Marine Corps Marathon Recap

Let's lay the cards down on the table: I don't run races just for fun or just to finish. The overachiever in me runs every race with a goal time in mind--usually to beat my previous PR. For the Marine Corps Marathon, my first 26.2 race, I set three goals:

1. Finish in 3:40:59 to qualify for Boston.
2. Finish around 3:50.
3. Finish under 4 hours and don't walk up the last hill.

Goal 1 was ambitious and probably too idealistic. Goal 3 was my "safety" in case the first two fell through.

Pre-Race
I spent the last 2 weeks before MCM tapering and working ~14-hour days. Stressed and sleep-deprived, I resorted to downing daily shots of Emergen-C to fight off what felt like an oncoming cold. Not the best race preparation, but I comforted myself with the common saying that the marathon is 99% mental. I had trained properly so if I just believed that I could do well, then I would do well. Simple.

Race Morning
I left about 1 hour and 45 minutes to get from my home in Court House to the race start near the Pentagon. In hindsight, that was not enough time. The metro ride was crowded, the walk from the Pentagon station was much longer than I anticipated, and the porta-potty lines were long. I ran from the parking lot to the start line and squeezed into the 3:40-4:00 corral just in time to hear the cannon go off. Without so much as a minute-long rendition of the national anthem's time to process anything, my first marathon began.

Miles 1-6: NoVa, Key Bridge, Canal Rd
Average Pace: 8:54 min/mi
I start the race running with Dave, and it's nice to have someone to talk to to shake off the nerves in the first few miles. Miles 2-4 up to the Key Bridge is the only section of the MCM course that I didn't cover during training. It's hilly just as people warned, but it is early and my pace is slow so I'm not too worried. Somewhere along Spout Run I see a girl dressed in costume injured on the side of the road. I feel bad for her--how awful to have to drop out after only 3 miles. Coming around the Key Bridge onto Canal Road, I see the leaders of the pack already coming back from the other direction. These guys would finish the race in about half my time. Amazing.

After the first couple of miles, I realize that we haven't been able to pick up the pace much because the pack was so crowded and the roads were narrow. Dave and I lose each other around mile 2--partly because of the crowd and partly because we have different pacing styles that never quite sync up. Either way, I know a 9-minute pace is not going to cut it for me.

Miles 6-10: Georgetown, Rockcreek Pkwy, Lincoln Memorial
Average Pace: 8:29 min/mi
The second notable hill of the course, at the Georgetown Reservoir around mile 7, is barely noticeable to me. After incorporating some serious hill workouts into my training, this one on actual race day feels more like a nubbin. Also around mile 7, the pack of runners spreads out a bit and I'm finally able to fall into my own pace. I suddenly see Dave just a few feet in front of me, and I speed up to say hello. I want to continue running with him but--knowing that I need to keep at least an 8:30 pace to keep my goal in sight--I reluctantly pull ahead.

The course carries us down to M St--the site of many previous runs, shopping sprees, and drunken nights--and the crowd is so loud and energetic I can't help but smile. As we run to the water front, onto Rockcreek Parkway, and past the Kennedy Center, the crowd of spectators thickens. Mile 10-11 is one of the biggest spectator spots on the course, and I start looking out for my own supporters: my parents with a bright yellow Nissan poster board I picked up at the Expo. Just as I start to think maybe they missed me, I see my dad literally jump onto the course next to me waving his sign and my mom a step behind him with camera in hand. I wave furiously and--as later pictures would show--flash the goofiest ear-to-ear grin. I don't know it at the time, but that would be the most energetic I'd feel for the rest of the race.

Miles 10-16: Hains Point
Average Pace: 8:30 min/mi
Sufficiently pumped from seeing my parents, I enter Hains Point in good spirits. My back is bothering me slightly, but I munch on half a Lara Bar at mile 12 and keep chugging along at a solid pace. I even take care to throw the wrapper in a roadside trashcan. At the halfway point, I glance down at my Garmin: 1:53:30. Yikes, not a great time. Sufficient to say that I won't be qualifying for Boston that day, but I'm still on track to finish around 3:50. Not too bad.

