Marathon Cheaters

I chose not to post about Paul Ryan’s ridiculous marathon claim, simply because I didn’t want to spark a political debate (or at least throw more gasoline on the fire). However, when I read the story in the New Yorker about Kip Litton, I couldn’t resist this one. Lying is certainly annoying. Cheating is reprehensible.

You can buy a finisher's shirt for a race that doesn't exist.

For those that haven’t read it, Mark Singer wrote a remarkable story (Warning: give yourself time to read it - it's a LONG story) about a guy who claims to run sub-3 hour marathons (sound familiar). However, unlike Ryan, Litton did so much more than make an untrue claim. Litton appears to have cheated in nearly every race he’s run, including the “Western Wyoming Marathon,” which he actually made up completely (including a full list of other “finishers” and their times, not to mention profiles on Athlinks.com).

The reason Litton’s story is so unbelievable is because it’s such an anomaly in the world of running. Honestly, when I’ve been on an out-and-back during some races, I have wondered how easy it would be to simply pull an about-face without going to the turnaround point (it would generally be undetectable because there is rarely a timing mat at the turnaround point). Back in my high school cross country days, I sometimes ran close to another runner, simply hoping he would clip my heel and send me tumbling down a hill, giving me an excuse not to finish.

You know why neither of those things ever happened? Because, like most sports, running has an unwritten code. But unlike other sports, running is individual. So the code is not meant to protect teammates, like a hockey fight to protect your star player or hitting a batter with a pitch to retaliate for a teammate that’s been plunked.

The code in running is based almost entirely on oneself. If I was to cut a course or otherwise cheat, I wouldn’t deserve to wear that medal at the end of the race. I wouldn’t deserve to add it to my list of completed races. And I certainly wouldn’t deserve to accept an award for an exceptional finish, like a top age group finish. For almost all of us, that’s enough to deter us. That and, of course, there’s really no point in doing so. At the end of the day, unless you’re in the hunt for the win, your finish means nothing to anyone except yourself.

Rosie Ruiz sure looked tired after running a mile.

That code is why most marathoners can tell you all about Rosie Ruiz. In 1980, Ruiz acted as though she had won the Boston Marathon. It didn’t take long to realize that she actually had jumped into the race with only a mile to go. Likewise, at the 1976 Olympics in Montreal, Frank Shorter likely would have been declared the winner (therefore repeating as Olympic champion) if drug testing had been as advanced as it is today, because East German Waldemar Ciepinski was almost certainly doping, based on evidence collected from the Stasi. And, a clown in the United Kingdom named Rob Sloan accepted third place in last year’s Kielder Marathon for a 2:51:00 finish, despite the fact that his “run” included a six-mile bus ride from Miles 20-26.

These, like Litton, are the exceptions. According to MarathonGuide.com, there were approximately 523,000 marathon finishes in 2011. Add in the number of half marathons, 10Ks, 5Ks and other distances, and the number of racers last year was staggering. Almost every one of those finishers ran the race without cheating, and I’d be willing to bet nearly all of them were proud of their performance, despite how it may have matched up with the other runners in the race.

People like Litton, Ruiz, Ciepinski and Sloan really frustrate me as a runner. Most of us have good races and bad races, but like all but a handful of other runners, we know that those finishes are ours. And I know that we ran the same course – and same distance – as the winner, the person who finished last and everybody inbetween.

Yesterday, 2,166 people finished the Denver Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon, and 8,138 people finished the half marathon. To all 10,304 finishers of that race, and all the finishers of races around the world, congratulations on your accomplishment. And, thank you for doing it the right way. You have every right to be proud, regardless of how long it took.

Side Note: Originally, I planned on writing about the infamous false claim by a certain politician. While I chose not to post it, I came across the following celebrities in marathon finishes, and I can’t resist posting this excerpt.

Will Ferrell has run a few marathons - and he went all 26.2.

I commend people like George W. Bush (3:44 in the 1993 Houston Marathon), Al Gore (4:54 in the 1997 Marine Corp Marathon), Sarah Palin (3:59 at the 2005 Humpy’s Marathon), Jill Biden (4:30 at the 1998 Marine Crop Marathon), Mike Huckabee (4:37 at the 2005 Marine Corp Marathon), William Baldwin (3:24 at the 1992 New York City Marathon), Will Ferrell (3:56 at the 2003 Boston Marathon), Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs (4:14 in the 2003 New York City Marathon), Oprah Winfrey (4:29 at the 1994 Marine Corp Marathon), Freddie Prinze Jr. (5:50 at the 2006 Los Angeles Marathon), David Lee Roth (6:04 at the 2010 New York City Marathon), Al Roker (7:09 at the 2010 New York City Marathon) and whoever was in the Teddy Roosevelt mascot costume from the Washington Nationals (6:26 at the 2009 Marine Corp Marathon).

