2012 Mobile Marathon

19. First Light Marathon – Mobile, Ala. – Jan. 8, 2012

The course in Mobile runs by antebellum mansions and under

Spanish moss trees throughout much of the race.

This race really surprised me. I’ve been to Mobile several times with the basketball team, and I’ve always hated running there. There are few sidewalks, and I never found a route that was particularly interesting. Apparently, that was due to where we stayed, which was off the highway with a bunch of malls and strip malls. The race started downtown, which reminded me of New Orleans with less noise, crime and drunk frat boys puking in the gutter.

The course went winding through quaint neighborhoods for the first few miles. I talked to a man from Pascagoula, Miss., the hometown of Jimmy Buffett, and his friend, a woman who had moved to Mobile and planned to move to Denver. I really enjoy talking to people during races, which is one of the main reasons I don’t wear headphones. These two were great. They were complaining and wondering if they could finish the half marathon (we would part ways at the split a few miles later). They were underestimating themselves because they were doing great, but that’s pretty common in any race. I was jealous when they turned to head toward the finish, because I was tiring quickly. But we went through Spring Hill College, which was more like a country club than a college. It was a beautiful area and got my mind off my fatigue for a while.

The race starts and finishes in historic downtown Mobile.

I’ve met a lot of unbelievable people during races. In this one, a woman and I kept passing each other for the first eight miles. She looked strangely familiar, which is not terribly unusual when you run enough races. Finally, I caught her just before the South Alabama campus and suggested we run together for a while. Her name is Shannon Hays, and she is a high school Spanish teacher from Atlanta. Her goal was to become the youngest woman to run all 50 states in under four hours. Last year, she ran about 28 marathons, all of which were under four hours. She was struggling in this one, and so was I.

Denver played a basketball game against South Alabama the day before (a road win), so I decided to run this race even though I wasn’t even remotely trained for it. Knocking off a state, especially one in the Deep South, without paying for it was too good to pass up. Shannon said she was tired, and she was thinking about taking a few weeks off, which sounded like a great idea. She was going to Phoenix the next week, but would probably skip the marathon and sit around the pool instead. We kept each other thinking about anything other than the race we were running, including some banter about Kansas vs. Kentucky basketball – our respective teams – which turned out to be the two teams in that year’s national championship.

As it turned out, Shannon’s decision to take some time off lasted less than a week. She ran Arizona (sub-four) the next week and then proceeded to run races each of the next two weeks. Apparently, she got her mojo back. I can do nothing more than read her blog in awe. What she’s doing does not seem completely human. Incidentally, the reason she looked familiar was that I saw her during Seattle and Pocatello early in the year. She is one of the organizers of the Lexington half marathon, and suggested holding off on Kentucky until they start the full marathon next year. Sounds like a plan, even if it is in the shadows of UK.

One blogger called the finishers' medals at Mobile the worst

of the worst. I thought they were nice and pretty unique.

I had to make a pit stop just before a hill somewhere around mile 16 or 18, so I wished Shannon luck. The last 8-10 miles were brutal for me. They weren’t particularly challenging, as far as hills or weather, but my undertraining hit me hard and I was forced to walk quite a bit of it. Finally, with about a mile to go, another woman and I decided we were going to carry each other in. As we headed back toward downtown Mobile, I realized I picked the right person to help me. She knew every fan on the side of the road, so everyone of them was cheering for us.

It was far from my best race (4:41), but I enjoyed it. It was a nice course. The people were phenomenal. And the homemade ice cream with chocolate syrup at the finish area was a perfect post race treat.

The Inspiration of Lacey Henderson

I decided to take a break from my rundowns of past marathons. With the Paralympics starting this week in London, the story of a young woman who is far more awesome and inspiring than I am seemed like a good choice. Of course, you still have to suffer through my own ramblings before you get to her story.

Recaps of Mobile, Nashville, Deadwood and Missoula will be coming in the next few weeks.  

--------------------------------------

Front row, center seems like the perfect spot for
a mediocre runner/future captain of the "C" Team.
The number of people in this picture that mopped up
the track with me is far larger than those that I beat.

During my high school cross country season in 1991, I didn’t feel quite right. My left leg throbbed, just below the knee, for several days in a row. My coach, Karl Englund, looked at me and said, “Kennedy, is it pain or is it an injury?”

I looked back at him with a quizzical look. He explained, “Pain is something you can run through without making it worse. An injury is something that can get worse if you try to keep going.”

I admitted that I had no idea, but I knew it didn’t feel normal. Finally, a few days before my 16^th birthday, I went to the doctor’s office for x-rays. Dr. Jon Browne, one of the best sports doctors in the nation and a close friend of our family, came back in the room carrying the x-rays.

“Here’s the deal, Mike,” Dr. Browne said. “You have a benign tumor in your left tibia.”

For the next 27 minutes – it was probably 2.7 seconds – I desperately tried to remember whether “benign” meant cancerous or not. When you’re in a situation like that, things don’t make sense. At least they didn’t for me.

“It’s a strange one,” Dr. Browne continued. “Usually, a tumor is a growth, but yours is more like a hole, high in your shin bone. Take a look at the x-ray. Your shin is being held together by less than a quarter of an inch of bone. You could have shattered it by just walking down the street. I don’t know how it stayed in one piece while you were running.”

A week later, I was riding in the backseat to Omaha, and my parents talking in the front seat. I remember staying quiet. Dr. Browne was pretty certain it was not cancerous, but we decided we needed a second opinion, and the best bone doctor in the region was in Nebraska.

The doctor confirmed Dr. Browne’s diagnosis after what seemed like the longest day of all time, getting test after test after CAT scan after MRI in the hospital. During the ride home, my mom tried to talk to me, but I remember asking if we could just turn on the World Series. The Twins were taking on the Braves in Game 3, and I wanted to stop thinking for a while.

My emotions were mixed. I was happy that it wasn’t cancer, but at the same time I knew I was going to go through a fairly significant recovery period.

But I was lucky. The doctors told me that I needed to stay off it for a few weeks. Ultimately the bone would fill in on its own. My dad was a surgeon for more than 30 years, and he’s still baffled by the thought that it could heal itself.

