marathoner, Wayne from Anchorage, Alaska calls me to tell me that he went in for a stress test after feeling dizzy during a training run. Wayne was starting to gear up for a 3 marathon tour of Europe in the Spring. It turns out Wayne has major blockage in 3 arteries and will have to have triple by-pass surgery the following Tuesday. I now have a person to whom to dedicate this marathon. This one's for Wayne. Follow Wayne's postings as he undergoes the trials and tribulations of surgery and recovery at http://atrampathonabroad.blogspot.com/.

Later that night, the University of Florida Gators give me the best present one could ask for in turning 50: the BCS National Championship. We whoop and holler the evening away with some of my and my son John's friends. Everyone was decked out in Gator gear, a requirement to gain entry to the theater room. The game ends just before midnight, so I ask everyone to stay a few extra minutes. Training buddy John does the honors of opening up the bottle of Champagne I bring out (sparkling cider for son John and his friends) and we toast the Gators and my old bones.


Saturday morning, I drive to Orlando ahead of my brother Dave who agreed to run the Disney Marathon as a return to marathon running after a 3 year lay-off. I hit the race expo to pick up my number, race chip and tee-shirt. Of course, the large cool-max shirts (nice) are cut for a giant (sucks) and they race officials will not allow exchanges for a smaller size (doubly sucks). If you know anyone with really large arms looking for an over-sized Cool Max shirt, call me.

I check into the hotel and direct my brother to the hotel when he arrives a few hours later. We get together for dinner with co-poster John and a few other friends at a restaurant in Celebration, a town developed by Disney that eerily reminds me of the stage-set town in The Truman Show. John says, "Que the moon" and sure enough, we have a low horizon full moon that is so big it looks unreal. At diner, we are advised/directed by a friend to stop eating meat, avoid flour based products, and start taking lots of different dietary supplements. As I continue eating my pasta with meatballs, I decide to take the advice "under advisement." That's judicial-speak for "I'm postponing a decision now, but will decline your request at a future date."

We return to the hotel to try to get to sleep. One of the problems with the Disney Marathon is that is starts at 5:50 AM and there are traffic delays to get to the staging area just outside Epcot. Thus, the race director advises leaving for the start at 4AM, which equates to a 3AM wake up. As we watch the first half hour of Saturday Night Live, I realize I will get little to no sleep. We cheat on the wake-up by setting the alarm for 3:15AM. When the alarm goes off at 3:15AM, it feels like you are coming to after being knocked unconscious. I state this without ever having been knocked unconscious, but I'm pretty sure this how it would feel. You awake not knowing where you are or why you are being awakened. We drag ourselves out of bed and get dressed.

Being stuck in the traffic on the way to the parking lot is both good and bad. Its good in that we don't have to wait in the cold early morning air. Its bad in that by the time we get in the porta-potty line, I'm shifting from side to side to keep from soiling myself. The lines at the porta-potties seem extremely long. I'm sure one of Einstein's unpublished theories of relativity reads: The worse you have to go, the longer the porta-potty lines seem.

After taking care of business, brother Dave and I head to our separate corrals. I've provided prior marathon results and have gotten placed in the first non-elite corral, Corral A. Dave, not having a prior race result with which to get properly seeded, is place in the absolute last corral, Corral H. He later informs me that he looked at the enormous crowd lined up ahead of him, then looked behind him to see that there was no one behind his corral. As the race starts, he is forced to bob and weave through the newbie runners and walkers of all ages, shapes and sizes that make up the back of the 15,000 people doing the marathon.

As the gun goes off and fireworks are shot off, I'm having the opposite issue from Dave. I get pulled out at an 8 minute per mile pace. I find the pace runner holding a balloon that says 3:30 (predicted finish time) and start off with the large number of people running with the pacer. Its too crowded behind the pacer, so I run slightly ahead of the group to keep from getting tripped up. As we run through Epcot in the dark they play The Cars song "Let's Go" that contains the lyric: "I like the night life baby. Let's go." A nice beat and a nice thought. A girl running with a guy near me turns to him and asks: "Do you like the night life, baby?"

As has become my new norm for marathons, I am able to hold this pace for about 10K (6.2 miles) before I start to fall off pace. As I stated in my Las Vegas Marathon posting, the only problem with this is you end up getting passed by a lot of runners as you drop pace. This is a psychological blow that is only paid back in the second half of the race as you start to re-pass runners that went out too hard and end up walking or stretching their cramping leg muscles.