Regardless of whether I like their political views or entertainment value, each of them had the guts to train for and tackle at least one marathon.

I’d be willing to bet all of them could tell you their PR’s, too.

2012 Missoula Marathon

22. Missoula Marathon – Missoula, Montana – July 8, 2012
I’d been in a feud with the marathon for the past 18 months. I hadn’t run a race that I’d been happy with since Marine Corp in 2010, and I fell apart in that one. The last couple of months had been especially rough with the heat in Nashville and the nausea in Deadwood. I needed a good race. Or at least a decent one.

Me with Chuck to my left and Annette and Tom

just behind us. The other dude? No idea, but

I'm sure he enjoyed the race, too.

A few days before we were scheduled to fly to Montana, I checked the forecast. High of 94 degrees. Are you kidding me? More than a few times, I thought about bagging it.

But I was going with my friend Jim Lynch, who was moving to Hawaii less than a week after the race, and a few other friends were heading up, too. Oh, why not?

Jim and I flew out on Saturday morning. He’s a veteran with 87 marathons under his belt heading into this one, and he likes to make these trips quickly. We got to Missoula around 1 p.m., following a quick layover in Salt Lake City, and we were flying out at 1 p.m. the next day. After taking care of the usual pre-race stuff, we met up with our friends Donna Wise and Kandy Timinski, as well as Kandy’s friend Jill, for some carbo loading at Ciao Mambo.

Morning came too soon. The questions about why I was about to run a marathon came quickly. Jim and I were up at 4 a.m. and out the door 45 minutes later, heading to the buses that would take us to the start. We found the bus pickup, and the line was literally wrapped around the block. At first, I was a little annoyed (for no real reason, other than it was early and I was cranky), but the nervous, happy energy among those waiting changed my attitude. We reached the starting area, and they had everything we needed (i.e. – plenty of port-a-potties and a bag drop).

The Missoula Marathon is 26.2 miles

of stunning beauty. I am 6-foot-2

of considerably less beauty.

The race started when a cannon fire fired, and fireworks shot off to our left. We started near Frenchtown and headed down a long road with cow pastures on both sides. Seriously, we were on that road for nearly 9.5 miles without making a turn.

Both Jim and I had bibs on our back with pictures of Michael Fontes on them, and I thought about Mike a lot during those early miles. I couldn’t help but think he would love the cool morning with the sun cresting the mountain on our left side.

At dinner the night before, Jim and Donna said they really don’t like talking to people during a race. I’m the opposite. I love meeting new people during races and clicking off a few miles with them. For the first four miles, I kept to my own thoughts and reflections.

Then I ran past a few people, and all I heard was, “In K.C.” I turned and asked if they were talking about the Kansas City Marathon. They were, and I told them it was my hometown. It turned out that two of them went to Rockhurst College in K.C., so we struck up a conversation. I asked if I could latch on to them for a while and they were welcoming.

I generally stick with people for a couple of miles and then we part ways. Little did I know, I would hang with Annette Toomer, her dad Chuck and her friend Tom for quite a while. Chuck was running his 17^th marathon, but Annette and Tom were running their first.

Like I said, I was in a feud with the marathon, and I needed something to help me. I decided I wanted to stick with these guys and try to help them finish their first.

Right after the halfway mark, we headed up the only real hill on the course. It was pretty tough, but Tom (who lives in Missoula) said that the views at the top made it worth the climb. He was right. The next three miles were among the best I’ve ever run during a race. We were high up, overlooking rivers and pastures with mountains all around us. Living in Colorado for the last 14 years, I see beautiful views on a daily basis. But this was different. It was peaceful. It was perfect.

At some point I jumped in a port-a-potty and figured I was probably not going to see them anymore. Instead, I spotted Chuck. We laughed as we speculated that Annette and Tom were probably miles ahead already. I had a great conversation with Chuck, who said the first half of the race was the best he had ever felt during a marathon. We talked about running and families and life in general – this was the first time he had ever gotten to run a race with one of his six children – as we passed a man in a tuxedo playing a grand piano. And we crossed over a bridge with a wide stretch of whitewater below us, and a kazoo playing “band” at the end.