It was a low point in my life, but I rarely think about it. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. But when you hear “tumor,” especially when you’re a naïve teenager, it seems terrible. I think deep down, I try to put it out of my mind and just forget about it.

Sometimes, though, the memory hits me like a ton of bricks.

--------------------------------------

Lacey beating a two-legged
opponent for the first time.

About a month ago, I was interviewing Lacey Henderson, a former DU cheerleader, for a story I was writing for DU’s website.

On May 19, 1999, Lacey went to the doctor, just like I did. And, just like I did, she had a tumor in her tibia, just below the knee with concern that it might be in her knee. But, while my doctor said the word “benign,” Lacey’s doctor diagnosed her with a soft tissue cancer called synovial sarcoma.

“It’s a super rare form of cancer, and there’s not really a survival rate,” Lacey told me, flashing me a smile.

After four months of chemotherapy, the doctors called Lacey and her parents into an office and told them that the only chance for survival was to amputate the leg above the knee.

Lacey looked at her parents and stoically said, “Let’s do it.”

She was nine years old.

I don’t know Lacey very well, but I’ve always enjoyed talking to her. Her love of life is contagious. She never tried to hide her leg. While cheering during DU basketball games, she even put bumper stickers on her prosthetic, drawing attention to the leg and the causes she believed in.

Of all the many things that Lacey does well, her courage, confidence and belief in herself and her abilities are at the top of the list.

People should not even think about feeling sorry for her. There’s no reason to.

“People think it’s funny that I joke about it, but I have amazing parking. I don’t have to pay for that meter out there. Are you kidding me?” Lacey told me, beaming with a mischievous yet genuine smile. “I’ve met incredible people, and it’s made me enjoy life so much more.”

Lacey was always active. She was a gymnast before the amputation, and she wasn’t about to stop because of it. She was a high school cheerleader, and when she went to DU, she went out for the team, knowing she’d make it. Why wouldn’t she? She was damn good at it. Her high school team competed nationally, and Lacey was a big part of that success. She had all the confidence she needed – and deserved

(Photo by Rich Clarkson
& Associates)

The summer before she graduated from DU, Lacey was sitting around after a Labor Day party, having a drink with her dad, T.J. Back in the day, T.J. went to the Olympic trials for pole vaulting, and he became a well respected pole vaulting coach over the next few decades, including a few stints at the Olympics with “obscure countries,” according to Lacey.

T.J. looked at his daughter and said something like, “You did well in cheerleading, but you know you could never become a pole vaulter. You don’t have the speed.”

Make no mistake. Lacey’s dad knew about his daughter’s competitiveness, but he has never given Lacey an out just because she was working with a different kind of leg.

“Please. I was a gymnast. I can do anything I want,” Lacey told him. “Who needs speed when you have strength?”

T.J.’s friend and former Northern Colorado coach Mike Mattivi was at the table with them. “I’ll coach you,” Mike told her with a shrug. “Just show up on the track, and we’ll figure it out.”

They had to figure it out because no above-knee amputee was known to have done it. The Paralympics don’t offer the event. Do a search on Google. What you’ll find are reasons why it can’t happen.

Guess what. Lacey didn’t bother checking Google.

Oh, and you know those technologically advanced prosthetics that you saw Oscar Pistorius courageously use in the Olympic 400 meters?

Lacey is hoping the Paralympics
add pole vaulting.

Lacey used one of her old legs that was designed to look natural. Because she didn’t have a racing leg and didn’t want to damager her good one.

“There are a couple of things that are frowned upon and you shouldn’t be doing in (the leg I used),” Lacey said. “Pole vaulting isn’t mentioned, but it’s probably one of those things.”

She started clearing the bar. And that proved her dad wrong, which was the point originally. But then she realized she was having fun. She had cleared about 7.5 feet.

Lacey wanted to compete. Since there were no other amputee competitors, Lacey started entering open master’s meets and competing against able-bodied athletes. She held her own.

But Lacey wanted more. She was fitted for a running leg and started training, running on the track and trying to gain speed and strength. At first, she struggled just running for five minutes.

As she was doing her training sprints, she realized something. She was pretty fast, too. In fact, she was pretty close to the qualifying times for the Paralympics.

Lacey lined up at the Colorado State Championships on May 19, 2011, about eight months after she went to the track to begin her training. She entered her first 100-meter race. It was 12 years to the day since doctors amputated her right leg, an anniversary that used to leave Lacey stressed.

Lacey ignored the stress and ran a qualifying time for the London Paralympics trials. In the first race she ever ran.

A year later, again on May 19, Lacey lined up against a group that included Paralympic hopefuls and able-bodied runners.

Lacey Henderson during her tenure as a DU cheerleader.
(Photo by Rich Clarkson & Associates)

“I was running against a girl with two legs, and we were right up beside each other. I was pushing, and I knew she was pushing, but I was thinking, ‘I better beat you,’” Lacey said. “Right at the end, I did the chest finish and I’d finally beat someone with two legs. It was a cool feeling for sure. I’ve beaten a couple of other CP athletes, but that was like a real person.”

That date – May 19 – used to cause anguish for Lacey, but now she has run a couple of successful races the last two years, she now feels what she calls “this sort of Zen” on that day.

Lacey was sick when she went to Trials this year, and she knew her chances of making the team for London were slim. Officials ended up averaging each runner’s best time from the previous two years. Lacey, of course, had not even been running that long.

She was beaten out by the American record holder, Katy Sullivan, but right after the race the coaches approached Lacey to discuss next year’s World Championships in Lyon, France.

“It’s definitely not over for me,” Lacey wrote in an email after the Trials. “I’m back to training and getting ready for next year’s Nationals, where I can hopefully also be exhibiting the pole vault. Many more exciting things to come!”

--------------------------------------

Twenty years ago, I considered myself lucky. I limped away from a doctor’s office with nothing lost but a few months of running around being an irresponsible high school kid.

Had things have gone a different way, I wish I was confident that I would have been even half as positive as Lacey Henderson.