As I run through Disney World around mile 11, I start thinking about being at Disney as a kid, which starts me to thinking of the times I've brought my own kids to Disney World. It makes me feel young and old at the same time. Then, I remember that my buddy Wayne is facing a serious operation on Tuesday and I start thinking of his youngest daughter, Hannah. I hope that all goes well and Wayne is able to take Hannah to Disney World in the near future. I think my eyes got a little moist here. With every official photographer I run by, I start to hold up 3 fingers to make a "W" for my buddy Wayne.

As we run through Animal Kingdom, an announcer on a stage sees a couple of runners near me in Gator running shirts. He calls out, "Go Gators" and a bunch of us start doing the Gator chomp as we run by the announcer. Outside of Animal Kingdom a large crowd of spectators cheer on the runners and call out names. I hear people shout out "Go, William!" and realize the Disney people printed my formal name on my racing bib. So, I start to shout out thanks to people calling me by a name I've never responded to in my life. My buddy Dean, whose formal name is Constantine, heard all different kinds of names shouted out to him. As he said, only the speed readers got it right.

Around mile 15 I start to think about the Ironman in November. I'm going to have to swim 2.4 miles and bicycle 112 miles before running a marathon. How in the world am I going to do that? Its hard enough to do the marathon by itself. I realize I have a lot of training to do before November.

From about mile 16 on in, I start passing runners instead of being passed. I think that this is my new persona. I used to be the rabbit; now, in my older incarnation, I've become the tortoise. Slow and steady wins the race. Nice to see you, bub. Take care of that cramp. See ya! For the last 10K, my pace slows from 9 minute miles to 9:30s and near 10 minute miles. I'm tempted to take a walk break, but don't dare to with my estimated closeness to a sub 4 hour finish time. At mile 26, there is a black church choir in golden robes singing, clapping and swaying side to side. Very appropriate. I clap in rhythm with the choir as I run by. A couple of minutes later, I finish in 3 hours 57 minutes.


Holding up the "W" for Wayne. Get well buddy.

After getting my medal and a massage, I meet up with my friends. First timer Dean finishes in an impressive 4:03. I teach him the secret handshake. It involves reaching out your hand, then grabbing your calf to work out a cramp. Brother Dave tells me he felt he must have had to pass about half of the entire race crowd. He wasn't too far off, coming in 7061 out of 14,940 finishers. His worst moment was being caught being a group of run/walkers at a narrow area near mile 11. He hears a pace group leader shout out "Walk!" and the entire crowd in front of him comes to an almost complete stop. He looks up at the balloon and sees the expected finish time of 5:30. He manages to pass this group and many others to finish in just over 5 hours. Welcome back to the marathon brother!

After a protein packed brunch at Denny's, we return to our hotel to lounge around and watch playoff football all afternoon. In the evening we meet up for dinner with friends Demetri and Effi who worked a water station on the course. Demetri is interested in doing the Goofy Challenge next year, which is doing the half marathon on Saturday followed by the full marathon on Sunday. It sure sounds goofy to me.

The next day, as I drive back from Orlando, I key up Billy Joel on the iPod to get ready to attend his concert the upcoming Friday. I feel good about my performance and decide the age thing doesn't bother me. One of Billy Joel's songs ques up that kind of sums up my feelings on turning 50, so I finish with a quot:

If it seems like I've been lost in "let's remember;" if you think I'm feeling older and missing my younger days. Oh, then you should have known me much better, 'cause my past is something that never got in my way, oh no. I'm keeping the faith - Billy Joel

I'm also keeping the faith with regard to my buddy Wayne. See you on the other side of your surgery. During recovery, we can plan that trip to Disney for Hannah.

Weekend In Vegas

I’m a sucker for BQ talk. BQ is runner shorthand for running a qualifying time to run the Boston Marathon. For my age (49, going on 50) that’s a 3:35 marathon. In heading out to Vegas to run the Las Vegas Marathon, I had planned to run it purely as a training run in preparation for the Disney Marathon on January 11th. However, runners talking about trying for a BQ the day before the marathon was as common as slot machines at the casinos. As infectious as the slots too.

Wife Salome, son John and I fly into Vegas at noon. By 2 PM we are checked into the Mandalay Bay Resort, the host hotel for the marathon. We meet up at the Expo with Anchorage runners Mark and John. They both state their plans to run BQ times. The temperatures are supposed to be in the high 40s to lower 50s with winds around 5 mph, ideal running conditions. I explain that I came to Vegas to run it as a training run, but that I would meet them at the start and try to pace with them as long as I could. I later call a friend of a Hawaii running buddy. She too informs me that she is gunning for a BQ.