About that time, Annette caught back up to us. It seems she made a stop, too, so she had to track us down. Not long after, Annette and I started to pull away from Chuck. Also around this time, I noticed a guy named Matt who had been running near us for a few miles, so I asked him to join us. He was running his second marathon, but his first had been a few years before.

By that point, we had hit the neighborhoods with enough turns to make up for the straight stretch on Mullan Road to start the race. This was also the point when first time marathoners begin to struggle and to lose trust in their training. Actually, that’s the point when nearly all of us, regardless of the number of marathons we’ve run, begin to struggle and to lose trust in our training.

I can almost guarantee you that Annette and Matt would tell you I was helping them. The truth is that I was using them. I needed something to help me through this race and this slump I’d been in. I hadn’t done a marathon without walking in a long, long time.

Annette's caption for this picture was,

"Kicking Mike Kennedy's ass." She did.

I’m not a marathon expert. Not even close to it. But I do know quite a bit about walking during marathons. And this is all you need to know: Once you start walking, it’s almost impossible to get any kind of rhythm back. I knew the three of us needed to just keep going. Just keep moving forward.

There are not a ton of people along the Missoula Marathon course, but the ones that were out there were outstanding – and I include the volunteers and police directing traffic in that statement. Everyone was friendly, and everyone was cheering for all the runners. I thanked several people for coming out, and they looked taken aback. Their reply was always the same: “Thank you for coming to our town and allowing us to do this.” And that, my friends, is why I absolutely love smaller marathons.

Around Mile 22, I saw a guy with “Kive” printed on the back of his shirt. He was walking and I just said, “Come on, Kive. Run with us.” He smiled and then started running. It was his first marathon, too. Annette, Matt, Kive (real name Kevin) and I weaved through the neighborhoods, never really knowing where we were.

Kive had to start walking again at Mile 24, and at Mile 25 I heard Matt groan. He cramped up bad enough to pull something in his leg. I wanted to finish the race with Annette and Matt, but I knew Annette and I had to keep going. We yelled some encouragement to Matt and told him we’d wait for him at the finish.

Annette really didn’t complain much. She clearly had hit the wall at Mile 20, but she was gutting it out. The last mile was probably the hardest for her, but I kept telling her whatever I could think of that might keep her going.

“You’ve got a mile to go. You can have a beer in your hand in less than 10 minutes.”

“Less than a half mile to go.”

And, finally, “Hey Annette, see that sign? How beautiful is that?”

The sign said, “Mile 26.” And Annette beamed. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone smile that big.

We made one last turn, and people were lining the bridge for the final 200 meters. We saw the finish line, and Annette went into an absolute sprint. She pulled ahead of me and I saw her turn back. I said, “No way. Keep going. This is all yours.”

The next thing I heard was, “Crossing the finish line now is Annette Toomer from Yakima, Washington. And Mike Kennedy from Denver, Colorado.”

Friends Jim Lynch (look for his book coming out soon),

Donna Wise and Kandy Timinski all agreed with me that

Missoula should be toward the top of every marathoner's list

We crossed at 4:08. It’s not a BQ. It’s not a PR. But it’s an hour better than my last two. And it was as much fun as I’ve ever had in a race. I realized it during those final 6.2 miles. I had fallen in love with the marathon again. There is so much more to it than a simple finish time. It’s the things you see, and the people you meet.

I have a feeling Annette is going to drop at least 30 minutes in her next marathon. And I can pretty much guarantee you she will be signing up for another one soon.

Tom had a great race, too, finishing right around four hours. Matt crossed the line a few minutes after us, and I saw Kive finish with a giant, well deserved smile a couple minutes after that.

The Missoula Marathon is nearly perfect. I still love Big Sur, but Missoula is right on its heels. I hope they don’t change the race in any way in the future. And the heat held off until a couple hours after we finished.

A few years ago, Runner’s World called Missoula the best marathon in America. With all due respect to Big Sur, I’m not about to argue. I loved it.

2012 Deadwood Marathon

21. Deadwood Mickelson Trail – Deadwood, South Dakota – June 3, 2012

Me with Tony, Nason and Dean right before the race.