I would like to think that at some point I would have rebounded and made the most of it. Lacey, on the other hand, went well beyond that.

While watching Oscar Pistorius make the semifinals of the Olympic 400 meters, Lacey summed up her attitude and her life in a Tweet (@lacesyourfriend):

“The human spirit is truly capable of extraordinary things. Couldn't be more proud of @OscarPistorius. Losing my leg was the best blessing.”

2011 New York City Marathon

18. New York City Marathon – New York, N.Y. – Nov. 6, 2011

Runners have to share the
Verrazano-Narrows Bridge with
a few (thousand) close friends.

There are marathons, and then there’s New York. For many marathoners, Boston is a goal. But New York City is still the king.

Every year, 43,000 and change converge on Staten Island for the start of the New York City Marathon. That’s a lot of people, but it’s nothing compared to the estimated two million fans who line the course. Do you know what West Virginia, Nebraska, Idaho, Hawaii, Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, Montana, Delaware, South Dakota, Alaska, North Dakota, Vermont and Wyoming have in common? They all have a population with less people than the New York Marathon has spectators. In fact, if you got everyone who lives in Wyoming, Vermont and North Dakota together, you’d still need another 121,479 to reach two million. You get the idea. The people of Gotham get into the spirit of the marathon better than any place on earth.

I’d heard horror stories about how early you have to arrive at the starting line. I’m one of those people that would prefer to show up with just enough time to hit the head and get to the corral 10-15 minutes before the gun. People had told me about freezing for hours while they waited. And waited. Fortunately, my friends Marc Middlekauf and Theresa Allen also heard about a running club from Atlanta that charters a bus every year. I shot an e-mail to Lane Young to see if they had extra seats, and he told us to be at the Plaza Hotel at 6:15 a.m. sharp and to bring $20. The bus drove us to Staten Island and parked two blocks from the starting line. Best of all, it was there as long as people wanted to stay on board, which meant we had a warm place to wait that also happened to have a bathroom on board. On top of that, Lane and the rest of the people with the Atlanta running club kept us company with great conversation. It may have been the best $20 I’ve ever spent.

A few of us walked over to the start, where I was surprised to find reasonable lines at the port-a-johns, and then we were ushered through the corrals to the start. A race of this size takes unbelievable organization, and the New York Roadrunners Club does a phenomenal job of making everything run as smoothly as possible. I was in the first wave, so from a few hundred yards I watched the elite runners start. It’s almost cliché by this point, but one of the coolest aspects of marathons like New York is that you get to run the same race as some of the best runners in the world. If you’re in the New York City Marathon, the winner is competing against you, regardless of how fast or slow you’re running. While they get a head start, the bottom line is that they still have to beat you and the other 43,000 people in order to win. You can’t play in the Super Bowl or World Series, but anyone can run in the New York City Marathon.

As we crossed the timing mat at the starting line, Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” is blaring from the nearby speakers. I’ve heard a bunch of songs that race directors use to fire up the runners at the start of their races, but nothing has gotten my blood pumping like Frank. The race goes through all five boroughs, although it only stays in Staten Island for a few feet before crossing the Verazzo-Narrows Bridge. Both sides of the bridge, top and bottom, are packed with runners. I took a quick glance back as I reached the peak, and the site is breathtaking. There are just so many runners. I’ve mentioned how much I like smaller races, but every runner should experience New York at least once. It’s not necessarily easy to get in. Only about one-out-of-three people who register for the lottery get in. I got guaranteed entry because I’d entered the lottery in each of the three previous years but had not gotten in. And it’s definitely the most expensive race I’ve ever run, even before travel costs.

The crowd in NYC is at least 4-5 deep
at nearly every point in the race. 

Miles 2-13 are in Brooklyn. Williamsburg may be the strangest area I’ve ever run through. It’s a Hasidic Jewish neighborhood, and it’s almost completely silent. There are people lining the course, but they just stand and watch. There’s no cheering and no talking. In a race with this many fans, this 2-3 mile stretch is kind of cool.

With half the race completed, we finally crossed the Pulaski Bridge and entered Queens. We weren’t there long, only a couple of miles. At one point, I stopped mid-stride when I noticed something on the ground. Normally, I’d let it go, but I spotted a $20 bill on the ground, and that seemed worth a few extra seconds. As it turned out, there was a credit card along with a couple of bills. I tossed the credit card to a policeman and pocketed the cash. With more than two million people around (not to mention several million more in the city), I figured I wasn’t going to find the person to give the money back to.

Feeling a little richer, I made the climb up the Queensboro Bridge, which gives an amazing view of the NYC skyline. I saw someone in a New Zealand shirt and ran with him for a few minutes, talking about the country where I studied abroad during high school. This race has runners from just about everywhere, and I always enjoy talking to a Kiwi. I lost him as we made the turn into Manhattan. This is one of the legendary spots in marathon running. The crowd is five deep and the noise was deafening along First Avenue. I had been feeling pretty good, but suddenly I had a pain in my right hip. It was nagging at first, but after a few more miles it was fairly excruciating. I was out to enjoy this race instead of going for a PR, but I still wanted to make a good showing. In the midst of the biggest crowd on the course, I gave in and started walking. It’s frustrating and a little embarrassing, especially in front of all those people who are trying to urge you on, but my hip was affecting my stride, and that’s what causes injuries. It was a struggle the rest of the way.

I guess the marathon takes a little longer than the average
shift in hockey. Glad I finished ahead of former Ranger
& Stanley Cup champion Mark Messier.

The crowd is sparse in the Bronx, but that’s only a couple of miles before returning to Manhattan for the final five miles. The east side of Central Park was really a struggle for me, as every step shot a stinging pain through my hip and into just about every part of my body. The final two miles is inside the park, and the crowd is great. I ran as much as I could, and when I hit the south end of the park I knew I could gut through the final half mile or so, thanks to the energy of the crowd. I crossed the finish at 4:11, which was pretty good and apparently beat former Rangers great Mark Messier by a few minutes. The one complaint I had heard was how far you have to walk after the finish, and as the volunteers kept waving me on I understood the pain (and I do mean pain). I walked nearly a mile before reaching the end of the bag claim trucks. Mine wasn’t there, and another volunteer said, “Oh, you were supposed to turn on the first street after the finish.” Great. I had to walk all the way back. (Note: Today the race director announced that they got rid of bag check due to the complaints about congestion at the finish area. I don't think I would sign up for a race that didn't allow me to stow a dry shirt and other essentials for after I finished. So this may have been my one and only New York Marathon experience.) But I finally got my bag and found my way to a Shake Shack, where some very kind people let me cut in line at both the counter and the restroom. My wobbly legs were very grateful. 