After an early dinner, I head back to the room to prep my gear for the morning and hit the sack early. Salome & John hit the strip to see the sights. I awake to hear them come in, but fortunately fall right back to sleep. I’m up at 4 and out the door around 5:15 AM to head downstairs and outside to the start area located in front of Mandalay Bay. The temperature feels not as low as the 49 reported by the Weather Channel. Of course, what happens to me at all too many of my marathons happens again. I can not locate any of the runners I’ve agreed to pace with. This may be a blessing in disguise as I don’t know how I’ll run. I’m coming off of a half ironman run a month ago with only one long run of 20 miles two weeks ago. Not being able to find my buddies, I start talking with a runner from Tucson, AZ, who states that she is going to try to run a BQ in 3:40. I can’t get away from these people.

The race starts on the strip at 6:05 AM. A beautiful start as its still dark and the strip is lit up. Like most things in Vegas, the race organizers feel the need to kick it up a notch, so they start shooting off fireworks as we head down the strip. Bright lights, big city, very exciting. So exciting, I shoot off and get pulled out with the faster runners to a way too fast first mile in 7:10. “Slow down, Tex” I think to myself. I’m out way too fast. Mile 2 clocks in at 7:27, still too fast but better. I think the flashing lights from the casinos and all that BQ talk have me too pumped. The fact that the first 5 miles are on a slight downhill slop don’t hurt either. I hit the 10K mark in about 47 minutes: BQ time. I’m starting to buy in.

The problem with the idea of a BQ is that you’ve pretty much got to run the best you’ve ever run to hit the time. The guys at the Boston Athletic Association have figured out aged based qualifying times that make you train to be in the best shape of your life to hit the number. To hit those times, you have to in PR (personal record) condition. Everything has to click on that day: your nutrition, the weather, your head. Too many other factors to mention. I knew coming in that my training wasn’t BQ type training. But we are in Vegas and we all make stupid bets sometimes hoping that luck makes up for shortcomings. I’m all in.

I’m good, but slowing for the next 3 miles, with miles 7, 8 and 9 ticking off in 7:59, 8:10, and 8:17. A 15K split of around 1:15. Not bad, but that 8:17 is a problem. I realize I’m falling off pace. I know that the course starts to go uphill for the next several miles. Perhaps the BQ attempt should be removed from the table. Maybe I should have placed a side bet to finish. During mile 10, I notice my hams feel tight. If I keep trying to push pace, I risk leg muscle craps and walking. OK, I remove my chips from the table and decide to make this what I originally intended: a training run. I slow to upper 8 minute and lower 9 minute miles. Near the half marathon mark, Mark Schroeder passes me. “Keep it up buddy,” I say, “I’m bleeding pace. This is now a training run for me.” Mark says he’ll see me at the finish. I wish him luck and let him go ahead of me.

The psychological problem of starting at a faster pace, then slowing down, is that a bunch of runners that were running even paces start passing you. Not an ego boost. However, I temper my feelings of shame with the realization that all the runners passing me look really fit. I have not been passed by any of the over 1,000 runners running dressed as Elvis. The “Running Elvi” as they are known dress up as “The King” and run marathons doing goofy stuff, like dancing and singing Elvis songs along the course. Around mile 18, humiliation awaits. I am finally passed by my first Elvis. But its no fat Elvis. This guy is running at a good clip. No goofy antics. That comes a mile later. During mile 19, I get passed by two somewhat less fit Elvi. One of them starts goofing for the crowd, doing a hop and air guitar arm swing. OK, its funny I admit to myself. And besides, I’m approaching mile 20 and I’m not hitting the wall. Life is good.

I feel well enough to pick up the pace the last 6 miles. As I approach the finish line, I see the clock approaching the 3:50 mark. I kick it in the last 100 yards to come in at 3:49:47. My personal demarcation of whether I’ve run a good marathon is if I break 4 hours. Thus, I feel good about my run. I broke 4 hours and only got passed by 3 Elvi. Or is it Elvii? Of my running buddies, a couple made their BQs; many did not. But hope springs eternal in Vegas. We place bets, but not every bet pays off. To those that didn’t hit the jack pot, I say, throw in some speed workouts and keep playing. Me? I’ll be doing the Disney Marathon in January. I hope I don't do anything Goofy.