When I started this journey toward 50 states, there were a few that I dreaded for some reason. Among them, right near the top, was South Dakota. The only marathon I knew about in the state was in Brookings, the home of the South Dakota State Jackrabbits and a place I had been sentenced to, er, sent to twice with the DU basketball team. It’s one of those places where I went out to run 10 miles but had to stop at 5 because I ran out of streets and didn’t care to retrace any of them.

Then I discovered this beauty, covering almost all 26.2 miles on a wonderfully maintained trail. Even better, the timing seemed to be perfect, and it’s in the western part of the state, so it was only a 6.5-hour drive. I prefer to travel to races with other people, but obviously some places make for a tougher sell. I was a little concerned about this one, but as it turned out it lined up perfectly for the Leadville Silver Rush 50 Miler in July. Tony Day and Dean Pelligrino saw it as an ideal training race, so neither hesitated long. Nason Newberg, who I’d traveled to both Vermont and Omaha with, agreed to go, too, although he waited until 11:55 p.m. on the final day of registration. Fortunately, he’s fast. Dean rounded up a couple more guys, Brian Mazeski and Ryan Carey, giving us six people that represented a fairly good portion of the 347 finishers.

Tony, Nason and I left from my house on Friday morning, driving north on I-25 into Wyoming, where we turned off onto Highway 85, one of the most godforsaken stretches of highway in the world. Now, I’m from Kansas, and I’ve made the drive across the state dozens of times. It’s certainly not the greatest, but it’s a wonderland compared to Eastern Wyoming. It’s like a dirt cesspool out there. We had lunch at a Subway in Torrington, where I got through a few inches of my footlong shoe leather and cheese. None of us felt great after the “food,” but we pushed onward. After passing through Lusk, the scenery improved slightly, and once we turned east from Newcastle, we discovered that South Dakota is an absolutely beautiful place. This route was a slight detour that added about an hour to the drive but allowed us to visit Mount Rushmore. I’d been there before, but it’s still worth stopping if it’s not too far out of the way. Tony and Nason had never seen it.

An hour north of Rushmore, we pulled into Deadwood and checked into the Comfort Inn, one of just a handful of hotel options in the town. Deadwood is a strange place. It seemed that everyone we met there had a chip on their shoulder, starting with the receptionist at the hotel, who refused to offer us a late checkout after the race on Sunday. She said, “We have two big buses coming in that day, so we need all the rooms.” I’ve never had this problem before at a race, especially when I specifically request it during booking. It’s a minor thing, but we were forced to look into alternatives, which took up quite a bit of time and energy, because the last thing anyone wanted was to crowd into a car for 6-7 hours smelling like a marathon. If you’ve never smelled clothes after a marathon, I suggest you avoid it. Let’s just say, it’s not pleasant.

After a short run to knock off some of the rust from the car ride, we walked into town and found Saloon No. 10, which clearly had been a staple there since the days of Wild Bill Hikock and company. It was dark and sawdust covered the floor, which made Tony speculate that it might be a slight fire danger, and there was some sort of Old West show going on in the back, although we decided to skip it. We did notice that the waitress changed from her costume into jeans right after it was finished. Apparently, the costume is only required during certain hours. We had a couple of drinks and then headed out to find dinner. It seems that Kevin Costner opened up a casino in town sometime after filming “Dances With Wolves” in the area, and there was a good steak house in it. We never actually found it, so we settled on some other place. The steaks were mediocre, and the baked potatoes were only partially cooked, but we filled up anyway. With nothing much else to do, we sat down at a blackjack table. I’m usually not very lucky when gambling, but I went on a little run quickly and played with house money for a couple of hours. Despite losing a double down on a $25 bet, when the dealer had a five showing, I walked away with $75 and figured it covered my race entry.

Saturday was a long day. There just wasn’t much to do, except hiking, and that’s not the best idea the day before a race. We had a great breakfast on a patio downtown and discussed our options. We decided that after picking up our stuff at the race expo, we would drive 14 miles to Sturgis to see why all the bikers migrate there every August. It’s safe to say, we’re still wondering. There’s nothing there. It almost seemed like a ghost town. I guess a lot of bars and restaurants open up for the biker rally and then shut down again. It’s a very strange place. We did get a kick out of a building with the name “Dick and Jane’s Naughty Spot and Chinese Food.” I can’t be sure if it’s one place or two, but I like to assume it’s an establishment where you can pick up both chicken lo mein and lingerie in one transaction. From what I heard, it’s also the only Chinese restaurant within about 300 miles. I can’t confirm that, but I’m pretty sure it was probably the best place in town. We drove back to the hotel and turned on some terrible movie on the television. It wasted some time, but after a while we all got restless. Gulches of Fun amusement park was connected to the hotel, so we headed over to play some miniature golf and ride the go-carts. It’s pretty amazing what you’ll resort to when your choices are this limited.

