Baristing

The Des Moines marathon has, if you're interested, a lot to recommend it. Good volunteers who hold cups correctly, a few more hills than you might like, and a bit longer--but they're all early. If you're smarter than me the second half could be run very fast; it's a course calling out for a negative split. I listened but did not, as teachers sometimes told me in grade school, listen. There was a Motley Crue cover band at mile 25, but they hadn't started playing yet when I passed, so I guess that's a negative. (Or maybe they were primarily for the half marathon, and were done already? I don't know and won't research the matter further.)

I started the race too fast, in a pack, justifying the act to myself by drafting and social pressure and the idea that if they could do it, so could I. Many of the runners were college--or just graduated--young men, and they really liked the sign one spectator was holding about how you should "find a cute butt and follow it". 

They all pulled away between 3-6 miles. About half would come back, Icarus-style, much later.

I persisted, knowing I'd gone too fast, but wanting not to overcompensate and now go too slow. I got passed and did a little passing, but mostly ran a solo tempo until mile 12, at which point I entered the Drake track, and make a loop of the blue surface. This felt rather exceptional. There were people, one of whom was my dad, and I knew now I'd essentially made it half way and was on time. 

There was another long stretch of straight and solo running then, and a park around mile 18, which I knew would continue until mile 24. There was a dirt trail, and I briefly entertained the notion of darting that way, of doing a little dirt jogging and rock hopping, and just abandoning this whole thing. It hurt, then. I threw an empty water cup into a trash can, and the volunteers cheered, and that helped. I tried to do another behind my back, and didn't succeed, but they cheered that too. 

I got passed by a hard charging man by a lake at mile 22. He told me to come with him, and I said that I couldn't. I then caught one of the aforementioned college guys, and then another. The second stayed with me for a bit, and a friend of his darted along the course, yelling encouragement, alternating between insisting that said friend beat me or work with me--he apologized when the former command was issued. 

We trudged on together. There was briefly the notion of a Motley Crue cover band--but then, as we've established, there was no such band. A bridge, then, and a couple turns. The announcer said I looked pumped; and indeed, the photos I'm not going to buy and thus will not post show a large smile. 

I finished at 2:55:30, drank half a bottle of water, grabbed another, and waited for my girlfriend to come across the line. She had wanted to break 3 hours, but didn't. She will, though. We had some pretty good cookies--I always erroneously assume I'll just make do with whatever food is around, whenever I stumble on it. 

It's Wednesday now, and that happened Sunday. I'm pretty happy with it all, though I believe I can get much fitter, and execute better. So, I believe I can go faster. But who doesn't? 

It has also occurred to me that I now have a PR I don't hate at every distance but 100 miles, because I haven't finished 100 miles. People I know are tired of me talking about that, so I probably need to do it. Granted, post sign up, I'll probably talk about it to an insufferable degree. We'll see.