That night, I got to spend time with Megan Maciejowski, a great friend from college, who also ran her third New York City Marathon. I wish I could have stayed another couple of days, but college basketball season was about to start.

I had to get back to Denver. And reality.

2011 Pocatello Marathon

17. Pocatello Marathon – Pocatello, Idaho – Aug. 27, 2011

The race begins in the dark, but the sun

starts to rise after the first couple of miles

Two years earlier, I traveled all the way to Pocatello only to back down to the half marathon due to the first of several calf injuries I would suffer. I loved that race, even though I was disappointed about backing down a race. Determined to get it done in 2011, my friends Jim Lynch and Michelle Wolcott joined me in the short flight to Salt Lake City, followed by a two-hour drive north to Pocatello, a blue-collar college town.

I’ve really learned to love small races, and this one captures all the greatness that less participants and outstanding organization can offer. The expo is in a meeting room at the Red Lion Hotel. There are no lines. You walk right to a folding table and give your bib number to a smiling volunteer. Once you get your bib and T-shirt, you grab a bag of potatoes – quite possibly the most unique extra at any race. For the record, I ate the potatoes after both races, and they were outstanding. Later that night, we returned to the same meeting room for the pasta dinner. Like everything else about this race, it was cheap and good.

Michelle, who was running the half, dropped Jim and I off at the finish line, where we caught a bus to the starting line. They drove us up to a gap in the mountains. It was pitch black outside, as all the marathoners gathered and talked. It was a little chilly, so Jim and I made our way into a goat barn that the owner had offered up to runners for a little shelter. We had to be a little careful about where we stepped and put our bags down, and of course we also had to make way when the goats and chickens walked by. There were probably 20-25 runners hanging out and waiting, sitting on hay bales. This was race No. 80 for Jim, but it seems he still has things to learn from the marathon. This morning, he realized that sitting on hay after applying Vaseline to his thighs may have been a mistake.

Jim Lynch, my nerdy compression socks and

I hung out in a goat barn, waiting for the race.

The first 13 miles of the race are absolutely beautiful, not to mention significantly downhill. The course runs along a road next to a river that is surrounded by pine trees. I had planned on running with Jim, but he was feeling great and started too fast for me. About five miles in, I saw a guy with what looked like a giant rattail. As I caught up to him, I realized that it was just the band for his sunglasses. I couldn’t resist telling him about it, and he said he got that all the time. We ended up running the next 12 miles together. He was from Seattle, and oddly he had just visited the University of Denver a few weeks before with his daughter who was considering the school. As I’ve mentioned with previous races, I love meeting new people during races because talking always makes the miles go more easily. I know a lot of runners who don't say a word or even look around during races. But I would rather sacrifice a few minutes on the clock to enjoy myself a little more on the run. I wish I could remember his name, although it wouldn’t surprise me if we ran into each other at a race in the future.

The first half of the race is all downhill with amazing scenery.

I was shooting for a four-hour race, especially since I was using the race as a training run for New York City a few months later. My new friend from Seattle told me that he had to back down and wished me luck as I kept going. Once we hit the 14-mile mark, the course really flattened out as we headed back toward town. It’s not as scenic, but there was something I really liked about running along quiet roads for the next six miles. Around Mile 21, we crossed under the interstate and hit the only real uphill on the course, although the 100 feet or so of elevation gain is a small price to pay for the 1500-feet of elevation loss throughout the rest of the race. I got to the top of the hill and suddenly I had to change my stride mid-step. My foot was heading right toward the head of a snake. The head is all there was, but his eyes were pointed up toward me and his fangs were exposed, as if he wanted to protect himself even after death. I also didn’t want to find out if those fangs could make it through the soles of my shoes. Fortunately, I was able to land an inch or two away. Every race offers something I’ve never seen before.

Next the course runs by a few trailer parks. Normally that might not be ideal, but a few of the neighborhood kids came out and cheered as we ran by. On a course that doesn’t have a ton of spectators, those kids helped. My calves started tightening up, and I didn’t want to risk tearing them again. I wasn’t going all that fast, and I knew slowing down would probably cost me the four-hour mark, but the risk wasn’t worth it, especially with New York on the horizon. I was walking and running the rest of the way. I met a guy wearing a maple leaf on his shirt and shorts. He said he was hoping to qualify for Boston, but he just didn’t have it that day. A few minutes later, he admitted that he had just missed qualifying in his last race, and I asked when that was. He said two weeks before. Oh, and that one had been his first marathon. I’m no expert, but I would not have given him a very good chance of having a great race in Pocatello. We helped each other to the end, coming in at 4:07.

The sign as you drive (or run) into town says, “Pocatello. Smile Capital U.S.A.” During race weekend the two times I was there, it was true for both the people around town and the runners. The natives are extremely friendly and pleasant, and the race is outstanding. I’m sure there were some runners that were disappointed with their races, but I didn’t see them. All the finishers I saw at the finish area were smiling and enjoying themselves, while partaking in the famed baked potato bar along with several other goodies. We headed back to the hotel for quick showers and then jumped back in the car. The best part about flying in and out of Salt Lake? They built an In-n-Out Burger just north of town. It was the perfect post-race meal for us. We were away from Denver less than 36 hours, packing in perhaps more in a limited amount of time than any other race trip. For those people that don’t necessarily need a ton of spectators to carry them through the race, Pocatello is a must-do. Aside from maybe Fallsburg, I’ve never seen a race where runners get more for their time and money. And, despite my somewhat average performance (and that of my new Canadian friend), this course has BQ written all over it.