Dean, Ryan and Brian got into town on Saturday evening, and we made plans to meet up at the official race hotel, which was offering pasta specials in their restaurants. While we were waiting for them to arrive, we headed back to the blackjack tables, where I quickly lost $80. So much for the race entry being covered, but at least I walked away down only $5. I don’t think Tony was so lucky. If you haven’t gotten the drift yet, the entire trip was just a little strange. That continued when we figured out the pasta dinner was in a sports bar, and we were told that all the pasta dishes were taking at least an hour. I have no idea how spaghetti and meatballs could possibly take more than about 15 minutes, and I guess they didn’t either because it actually came out less than 20 minutes after I ordered. We get spoiled when we run in the major cities. Restaurants and stores are so easy to find, and they’re usually open. In places like Deadwood, there are few choices and hours of operation are limited. So on the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a convenience store, hoping to find some things for breakfast before the race. I would not call it a successful stop. We were slightly more successful at the hotel, however, when we somehow convinced the receptionist to give us the room until 1 p.m. the following day. It was going to be cutting it close, but it was worth a shot.

Finally, Sunday came around. Race morning is always interesting. It’s a little bit excitement, a little bit nervousness and a whole lot of logistics, like how do you get to the starting line. We decided to drive to the parking area at the town’s rodeo grounds, where we caught a school bus to Rochford. We ended up on the last bus, and so did a lot of other people. School buses fit two people per seat, uncomfortably. Maybe three young children could fit, but as we discovered, three adults trying to share the bench made for a cramped ride. It was crowded and hot, and we had at least 26.2 miles to drive. I often prefer point-to-point courses because they’re generally more interesting, and you know you aren’t going to double back on any of it. However, driving the entire course right before running it makes you realize just how far you have to go. And it’s intimidating.

It's hard to fake a smile this much when

you feel like you're going to hurl.

They dropped us off at an old church in Rochford, and we stood around for a little over an hour. It’s strange some of the things I notice at races, but this was the first I’d ever seen where there was one line for about 15 port-a-potties. Generally, there would be 15 lines or so. This made so much more sense. I don’t know why more races don’t encourage it. Granted, the line was so long that I stood in it and then walked directly to the back to wait again.

The start was the only portion on the roads. We circled through Rochford, which wasn’t much more than a couple of houses, and then got on the trail. I knew the elevation of this race going in. The first half was uphill. The second half was downhill. It’s actually a great course setup, if you’re trained for it. I wasn’t trained for it. But that turned out to be the least of my problems.

At Mile 8, I felt like a colt was trying to kick out of my belly. I winced and tried to will the pain away. I thought I just needed to find a toilet, so I battled on until the halfway point. Since the half marathon started 13.1 miles into our race, I knew they would have some set up. Those five miles were tough. Uphill is hard enough, but when your body is not cooperating, it’s brutal. I finally made it, only to discover that wasn’t the problem. It was nausea, and it wasn’t going away. I was fine when I walked, but running seemed to shake things up too much. Based on the course, I was hoping for a negative split in this race, since the second half was all downhill. I wouldn’t get it. For the next 13.1 miles, I ran stretches of about a quarter mile and then had to walk to settle my stomach. It was probably the most frustrated I’ve ever been in a race. I wasn’t at peak condition, but I know my legs had more in them. But my insides wouldn’t let me push them.

Fortunately, the Mickelson Trail is beautiful at the worst moments and breathtaking at the best. My race turned into a semi-hike through the woods. We ran along rivers, over bridges and through meadows. Despite my issues, I loved the course. I kept thinking how great it must be to have a trail like that near your home that you could run on a regular basis. Of course, I wouldn’t want to live in South Dakota, but if you put it near Denver, it would be ideal. I struggled on, looking at my watch frequently – not because I was concerned about my time, but because I was worried about getting back to the hotel before we were kicked out. Seriously. This is not something I want to worry about during a race, and it was infuriating that I needed to. We offered to pay for the extra time and the place had extra rooms available (we checked), but they were going to charge us more than our nightly rates if we kept it past 1 p.m. Needless to say, I will not be staying at a Comfort Inn anytime in the near future, especially when Marriott (regardless of which brand) has always been so accommodating.

