Shortly after my 29th birthday (and before ESPN began advertising its fantastic "30 for 30" documentary series), I decided to come up with my own "30 before 30" bucket list.
Well, most of that list didn't get checked off, though things like "perform in a play," "date the woman you're going to marry long distance," and "find a new job and move out of Arizona" weren't on that list. But the big-ticket item and driving force to come up with 29 other goals was to run a marathon.
Why a marathon you ask? At the time, I really needed something active and physical to do. The church ball group played way too early in the morning for my schedule. Golf wasn't filling my athletic void, and I'm too cheap to join a gym.
So I started running. And what's the point of running if you're not working towards something? A 10k didn't seem like enough of a challenge, and something about half marathons rubbed me the wrong way. So go big or go home, right?
I went big. And I wanted to go big at one of the best marathons in the country, which also happened to be in one of my favorite cities. And even if it meant checking it off the list a couple months after my b-day, the St. George Marathon was where I wanted to run it.
So after being one of the 7,400 lucky lottery winners to get their names drawn, I began an 18-week training program and set two moderate goals: 1- to finish, and B- well, more on that later.
For those who want the quick and dirty version of what is about to follow, I accomplished both goals and finished my 26.2 mile journey in under 4 hours. And then I threw up (I told you it was a dirty version). It was quite the ride to say the least, much more of an emotional roller coaster than I ever anticipated. But I'd absolutely do it again ... if you're interested in joining me.
And for those who are in the mood for torture, here's a not-so little marathon diary:
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Like any good (Weiler) runner, I spent the morning before the race playing golf. My parents and I were among the first people to play the newly built front nine at Southgate. We found the short par 4s much to our liking, but the walk over the river and through the woods to get from the fourth hole to the fifth hole ... um .... quirky.
No. 6 green. Pretty
No. 5 tee. Also pretty.
Before wolfing down at the all-you-can-eat pasta buffet that evening, I listened the the marathon's keynote speaker, Ed Eyestone. Two-time Olympian, NCAA All-American, BYU cross country coach, and a branch on the Weiler family tree (dad's cousin's husband). Ed's words of wisdom: Run like a horse.
Got to bed early, but not early enough to see my beloved Cougars take an Aggie beatdown. Alarm went off a 4 a.m. I was out the door at 4:45, on the bus and headed for the start line by 5.
Oddly enough, the bus ride to the start line takes about 30 minutes, which left me an hour to chill. Literally. I came prepared though with sweats and gloves and a little breakfast, and the marathon organizers were prepared too with campfires, aluminum foil blankets and port-o-pottys.
aluminum foil blankets galore
bathroom stalls galore (right)
20 minutes to start time. Time to get my game face on.
Gun goes off, and about 10 minutes later I finally hit the mat and officially get on the clock.
Miles 1-5: Strippers, socialites and "save it"
I knew I'd be tempted to go flying out the gates and waste my energy, so I had to constantly tell myself "save it, save it, save it" and not focus on my time. Fortunately, I had plenty of things going on around me to stay distracted.
- Signs and posters with words of encouragement and humor staked along the road. This was fairly constant throughout the entire course and very appreciated.
-People veering off into the bushes to relieve themselves. Really? Did you not see the 200 port-o-pottys at the start line?
-Pants, jackets, shirts, gloves, etc.. shed all over the road. You could fill a T.J. Maxx with all the clothes ditched in those first five miles.
-People more interested in telling their life story than finishing. Love the social runners.
-Trying to find the little pockets of space among the masses and making a game out of it.
Miles 6-7: The hills are dormant... with the sound of chariots
The first and the toughest test of the course lies here in the little town of Veyo as you climb a hill alongside an old volcano. The Veyoites were out and cheering us as we went through all 150 yards of downtown commercial property, and a band of 8-12 high school kids in the gas station parking lot offered up a little motivational music before we started our hike.
Mile 8-10: Suns out ... guns out.
Feeling pretty strong through the hill and pretty unaffected by it. Decided to pick up the tempo a little through the climb, but reverted back to my magic "save it" words once the road flattened out. Also feeling a bit humble as I pass a wheelchair racer giving his all to climb the hill and a woman with a prosthetic leg conquering the course.
The sun also makes its first appearance as I make my way up the hill, a welcomed sight for me but maybe not for others. The race ended up being one of the warmest in the history of the marathon, which boded well for the guys who did most of their training in scorching Yuma. I enjoyed it so much I rolled up my sleeves to soak in the warmth, but ended up getting a bit of a chill instead. Go figure.
Miles 11-13: Dam-meron Valley of boredom and blisters
By the time I reached Dammeron Valley I'd outrun most of the social runners, and something wasn't feeling quite right down around the big toe on my right foot. I also began to start trying to pace myself with the runner holding ballons and a sign that says 3:50.00 on it and arrived just in time to hear him start squaking about oxygen levels and glycogyn and heart rate mumbo jumbo. So I turned to my trusty sidekick to drown own Dr. Oz and picked up the pace even more.
Trusty sidekick
The time clock at mile 13.1 read 1 hour and 57 minutes as I passed it. Sounded about right to me, especially if it was really 10 minutes ahead of my actual time. Halfway home, but can't starting thinking about the home stretch yet.