The turnaround at Hains Point has always been my least favorite part of training runs, because it usually means a brutally windy run back to the Mall. That Sunday, however, was in the 60s, sunny, and completely calm! I thank someone--maybe god--for blessing us with good weather. As the miles go on, I start to feel more tired. I'm still maintaining a steady 8:30 pace but am exerting more effort than I should be at this point in the race. To try to break the course down into manageable pieces, I set my sights on exiting Hains Point and reaching mile 16, where there would only be 10 more miles to go.

Miles 16-20: National Mall
Average Pace: 8:55 min/mi
I come out of Hains Point feeling much worse than I did when I entered it just merely 6 miles ago. I look out for my parents again around the Lincoln Memorial but don't see them this time. They would later tell me that I already looked pretty tired at this point.

This stretch of the race up to the 14th Street Bridge is supposed to be one of the most scenic parts of the course. After all, it covers everything from the Lincoln to the Capitol and back. Whether it's because I've run on the Mall one too many times or because of the increasing pain in my back, I do not take in a single sight during these 4 miles. My mind consists of four main thoughts:

1. Why does my back hurt so f***ing bad and why do I feel so crappy when I've easily done 16+ mile runs during training?
2. Why does this annoying Asian guy keep speeding up to try to race me? Doesn't he realize that I'm having a hard enough time just putting one foot in front of the other? (I eventually leave him in the dust around mile 20.)
3. Why is it suddenly so windy?! All this time, I was afraid of the wind at Hains Point, which turned out to be totally innocuous. Now I'm being blasted at mile 18?!
4. Let's just get to this damn bridge. Everyone says the real challenge of the marathon doesn't start until mile 20. Crap, this is about to get much worse.

Obviously, I am getting grumpy. But I do muster up the energy to pose for multiple photographers in front of the Capitol building. Too bad nobody looks good when you take pictures of them from kneeling on the ground.

Miles 20-21: 14th St Bridge
Average Pace: 9:11 min/mi
The Bridge! The dreaded, infamous, mile-long bridge that cuts you off and crushes your marathon dreams if you don't make it there by 1:15 pm (so-called "Beating the Bridge"). I'm not worried about making it across the bridge in time, but I am afraid of what getting to the bridge means: It means the last 10k of the race--the true and brutal test of the marathon--begins.

Someone had placed a sign at mile 20 that said "The Bridge is Your Bitch!" The sign's actually very effective as I immediately feel a surge of energy. Next, I see a lively spectator on the side of the course sporting a maize Michigan shirt and I give him a "Go Blue!" shoutout. OK, I think to myself, I'm ready to tackle this thing.

To be honest, the bridge was not the hardest part of the race for me. I mean, it was definitely rough--the wind, the endless stretch of nothingness, the runners dropping off left and right. The pain level in my back and the subsequent nausea become much worse. In addition, for the first time I feel my calf muscles beginning to tighten. I see many runners stop to stretch on the side of the road, and I want so badly to do the same. But all of this pales in comparison to the pain I would feel in the next few miles leading up to the finish.

Miles 22-24: Crystal City
Average Pace: 10:27 min/mi
I've done pretty well at hydrating at every water station along the course up to this point. After every drink, I feel sick for a few minutes as my body takes time to accept the liquids. Coming off the bridge at mile 22, I know I need to take another drink because my leg muscles are tensing up. I grab Powerade and water from the station and down them, preparing for some discomfort in the next quarter mile or so. Except what I feel this time is much more than mere discomfort. My throat closes up and intense nausea washes over my entire body. I slow my pace down to the point where I feel like I'm barely moving to keep from throwing up. I'm eventually able to suppress the nausea, but I know if I'm going to finish the rest of the race without seeing my breakfast in reverse, I cannot put anything else into my body.

The Cystal City section of the course is literally an out and back separated by a few measly cones set up down the middle of the road. As I run the "out" part of the course, I wonder how so many people already coming back from the other direction are ahead of me. Some people are actually speeding up. In fact, I recall that at one point earlier in the course, I was passed by a girl wearing a tutu. How are these people running faster than I am?? Do they not feel the same pain that I feel? I think seriously for a minute about how easy it would be to cut across the cones and cheat a mile or two out of the course. I would never do it, of course, but I am feeling very physically and emotionally fragile at this point. I concentrate my energy on trying to spot any familiar faces in the pack running toward me instead. Could Dave be just behind me? What about my roommate, Christie-Anne, dressed up as Peter Pan? No luck.