This course was scenic but challenging.

I finally made it to the finish in 4:57. It was nearly an hour longer than I was hoping, and it gave me all of three minutes to get back to the hotel and showered. Tony picked me up and we decided to test squatter’s rights. We were happy that the housekeepers were busy cleaning the rooms around ours, and they didn’t seem to mind, so we held on until about 1:45 p.m.

As bad as my race was, it could have been a lot worse. The entire second half of the race, I was worried that the other five guys would all be trying to hold the room for me. As it turned out, I was the third one in there. Ryan was running with Tony, Dean and Brian, and they all seemed to be going along just fine. Suddenly, at Mile 22 the guys looked at Ryan and realized his face was completely covered in salt. He was the only one of us who was not from Colorado, having flown in from Toronto the day before, and he was hurting, and nobody had even realized it. He sat down, and immediately his toes curled up. He was really dehydrated, which wasn’t too surprising since the temperature was pushing the upper 70s (although there had been a nice breeze, cooling everyone off a little). They tried to keep going, but at the Mile 24 aid station, Ryan was loaded into a car and driven to the med tent at the finish area. They put him on a cot, and loaded two IV bags into him over the next two hours. After we checked out of the hotel, we went to check on him and found him in high spirits, making jokes and smiling. I even snapped a few pictures of him with Dean and Brian posing around him. We headed back into town to find a lunch spot, figuring the other guys would join us shortly.

Mere minutes before Mr. Carey became a legend.

And then Ryan Carey moved into marathon lore. After laying around with an IV in his arm for two hours, he was discharged. As he was walking out the door, he turned to the other two and said, “Take me back to Mile 24. I’m finishing.” So, they did. When they showed up at the restaurant without Ryan, the three of us couldn’t believe it. But about 25 minutes later, while we were finishing our burgers and beers, Ryan came strolling in with a medal around his neck and a smile on his face. As it turned out, all six of us struggled on the challenging course, but we all made it through. And after it was over, we were all smiling and laughing. It was a strange trip, but I think all of us enjoyed it.

2012 Nashville Marathon

20. Country Music Marathon – Nashville, Tennessee – April 28, 2012

As I said in the post about Seattle Rock-n-Roll, every marathon can be great for some people and dreadful for others. That does not mean future runners of the races will experience the same thing because every marathon is a completely different experience for every single runner. I prefer 55 degrees and overcast for marathons. And I had been fortunate in almost all of my first 19 marathons, as far as weather. I guess I was due. And, while this was called the Country Music Marathon, it was another Rock-n-Roll event, just like Seattle.

The first sign that I might be in for a challenge came in the plane. We were stuck on the runway for nearly 90 minutes before even taking off, so we didn't depart until almost the time we should have been landing. After getting to the hotel, we walked a couple blocks to the convention center for the expo. The line was wrapped around the block. Seriously. I didn’t stand in line at the New York expo. In Nashville, we had to weave around the block, through the top floor, down the stairs and all around the ground floor before even getting into the area to pick up our bibs. That’s ridiculous and completely incomprehensible. Once I got in, it didn’t take long to get the actual bib and shirt, but I was already a little cranky, and that was a bad sign for the race.

Sheryl Crow was smart enough to run the half marathon

and finish before it got too terribly hot out.

We didn’t know where we were going for dinner, and internet searches suggested that maybe there weren’t a lot of options for Italian downtown. The Renaissance hotel was connected to the convention center, so I asked the concierge for a recommendation. He called The Standard, a converted house just a few blocks away. It’s not generally an Italian place, but they added a few things to the menu just for marathon weekend. The waiter told us the specials, including bacon-wrapped bacon. I’m not kidding. The entire menu sounded delicious, but I opted for chicken parmesan. If I get back to Nashville without a race looming, I may have to go back to the Standard and try some of their Southern dishes.

Race day started very promising. We planned to walk across the bridge to the Titans football stadium, where shuttles would take us to the starting area near Vanderbilt. However, there was a taxi waiting at the curb, so we jumped in and happily paid $8 to get us within 100 feet of the starting line. About 30,000 people were running either the marathon or half marathon (80-90 percent were running the half). So the starting area was packed. I noticed there was a Marriott about a block away. Since we had 90 minutes to wait, we walked into the lobby and made ourselves at home. The restroom lines outside were about 90 deep. The ones in the Marriott were about nine deep. We were much more comfortable than most of the runners. Of course, that comfort would not last. The temperature was already pushing 70 degrees when the gun went off at 7 a.m.

