Don't Go Out Too Fast!

Ask any experienced marathon runner for first-timer advice and nine out of ten will say, "don't go out too fast." Great advice. I heard it. I understood it.

Guess who went out way too fast on his first marathon?

I chose the Instant Classic Trail Race as my inaugural 26.2. That may have been a little bit crazy in itself. The course is single track and rolling hills with roots and loose gravel. The only pavement in site is the opening quarter mile through the parking lot. (Uphill, by the way.)

Despite being under-trained and over-tapered, I was pretty psyched when I arrived at Pocahontas State Park on the morning of the 16th. And so when we surged past the starting line, adrenaline and a complete lack of judgment took over.

The weather conspired wonderfully with my unwise zeal; it was chilly and a sudden downpour at the starting line instantly contracted every muscle in my body.

The  mustard on my bib is from the post-race Brats!

I ran this race (or started this race, anyway) with my buddy Rob - a veteran of torture tests like the Blue Ridge Marathon. So the fact that we even started out together should tell that I wasn't thinking. He pulled way ahead when I had to, um, pit stop in the woods. (Rain does that to me). Fortunately, he was not there to witness my dramatic decline.

Around mile eight, I was feeling fantastic. My feet were turning over fast I was and passing people who had a lot more respect for this trail than I did. (They would all cruise by later).

At mile ten, I experienced the first omen of impending doom. It felt like someone suddenly shoved a knife into the back of my right hammy. For some ridiculous reason, I tried to hold on to my pace even after that. But the slow, inexorable deceleration had begun.

In shorter races, I always hunt for bunnies on the second half of the course. Great motivation! Choose your bunny. Pass. Repeat.

By the time I reached mile thirteen, I was the bunny. Everybody's bunny. Seriously, I had pellets in my shorts after the race. Ouch. If you ran the Instant Classic, you are quite welcome for the inspiration and entertainment I provided.

By mile eighteen, I was out of gas. At twenty-one I completely bonked and was reduced to thinking thoughts like, "Just run twenty steps, you can do that."

My death march continued until mile twenty-five. I smiled and jogged through the aid stations, but it was misery. Realizing that I would be visible to the few remaining spectators when I came out the woods, I forced myself to run like I was enjoying myself.

As soon as I hit open trail near the finish line Camille, the ebullient race director, came over the the loud speakers. "Is that you, Bill." Of course I couldn't speak, so I just waved my arms over my head. Not easy. "Hey, is this your first marathon"? I pumped my fists in the air.

My daughter Heidi high-fived me as I hit the last straight-away. Then she ducked under the orange tape and we ran it in hand in hand.

All in all, I'd guess that my lack of strategy cost me an extra hour on the course. There will be faster finishes, but none happier.