2011 Seattle Rock-n-Roll Marathon

I made a disclaimer before posting the review of my first marathon. I will repeat it now because I struggled badly in this race.

Let me say up front that every race was probably great for some runners, and that same race on that same day absolutely sucked for others. My guess is that I’m way too harsh on a few, and in all likelihood it was because I wasn’t trained properly or I was coming off injury or I flat out just had a bad race. All of those things happen. In fact, all of those things happened to me in Seattle.

However, as I often tell newcomers to our sport, the bad races make the good ones that much sweeter.

16. Seattle Rock n Roll Marathon – Seattle, Wash. – June 24, 2011

Pike Place Fish Market is one of the most famous sites

in Seattle. But it's not on the marathon course.

I was coming off some injuries. I was supposed to run both Cowtown (Fort Worth, Texas) and Country Music (Nashville) a few months earlier, but somehow I managed to tear both of my calves. Oddly, I tore them at different times. My right calf tore on a short run, and it seemed to heal pretty quickly. About two to three weeks later, I felt like I was making my comeback. In fact, I was heading out for an 18-miler in Troy, Alabama, where I was with the DU basketball team. My iPod was cranked and I was feeling good, as I approached a downhill just a mile into the run. I heard a pop and went down in pain. I managed to limp back to the hotel, but I was down for at least a month or two.

My training was shot, but I’d already paid for the flight and registration, so I decided to give Seattle a try. I flew in the day before and went straight to the expo at the convention center, which was connected to CenturyLink Stadium. Well, I went almost straight there. I’ve never seen a bigger cluster as far as parking at a race expo. It was ridiculous. All I wanted to do was walk in, grab my stuff and get out. My choices were either pay $25 for parking or walk nearly a mile. There was no in between. So, after driving around for 45 minutes, I parked for free and walked the mile. As it turned out, it was probably a good idea because I ended up parking in the same area for the race, too.

Like a lot of Rock-n-Roll races, buses transported us to the start several miles away. I don’t understand that. In addition to forcing runners to get to the finish line ridiculously early to catch the buses, it just seems questionable from an organizational standpoint. I mean, if it’s Big Sur with 26.2 miles of stunning beauty, it makes sense to do a point-to-point. In Seattle, though, there seemed to be no logic to the course. If the finish is going to be at a stadium, with an enormous amount of parking, why not start and finish in the same spot. Why deal with transporting all the runners? For that matter, why deal with transporting all the gear bags. I can tell you that for this particular race, the reasoning certainly was not to show off all the great parts of the city.

The Rock-n-Roll races are fine. I think they do an outstanding job with half marathons. But from my experience, they don’t seem to care as much about the second half of the full marathons. I get it from a business perspective since there are generally a lot more half marathon runners, but for those of us going 26.2 miles the second half of the race often sticks out in our minds. That was definitely the case with this one.

Raise your hand if you love out-and-backs

in the second half of a race. Anyone?

Seattle is a beautiful city, and I was excited to run past things like the Space Needle, fish market and maybe even the University of Washington. Most of the first 10 miles were along the coast of Lake Washington. It was nice, and there were a lot of spectators. I ran with a guy who was part of a running group organized by a pub. I guess they got together to run three or four miles and then drank a lot of beer. He was only running the half, but we kept each other company until the split, where the half marathoners went west toward the stadiums and the finish. The full marathoners cut east over a bridge toward Mercer Island, which sounded lovely. However, the bridge was the HOV lane of the interstate, meaning the view to the north was highway, and the view to the south was highway. And, just before we reached the island, we were told to make a U-turn. It was an out-and-back on the bridge. At least we could see the water from time to time between the cars flying by on the interstate.

Shortly after reaching the west side of the bridge, we entered a tunnel that felt like it went forever. I was pretty happy when I emerged on the other side, which was also when I caught my first glimpse of the finish line as we ran past Safeco Field and CenturyLink Stadium. I was hurting a little bit, but we were finally heading into downtown Seattle, and I figured that I was lucky because the half marathon runners wouldn’t see any of it. The course turned north up 1^st Avenue through a nice little neighborhood and toward the Space Needle, which we could see in the distance. Then we took a sharp left and onto Alaskan Way Viaduct. It was as ugly as you might expect from a viaduct.

We were running on what felt like an empty highway, which included two more tunnels that were even longer than the first. Since this section was a long out-and-back, we obviously had to come back through the tunnels again. My estimate is that we were underground for about three miles. It may have been less. I have a hard time judging distance during marathons, especially in tunnels when my GPS watch stops working. On top of that, the road was slanted and exhaust lingered. It was awful.

This is the stretch toward the finish line.

Unfortunately, you run right past it into

another three-mile out-and-back.

I was starting to lose it 19 miles into the race. We headed out on another bridge, hundreds of feet over the neighborhoods below. Signs on the bridge offered a phone number to a suicide hotline. I was hoping the signs were not meant for the runners. I was walking and running sections, but I was slowing down big time. My calves were knotted up, and the last thing I wanted was to re-aggravate the injuries and miss more training and more races. I gutted my way through Miles 20-23, which is when the course went right past the finish line again. What the hell? Why would a marathon course pass the finish line with three miles to go? That’s damn near inhumane. On top of that, I had been pretty excited to see Everclear in concert after the race. Guess what band I heard as I went by - one that would certainly be done by the time I finished. I was getting frustrated, and it wasn’t going to get any better.

The final three miles were yet another out-and-back. Worse than that? The first half was downhill, which meant it was going to end on an uphill. Oh, and it was through the ugliest part of the course. All I saw was shipping crates for cargo ships and a Home Depot – you know, just to mix up the scenery a little. I’m not a violent person, but if I would have seen the race director during that stretch, I might have punched him.

The only thing that saved me during those final miles was a single thought. If I’m going to run dozens of marathons, one of them has to be the worst. Seattle was marathon No. 16 for me, and it was without question my worst one. It’s kind of amazing that anything would be better than running Vegas following food poisoning, but this was it. It’s a wonderful city that’s not captured by the marathon course at all, which was disappointing. Of course, my 4:55 finish time was probably more disappointing, as well. I did make it to the finish just in time to see Everclear play their final song, which was bittersweet. The thing that really saved it was getting to see my friends Mike Brush and his family the night before the race, since they were kind enough to offer me a bed for the weekend, even though they were leaving town early on Saturday morning. I also got to meet up with Walter Tseng, a great friend whom I hadn’t seen since my high school cross country days, for a Mariners game.