I had never spent any time in Nashville, so I obviously didn’t know the area. Several people had told me that the course was great and pretty flat. But those people were lying. The entire first half of the race was a rollercoaster of hills. And just three miles in, I was soaked with sweat. This day was going to be an absolute struggle.

Despite the hills, the first half of the course was nice and fairly well shaded. It’s always funny to see all the runners crammed on 10% of the road in the shade, when the entire street is available. Of course, I was right there with them. The course covered most of downtown and Music Row before shooting out to the campus of Belmont University, which I believe is best known for music, dentistry and Vince Gill cheering for its underrated basketball team. Regardless of their courses, it’s a nice campus. I always like running through colleges. They’re always a lot more interesting to look at than suburban neighborhoods.

After a return through downtown, the course split at Mile 11 as the half marathoners headed toward the finish. I’ve never been so tempted to join them. The temperature was probably around 75 degrees at that point. My shirt was 2-3 times heavier because of sweat, and I had literally been wringing it out. I had never taken my shirt off in a race, but I could tell that my nipples were going to suffer big time if I left it on (in runners' terminology, "bullet holes"). So I went topless, much to the likely chagrin of the spectators and other runners (many of whom were either shirtless or wearing only sports bras).

Without even reaching the halfway point, I was already wondering if I’d have enough energy to finish. I ran about the same pace as a woman for a while and finally decided I needed some help, so I asked her if she would like to run together for a while. Her name was Jess, and she told me that she was graduating from med school a week later. Apparently, she wanted to run a marathon before graduating, so this was her shot. What a brutal day to run your first marathon. We ran together for 7-8 miles, walking through the aid stations while drinking at least 2-3 cups of Gatorade or water each time, but we pushed each other. My head started spinning pretty bad at Mile 18, and I told Jess she needed to go on without me. My race was pretty much over, but I was going to do everything in my power to finish. I knew if I tried to keep running, there was a very good chance that I’d end up in the medical tent. I was in for a very long and very hot walk. A guy from Boston and another from Philadelphia joined me for a couple of miles, which was nice, but I was mostly stuck only to my slightly delusional thoughts for the next couple of hours. On top of that, like Seattle, the second half is filled with out-and-backs. There’s really nothing more demotivating than watching people running the other direction, knowing you aren’t even close to the turnaround point but having no idea how long that will actually be. How easy would it be to just pivot and head toward the finish? Cheating in a marathon like that would be pretty easy. But I don’t know any runners who would even consider doing so. Most of us aren’t really racing anyone other than the clock or ourselves. And I’m sure as hell going to finish all 26.2 miles, if I can. If I can’t, I certainly wouldn’t pretend I did.

Thinking about the finish is what kept me going, even as I watched 20-25 people dropping to the ground all around me. Some were clearly far too dehydrated to continue and others were suffering unbearable cramps, which happens even more than usual when it gets this hot. The final turnaround point is in Shelby Park in East Nashville, which is on the edge of the Cumberland River. With the water so close, the temperatures were even hotter in the park. Miles 21-24 were in the midst of 87 degrees, and the humidity was even worse, too. It was miserable.

I was happy I could stay upright while

walking back to the hotel after the race.

I kept walking, and the sight of the football stadium was such a relief because it meant the end was in sight. A guy named Brian joined me for the final two miles. He was from a small town in Alabama, and as it turned out we had both run the First Light Marathon in Mobile in January. He told me about the races he’d run, mostly in the South. I may end up running Tupelo for my Mississippi race, based entirely on his recommendation. However, it’s in September and the risk of having a race as hot (or hotter) than Nashville would be fairly high. With about half a mile to go, both of us decided we could run it in. I know I didn’t have anything left when I crossed the line. But I finished. It took 5:11, marking the slowest marathon I’d ever done (I won’t say run). It was disappointing, but at the same time I’m proud to have made it through those conditions. Running 26.2 miles is a big challenge in the best conditions. Adding any challenges like heat or injuries is the equivalent of having something in your shoe or your eye. The smallest thing can be absolutely agonizing. The heat during this race was like trying to walk with a pine cone in your shoe.