Mile 15: Trouble at the aid station
As you enter Snow Canyon you have to take your eyes off the road and enjoy the scenery for a while. This is also the last place runners hear big cheers before entering the city, which makes you want to feed off that energy and lengthen your stride a little bit. But at Mile 15 the road also steeps downhill, does a little s-curve, and like every other odd-numbered mile marker, features a much-desired aid station.
(Side note: My game plan from the start of the race was to hit every aid station no matter how I felt. I haven't mastered the art of drinking water and running simultaneously, so I figured a brief walk and hydration every two miles would ultimately help my time more than hinder it. Only needed to try Gatorade once to decide my body didn't want it. Never grabbed the vasaline sticks. Passed on the leg rubs, but was very tempted. Took an orange slice once and ate two granola bars along the way. Bless you, aid station volunteers. For the water, for the food, and for cleaning up all those paper cups.)
The combination of wanting to run faster for the crowd and wanting to enjoy the canyon but needing to slow down on a hill upon approaching the aid station and and trying to avoid slipping on the water-soaked road was awkward to say the least. If my walking motion through that aid station looked as uncoordinated and herky-jerky as it felt, it'd be a YouTube sensation for sure.
Mile 15 was also memorable because of the ambulance passing us on its way to the woman on the side of the road screaming in pain as her legs began to cramp up. A less-than subtle reminder to me that things are only going to get tougher from here on out.
Snow Canyon
Mile 20: Uncharted territory
The longest training run I'd done was 20 miles, and it took me three hours on the nose. So I was happy to see that the clock at the 20-mile mark was right at the three-hour mark since I'd been doing quite a bit of walking the last four miles. But I was very conscious that the rest of the race was going to be a maiden voyage for these legs, so this was no time to get cocky or excited.
Also, all the downhill running I was doing - and hadn't trained for - had turned that little something that didn't feel right on my left foot into an painful blister. No fun.
Miles 22-24:
The city is now in sight and merits a brief sigh of relief, but there's still a long way to go. The desire to walk more - and for longer distances - is strong, but so is the feeling of shame walking in front of the crowds. Also starting to think about finishing strong, but not interested in going full bore until the final mile. Even though I'm fairly certain there won't be anyone until the finish line, I take a few peeks around just in case my entourage is somewhere along the sidewalk. Take my last walk at the roundabout on Main Street and Tabernacle.
Mile 25.2
Clock reads 3 hours, 47 minutes. Conventional wisdom seems to be that anyone who breaks the 4-hour mark has posted an above average time, so I'm pretty happy to know that I'm going to do so on my first try. Time to use up whatever is left in the tank.
I'm coherent enough to hear the screams of "Weiler" from the stands, recognize Katie from her sunglasses and the tall guys a little further down the line as my dad and my brother Doug, give a little wave, and cross the finish line in what looks like 3 hours and 57 minutes.
Almost too fast for mom's camera
Finish line
No immediate vomiting, but definitely some light headedness. The walk through the misters only makes matters worse and brings a chill. Desperate for water, I make my way through all the finishers in the park eating and laughing and having a grand old time to a concession stand only to find soda drinks. Finally locate the water station, plop down on the ground and try to recapture some good vibes. Locate the ice cream stand and feast on a chocolate-banana bar. Struggle to stand in line long enough to use the bathroom. Finally take my turn on the plastic throne. Nastiness ensues, but I feel much better after all is said and spewed.
After a few more cups of a water, a few more chocolate banana ice cream bars and a few minutes of lying on the grass I'm ready to put and end to greet the entourage and end this marathon experience.
The whole crew made the trip. How loved am I?
I never intended on having any family members tag along, but they all came anyway. I won't lie, it meant a lot to have them there. You guys are the best.
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Before I put this baby to bed, I need to acknowledge a few people:
Gump
Balboa
Looking for some inspiration to get off the couch and pound some pavement? Look no further than these two characters and the running scenes from these two movies, with honorable mention to the aforementioned Chariots of Fire. Most of my training runs began by listening to "Eye of the Tiger" and "Gonna Fly Now." There were a handful of "Run Forrest Run" signs along the course, and I took great pleasure in each one. And give yourself 10 bonus points if you knew the blog title was a Gumpism.
Satchmo a.k.a. Tony Kornheiser
Sports Guy a.k.a Bill Simmons
I already told you about my trusty sidekick, and these guys were always high on the playlist. While Rocky got my training runs started, Mr. Tony's radio show podcast and the BS Report were the voices that drowned out the monotonous miles. Not sure if I can explain why I prefer to listen to a couple guys talking about sports, pop culture and other news than music, but it definitely got the job done. They're smart, they're funny, and they've got a format that gets the job done every time.
And last but not least......
Miss Fabulous
Whenever someone asked me why I was running the marathon or what time I was shooting for, the token answer was "I just want to beat Oprah." Yeah, I stole the notion from P. Diddy, but doing anything to spite, mock, or draw attention to my distaste for the Big O is one of my "favorite things." There were a number of weeks I finished my long Saturday run thinking I might not beat her time of 4 hours and 20 minutes, but fortunately I was prideful and delusional enough to make myself think this actually mattered and would crush my masculinity if I didn't get it done.
Hey Oprah, do you like apples?
3:50.40. How do you like them apples!!!!!
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Parting thought:
This used to be funny to me. Not anymore.