The great thing about running races in towns across America is seeing the cities by foot and seeing the people, whether it’s new friends or old. Seattle had a few of each. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

2010 Marine Corp Marathon

15. Marine Corp Marathon – Washington D.C. – Oct. 31, 2010
What a strange weekend for this race. It coincided with a giant rally by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, bringing hundreds of thousands of people to the Mall the day before the race. I loaded onto a jam-packed Metro and headed to the Expo. After picking up my packet, I decided to take a walk to the Mall and see what was going on. I didn’t want to get into the crowd, so I headed into a museum and looked out the back door. There were so many people out there, and it was a rally about pretty much nothing. What a strange place that Washington D.C. can be. I walked back toward the Convention Center but decided to check out the National Portrait Gallery. I love that all the museums in Washington are free. Chances are I would have otherwise skipped the museums, but I really enjoyed it. In addition to the portraits, there was an exhibit by a photographer who was with Elvis Presley for the months as he was becoming really popular. There is so much to do in that town. Unfortunately, all the walking around would come back to haunt me the following day.

I met up with my friend Allison Porcella, who I had only seen once since 1993 when we were both studying abroad in New Zealand. I fought the Facebook craze for a long time, but reconnecting with people like Allison makes me so happy that I finally gave in. Allison cooked a pasta dinner for three of us at her place. I love running marathons in different cities because it’s a great way to see towns. However, it also gives me a chance to see friends in some of these cities.

I was ready for this race. I was in the best shape of my life, and my training had gone great. I knew better than to get overconfident, but I was going to see how I felt after taking a conservative approach on the first five miles and go from there. Like most marathons, the wakeup call came early. I met some friends from Runner’s Edge of the Rockies in the hotel lobby, and we headed to the Metro to get to the Pentagon, where the starting line is. I was in the ridiculously long port-a-potty line, when I overheard someone mention how far the actual starting line was from the gathering area. I thought it was close, but it was actually about half a mile away, and I had to jog briskly to get to my corral – not recommended before a marathon.

It would be hard to find a race with more sights along the course

I was in a pretty early corral, which allowed me to get into my rhythm early. After a couple miles, I ran into more friends from Runner’s Edge, including Clif Miskell. It’s always strange seeing people you know in the middle of a huge race (there were about 30,000 in this one). I ran with Clif for a couple of miles, and I felt great. I wished them luck and increased my speed. I was going for 3:10. I wanted Boston.

I'm so glad I beat Super Mario

I knew I need an average pace of 7:15, so I settled into a pace between 7-7:30 through Georgetown and up around the Mall, staying on pace through the first 18 miles. When the wall hit, though, it hit HARD. I felt my calves cramping around Mile 16, so I popped some electrolyte tablets hoping to alleviate the problem. No such luck. The cramps expanded to my hamstrings, my groin and up to my hips. By Mile 22, I had side stitches, and my shoulders were completely locked up with cramps. A mile later, I realized my jaw was cramped up. I had no choice but to start walking. A drill sergeant got in my face and started yelling at me, trying to get me through the toughest miles, which I thought was pretty awesome. Unfortunately, my body would not respond to his encouragement. The cramping had been so bad that I actually tore a muscle in my shoulder.

I went for 3:10 and ended up coming in at 3:37. But I was happy that I had tried. I believe that if you don’t try to push yourself to the limit, you’ll never know what you can do. I discovered that I didn’t have a Boston qualifier in me that day. Perhaps it was all the walking from the day before, or maybe I just wasn’t prepared enough to run that pace. Whatever it was, I got to see one of the coolest cities in the world during the 26.2-mile tour.

2010 Green Bay Marathon

14. Cellcom Green Bay Marathon – Green Bay, Wis. – May 16, 2010

As a sports fan, I get excited at the thought of certain stadiums and arenas. Lambeau Field is pretty close to the top of that list. I had heard this was a good race in a small town. My friend Steve McAnnally and I flew through Milwaukee to Green Bay, and headed to the expo inside the stadium.

There are only about 250,000 people in Green Bay, making it the smallest city with a major professional sports team in the country. And since we had a full day before the race, we realized there’s not a lot to do in the town. We drove the course and wasted several hours watching a marathon of some ridiculous television show.

The course wound through a lot of middle class neighborhoods that looked like they could be in any city in America. It was a nice course, even without a lot to look at most of the time. It’s hard to find 26.2 pretty miles in any city, and there was a stretch of about 6-8 miles in the middle of this one that were quite a bit less than scenic. There was a roller rink, some factories and a place that advertised itself as “Green Bay’s Best NASCAR Bar, ” whatever that is. Around Mile 16, the course improved drastically, when it turned onto a bike bath along the Fox River and then through downtown Green Bay. While the course improved, my performance decreased considerably. We headed back into some neighborhoods for the final few miles, and I couldn’t fight through the fatigue. There was an aid station at Mile 24 that was sponsored by A&W. Knowing my race was toast, I became what I’m sure was one of the first people to take them up on the free root beer they were offering. It tasted great. And then I immediately regretted my decision. I ambled toward the stadium for the finish through what felt like my entire torso turning into a side stitch.

My plan all along had been to kick back and simply enjoy the highlight of the course. The final mile includes a lap around the inside of Lambeau Field, and I wanted to take my time and savor it. Instead, it turned into my fastest mile of the day. I was about to head back into the tunnel when I realized what I had done. I was kicking myself, but at the same time I wanted to finish the race. So I just kept going toward the finish line in the parking lot, crossing it at 4:02.