Miles 24-26: Pentagon, Route 110
Average Pace: 12:56 min/mi
If you believe in what people call "the wall," I guess I hit it around mile 24, as is evident by the sudden drop in my pace. While I enjoy most of the MCM course and am very comfortable with it, the last 2 miles of the course have got to be the most desolate 2-mile stretch ever. Or maybe that's just my pain talking.

The details are a little hazy now, but I think the conversation in my head went something like this:
"Omg, there is no hope in sight here and I still have 2 miles left to go.
2 miles seems so long at this point--how am I going to make it another 2 miles?
You're right, there's no way I'll make it that long. This hurts way too much.
I'm running so slowly it's almost like I'm walking already anyway.
I wonder how it'll feel if I just...stop...running..."

I stop running. Somewhere along that empty stretch of Route 110, I slow to a walk--something I have never EVER done in a race or training run. I expect to feel an instant relief, but I don't. The pain level stays the same and the feeling of nausea remains just as strong. Except now I am in pain AND ashamed as runner after runner whiz past me. As I walk, I reach my hand behind and massage my mid-back to try to dissipate some of the pain. I feel like a freaking 80-year-old. I look down at my Garmin once again and see that I have roughly 20 minutes left until the 4-hour mark hits. 20 minutes to make it 2 miles. That's a 10 minute/mile pace. Even on my worst days I can pull that off!

For the next 2 miles I walk and run on and off. No internal or external encouragement seems to provide the boost I need to maintain a steady pace. A woman runs by and tries to take me along with her: "Come on, let's get this over with!" I run for about a minute and then stop. At mile 25 I see my friend Soup standing on the side of the road with cowbells in hand: "Come on, Julia, you got one more mile left in you!" I pick up the pace for about another minute, but it doesn't keep either.

I read somewhere that in the last few miles of a marathon, your mind is more inclined to focus on negative thoughts than positive thoughts. In these last few miles I actually thought, "I shouldn't do this again. I'm obviously not cut out to run marathons."

Mile 26.2: Iwo Jima Memorial
The MCM course begins in Arlington, winds around DC, and ends back in Arlington. Along the way, I slowly lowered my expectations--first ruling out that I would qualify for Boston, then shooting for a 3:50 finish, then just wanting to finish under 4 hours. If I don't accomplish any of those goals, I at least have to RUN, not walk, up that last hill to the Iwo Jima finish. At mile 25.8, I start running. The crowd must be cheering pretty loudly here, but there's so much pain mixed with adrenaline that I barely hear anything. For a second, I look out into the crowd to see if I spot my parents or any of my friends. Nope, everything's a blur.

As I round the corner and see the finish line, I don't feel excited or accomplished like I thought I would. All I can think about is that my watch has already passed 4 hours. 34 seconds past, to be exact.

Post-Race
In most races I've done, runners cross the finish line and slow to a stop to catch their breaths. Crossing the finish line at MCM, every person literally comes to a screeching halt as soon as their foot hits the last timing pad (brings a whole new meaning to the phrase "hitting the wall"). We can drag our bodies to the 26.2 mile marker, but not an inch further.

I slowly make my way down to the line to get my finisher's medal, still battling the back pain and nausea, as well as a left thigh muscle that locked up during the last surge. I must look pretty beat up, because several Marines stop to ask if I'm okay. As soon as I get my medal, I find the nearest spot on the grass and, literally, plop down. The pain and nausea is bearable when I'm sitting.

Over the next few hours, I meet up with friends and family. The nausea eventually subsides, and I'm able to think with a slightly clearer head. I realize that whatever happened at the race that day--whatever it is that caused the almost unbearable back pain and nausea--is not indicative of how much work I put into my training or how physically prepared I was for this race. If anything, it's the lack of mental preparation that I struggled with in those last harrowing miles.

Several people ask when I will run another marathon--or if I plan to at all. If you had asked me during those last 2 miles, I would've said never. The day after the race, I said probably next spring but I need time to forget the pain first. Now? Now I'm pretty damn determined not only to run another one soon, but to kill my time of 4:00:34--because I know I'm capable of so much more.