The Outer Banks Marathon was the best and worst marathon I have ever run.
To start, my stomach was jacked up. The beers from the night before weren't really agreeing with me, and a stop at the starting line port-o-potties didn't help much. I got to the 7:01-9:00 corral about 2 minutes before the race started, and when the gun went off I cruised out at what seemed like my normal 7:30ish pace. I felt light, comfortable and not too overly excited. I kept telling myself to relax, not to go out too strong and burn out. At mile 1 my time was 7:02, so I slowed down(or I thought I did) and by 2 I was at 14:00. 3 21:05. 4 28:04. I was running ahead of schedule, but I felt so good I just kept moving. At mile 8 we passed the Wright Brother's Memorial (pics on facebook) and at 10 we went into the woods. The flat dirt road and complete lack of houses reminded me of the Vermont 50K. It was hard to believe there was any place so remote on such a small island. In the woods I could have made a pit stop anywhere. My stomach was still aggravated from the night before, but I was making such good time I didn't want to stop. So I kept running. We came out of the woods at the half way point and I slurped down a 'carb-boom,' my first of many. My stomach pain was becoming unbearable, and I still had not seen any port-o-potties. At mile 15 I hopped a fence into a construction site and used theirs. I didn't see one specifically for the race until mile 16, which I think is a bit absurd. I was starting to slow down by this point, but still making good time. My ultimate time was slowly creeping up from 3:05, but I still held hopes of running 3:10 or less. I never walked because I was tired. I would walk during water stops, but never more than 50 feet. I always kept moving. At 20 I hit the wall, said "fuck you wall" and launched myself over it. 22 had the bridge connecting the 2 islands. You could see the bridge a long time before you got there and it was fairly daunting to think of its incline. Just before I started on the bridge a cop said "get ready for one hell of a hill" and in my usual, eloquent English I responded "fuck hills." And I kept running. I actually passed several people going up, but a bit of weaving was required as there were walkers all over. .75 to 1 mile before the finish I started to get pumped. I picked up my feet, fixed my stride and started to actually cruise again. But my left hamstring was so tight it felt like it would seize up and completely immobilize me, so I slowed down again. You rounded a corner and the finish was 100 yards ahead, so I picked it up again. I still felt very fresh, even if I didn't look it, but if anyone was going to see me, or take pictures, I wanted to look like I just had afternoon tea. I passed the line at 3:21:30-11:30 slower than my ultimate goal, but a ludicrous 19 minutes faster than my Hyannis PR of 3:40:49.
Why is it ludicrous you ask? Let's consider the last year. Boot Camp: I never ran more than 3 miles. MCT: no more than 2 miles. Florida: a couple long runs, lots of speedwork on the PFT's but ultimately no real training. Also, the amount of alcohol I drank in Florida was enough to keep a small brewery running on my business alone. So I got to OBX without having run a marathon in over a year, with only 5 weeks of serious training under my belt. I can only attribute my success to all the PFTs. Sure, they're only 3 miles, but every one is a tempo run. Also, I think I am mentally stronger. I absolutely will not stop under any circumstance. Ever.
But it was the worst marathon I have ever run because I ran it absolutely alone. No Trev, Alow, Nate, Billy, Jonesy or anyone.