In true Lambeau style, the post-race party was a tailgate in the parking lot, complete with brats and 26.2 Brew (made specifically for the race by local Titletown Brewery). I took a big bite of a brat and quickly regretted it. I forced the one bite down and dumped the rest. The beer, on the other hand, was cold and smooth. Unhappy with his race, Steve set a new personal best by signing up for his next marathon before I even finished showering. I hadn’t been terribly happy about my race either, but the race itself had a lot of great parts, especially running through Lambeau. Even if that was the only fast part of the race.

2010 Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon

First off, I’d like to wish a very happy anniversary to my parents, who were married 48 years ago today. Here’s to a remarkable run so far, and many more anniversaries to come.

13. Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon – Oklahoma City, Okla. – April 25, 2010

The Memorial in Oklahoma City may be the best

and most beautiful I have seen anywhere

I was supposed to run this race the year before but had to defer because my sciatic nerve prevented me from running any distance. The race directors were kind enough to let me defer to 2010, and even though I was not prepared to run it as a target race, I was excited to run it. I arrived on Friday and walked a few blocks to the expo to pick up my race packet, which included a ticket to the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum. I was a student at the University of Kansas on that April morning in 1995, when the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building was bombed, and I had a lot of friends from OKC. While the tragedy did not affect me directly, I remember the emotion hitting me and I felt terrible for all those who died and all those people who loved them.

I went to the Memorial, which is one of the most beautiful and powerful tributes I’ve ever seen. I spent several minutes reflecting before going into the museum. I’ve never been so glad I walked through a museum. They did an absolutely amazing job of capturing that day and teaching the history of what happened. Mostly, I was impressed with the way they showed the outpouring of the community and law enforcement in the days following the bombing. It was truly inspirational to see how people came together and how human spirit flourished after such a horrible event. I would strongly encourage anyone visiting Oklahoma City to go to the museum.

Everything about the race is a tribute to those who lost their

lives in the bombing, as well as all the amazing heroes and

human spirit in the aftermath

That night, I met my friend Stephen Howard and his girlfriend, Kirbie (who would get engaged at the starting line the next morning), as well as a few of their friends. We went to an Italian restaurant in the Bricktown district and had a nice dinner, filled with carbs. The Oklahoma City Thunder were playing a playoff game against the Lakers right next door to my hotel. I wandered over, trying to find a cheap single ticket after dinner, but there was literally nobody selling any, so I went back to the hotel and watched the game on television. The team was relatively new and was just beginning to get good, so the excitement around this series was contagious, especially since it’s the first and only professional team in any sport in the state. It was fun to witness.

This race is a memorial to the 168 people who lost their lives in the bombing, beginning with 168 seconds of silence at the starting line. The utter silence took my breath away. The entire course was lined with 168 banners hanging from the light posts, each with the name of one of the victims.

The course is lined with 168 banners like these,

one for each of the lives lost on April 19, 1995

There was a fairly strong headwind during the first half of the race, which is basically a narrow loop north to Lake Hefner, which was almost like an out-and-back only on different streets. I was fighting the wind and I couldn’t believe that another runner was wearing a hula-hoop that had plastic sunrays on it. It looked like it was acting like a parachute creating resistance with every step. I passed him, got a few steps past him and then couldn’t resist. I turned and asked why he was dressed as the sun. He told me that his friend named Sonny was killed in the bombing, so he dresses up as the Sun(ny) as a tribute to his friend. Sonny always tried to make people around him feel happier, so this runner thought dressing as the sun might do the same for runners during the marathon. I immediately went from thinking the guy was a tool to thinking he was one of the coolest people I’ve ever met.

People like that were all over the place in this race. In fact, it seemed that everyone I talked to during the run was directly affected by the bombing. I share a name with one of the children who was killed in the daycare center. I had read about him the day before and knew there would be a lot of people running in memory of him. Of course, I decided to dedicate my run to him, as well.

During every step of this race, I was awed by the spirit of Oklahoma City. It felt like everyone in that city decided to make themselves and their city better after the tragedy. The organization of this race was first rate, and it served as an excellent memorial to 168 victims, as well as everyone else affected by a terrible tragedy. I crossed the finish line at 3:59, but knew I got a lot more out of the race than a finisher’s medal. I would recommend this race to everyone.

2009 Outer Banks Marathon

12. Outer Banks Marathon – Kitty Hawk, N.C. – Nov. 8, 2009

It had only been a month since Twin Cities, but I wanted to run one more marathon before the basketball season started, and a couple days at the ocean seemed like a great break a week before the first game.

I flew into Norfolk, Va., on Friday and jumped in a rental car for a two-hour drive to the Outer Banks. During the summer, the area is packed with vacationers, especially on the weekends, but in November it was pretty quiet. We rented a three-bedroom condo for less than $100 a night, which worked out great. In fact, it was far bigger than two of us needed. It was also about 200 yards from the starting line of an 8K on Saturday morning. The combination of the 8K on Saturday and the marathon on Sunday was called the Blackbeard Challenge, like a shorter version of the Goofy Challenge at the Disney Marathon. I figured I wasn’t going to go all out in the marathon anyway, so doing the challenge seemed like a fun idea. It was an out-and-back through the woods. I met a guy who was also doing the challenge, and we both were taking it easy during the run. He was from Oregon and told me stories about running against Steve Prefontaine in high school. It made for a very pleasant Saturday morning run.

Sunday’s marathon started on the north end of the island in Kitty Hawk and ran south through neighborhoods. There weren’t a lot of people lining the course, but the ones out there were friendly and supportive. Strangely, the entire course is within a mile of the Atlantic Ocean, but you can only see it a couple of times during the race. At Mile 8, the course goes by the Wright Brothers Monument, marking the site of the first flight in 1903. Right after, I spotted the condo we were staying in, but fortunately it was still early enough in the race that I had absolutely no desire to stop (a feeling I’ve had in other races, although I’ve never actually stopped).

The course changed to a hilly, dirt road about a mile later in the Nags Head Woods Nature Preserve, a stretch I had read about before the race but clearly surprised some of the other runners, including one guy that was running barefoot and less than pleased by the rocks he kept stepping on. In fact, this very section was on the previous day’s 8K. For runners going for a Boston qualifier or a PR, this part of the course could ruin their day. I was out to enjoy the race, and this section ended up being my favorite part of the course. It was shady, and they had done some maintenance on the dirt to make it more runner-friendly. Once you leave that park, the course goes almost immediately into Jockey’s Ridge State Park, which is the largest sand dune on the East Coast. The good news was that the course went next to the dune and not over it.

