Famous Potato Marathon
Worst race ever.
I didn't really feel prepared for this one. I had only put in two
20-milers in April and my diet's been pretty lousy lately too. But I
signed up for the race anyway figuring that my time wouldn't be the
best, but it would be a good challenge. That was a good plan
until on Thursday night things took a turn for the worse. I came down
with what I can only imagine was a mild case of food poisoning. I spent
most of Friday on the can feeling generally lousy. I drank as much
water and Gatorade as I could, but it seemed to be just going straight
through me. So, genius that I am, I decided to give the race a shot
anyway. Saturday morning I was not feeling swell, but better than
Friday (at least that's what I told myself). My plan was to try to keep
at about an 8:30 pace for as long as I could and then hang on the last
few miles and see if I couldn't put in a decent time. That didn't work
out so well. By the time I was about 3 miles into it I knew that
8:30 - 8:40 was all I could muster. I tried to keep that pace through
the first half, but slowed down into the nines after about 10 miles and
by the time I reached the half-way point my cumulative pace was just
under 9:00. My gut was kind of rumbling the whole way, but not enough
to warrant a pit-stop. The next few miles I got slower and
slower. I kept running, but just barely. Senior citizens were passing
me right and left. At about 16 miles I saw Tony on his way back. "How's
it going, Tony?" "Sucks" "Me too" Then, Tony being Tony he told me I
was doing great. He lied. At mile 18 I saw Neil on his way back.
He was walking. He claims I talked him into running this race. I might
have lost a friend today. By the time I got off the green belt
just before the turn-around I was spent. My wife was waiting there and
told me that I didn't look so good. I slowed to a walk and she walked
with me the 100 yards or so to the turn-around. At that point my body
started freaking out on me. I actually started crying. Not sure why --
that was weird. A guy sitting on a lawn chair in front of his house
said "You can do it. Only seven miles left." At the turn-around
aid station I drank two cups of water and started walking back toward
the greenbelt. I started feeling really awful and the next thing I knew
I was on my knees puking water on someone's lawn. Mr. Only Seven Miles
Left came over and said "Dude, sometimes you just have to call it a
day. You've still got seven miles left to run. And that's a hell of a long way." That was the last straw. I walked to the van, ripped off my number, laid down on the floor and told my wife to drive me home. On
the way home more strange things were happening. My body was kind of
twitching in some funny places. Then when I got home I started
shivering. I laid down on the floor with a blanket over me until the
shaking stopped. Then I went upstairs, took a hot shower and got into
bed. And the shivering started again. I just couldn't get warm, even
though it was not cool in the house at all. After resting for a
little while, we got back in the car and drove to the park and I made
my walk of shame to pick up my bag and turn in my timing chip. So
now I'm still a seven-time marathon finisher and a one time DNF puker.
Marathons and food-poisoning don't mix. Lesson learned.
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