This was also the point in the race when I first noticed the bridge at the south end of the island. I knew that bridge was at Mile 23, so seeing it nearly 10 miles earlier was like a punch in the gut. I knew I was going to be staring at it the rest of the way. And those 10 miles were the ugliest on the course. We went through a few neighborhoods, which were fine, but most of it was along the main street of the island – your typical main drag in a beach town, complete with tacky T-shirt shops and tattoo parlors. And the entire stretch is completely exposed to the sun and car exhaust, since the road is only partially closed.

Finally, I reached the Washington-Baum Bridge, which hits a height of 82 feet and spans a mile. I have a general rule about not walking on uphills, which I find to be a great motivator. This one, however, became too much. Aside from the moderate hills in the nature preserve, the bridge represented the only hill on the course, but it’s so late in the race that I found it more challenging than Hurricane Point during Big Sur. I fought the fatigue of two marathons in a month and circled through the streets of Manteo to the finish line in 3:57.

The whole race had a pirate theme (hence the “Blackbeard Challenge”), and there were people dressed as pirates at the finish, posing with the runners for photos. I would have loved to stick around and enjoy the town, but my flight was later that afternoon, and I had to shower before checking out of the condo. We made our way to where the buses would pick us up and take us back to the starting area, where the car was parked. This was easily the worst part of the race. There were hundreds and hundreds of people waiting, and it seemed there weren’t a lot of buses running. Of course, when you have to drive the entire length of the 26.2-mile course on roads that were partially closed because of the race, it’s difficult to get buses back and forth between the start and finish. Eventually, we made it back to the condo and drove back to the Norfolk Airport (possibly setting some land-speed records in the process), making it just in time to fly home.

2009 Twin Cities Marathon

11. Twin Cities Marathon – St. Paul, Minn. – Oct. 4, 2009

I’ll always respect 26.2 miles. But every once in a while, the marathon can be flat out fun. Growing up, I spent a few summers and holidays in Minnesota with the Sohlbergs, good family friends. Pam and Dag Sohlberg have always treated me like part of the family, and they were kind enough to invite me and my buddy Wayne Cousineau to stay with them during marathon weekend. On top of that, Dag insisted on cooking pasta the night before and driving us to the start and from the finish (possibly the only potential downside to this race is trying to figure out transportation between the start and the finish).

Just add pasta sauce

The night before the race, Dag told us to make ourselves comfortable as he cooked and we caught up. In the middle of a nice conversation, Dag furrowed his brow and asked, “Pam, did you get a special kind of sausage?” It seems that she had gone to a specialty, organic-type grocery store and grabbed the first package of sausage she’d seen. As it turned out, it was blueberry sausage. Needless to say, that’s not ideal when you’re planning to add it to spaghetti sauce, but all of us – including their daughter Kari – couldn’t stop laughing about it the rest of the night. Instead of adding it to the sauce, Dag put it in a separate dish, and all of us gave it a try with our pasta anyway. I wouldn’t call it great, but it probably would have been pretty good with pancakes. I mentioned to Wayne that if he got a PR in the race the next day, he was going to have to eat blueberry sausage before every race in the future.

Dag dropped us off near the Metrodome, and Wayne and I met up with some friends from Runner’s Edge of the Rockies inside. At most races, everyone seems to be doing everything in their power to stay warm, while waiting outside for an hour or two. It’s amazing how much that opening up an area everyone can stay warm and use the restroom improves a race experience. Finally, it was race time, so Wayne and I headed out to the starting corral – another small detail that makes a race considerably better for all the runners. The course weaves through downtown Minneapolis before shooting around a few of the state’s 10,000 lakes. Wayne is one of the funniest guys I’ve ever met, and the two of us were running stride for stride while laughing constantly. When we hit the halfway marker, we both kind of looked at each other and asked, “Have we really gone 13 miles?” It had gone really quickly, and we were both still feeling really good.

The course is beautiful, and the people of the Twin Cities do a phenomenal job of supporting the runners. There is even one guy that sits on the side of the road playing his saxophone every year. We were told later that it was Alan Page, the former Purple People Eater from the Vikings and Minnesota Supreme Court judge. Apparently, he only knows three songs, but we didn’t stick around long enough to hear more than one anyway. At another point, a woman dressed as a pumpkin ran by. I told Wayne that I had just read the Runner’s World Rules of Running, and it says that no matter what happens, you should never lose to a costumed runner. The woman overheard me and started laughing. That’s when I noticed the Iron Man tattoo on her calf. She turned her head and said with a laugh, “I’m just out for a jog. This race doesn’t even have the swim or bike ride.” Guess maybe I shouldn’t have thrown that gauntlet down.

Wayne Cousineau and I postrace

Around Mile 16, the race heads up the west side of the Mississippi River, and it was at this point that I needed to make a pit stop and wished Wayne good luck. We crossed the river and ran back down the other side, where there was a gigantic, inflatable “wall” at Mile 20. It seems like the organizers wanted to celebrate and make fun of the point in the race when so many runners hit the point of exhaustion. For me, seeing it reminded me of where I was, and subconsciously I felt the previous 20 miles. We cut up through Mary University and along a tree-lined boulevard toward St. Paul. Wayne and I had driven the course the day before, and this uphill did not seem like anything at all. During the race, however, the uphill hit me pretty hard. I took a couple of walk breaks and then I heard, “Look. There’s a running pumpkin.” Damnit. I couldn’t lose to her.

I hit the 25^th mile, where the course hits a curve at an old church and then winds down toward the finish line at the state capitol. The weather had been absolutely perfect until this point, when it started raining. That was ok. In fact, it was kind of refreshing. I beat the pumpkin, albeit just barely, coming in at a respectable 3:37. Wayne met me at the finish. He indeed shattered his previous personal best, so I guess he’ll have to eat blueberry sausage before every race. It couldn’t hurt.