There was a noise coming from my bike, the chain grinding against the frame. I looked down to see that my cranks were somehow coming loose, knowing it was a progressive thing, wondering if I could make it through the last lap without something falling off. 5 miles into the 3rd lap, because of the friction, my chain began to slip to the smaller wheel. I hopped off twice to fix it but the same thing kept happening. It was only another 5 miles before I found a service station, got things tight and back to business. All things considered, I still managed a strong third lap, though I did lose 17 minutes off my pace. Still, I don't think it broke me in any way. I knew the 3:30 marathon could still bring me in around 10:20.
First four miles of the run, I felt good, like I was shot out and on my feet and moving around a 730. By six, I felt as sick as I've ever felt, threw up, felt better, got back into an 8 minute pace, determined to hold steady the rest of the way. Slowly, it started to slip. But something else began to occur to me. The run was broken up into 3 eight mile loops, so I could see everyone running ahead of me - there were a few. Hundred. I thought about it only briefly at the time because brutal pain is an attention seeker, and just kept moving my feet until mile 21, when I knew that if I was going to come in under 11 hours, I would have to chop 2 minutes off my per mile pace and make no stops. Like a ship desperately fleeing attackers in the movies on an open sea, I threw overboard all the flasks and pills and shit I had left in my pockets and tossed my bottle to the side of the road. I took a deep breath. The Killers' "Human" started playing on someone's loud speaker. I laughed. Then, I suffered like I've never suffered in my life before I came in at 10:59:20. That was beautiful.
Later last night, I read the qualifying times for men 25-29 was 9 hours flat. 90 minutes faster than last year, same course. I still don't know how to explain that. It made me feel humbled, and naive, in absolute awe for the strength that was out on the course. And sitting here right now, body in pieces, I feel thunderstruck. At times, hours earlier, I could see myself placing in my division...and in reality, I was getting obliterated, fucking destroyed. That's really something to deal with - I'll never forget it. Today, I've been asking myself how I'm not buried by all of this...or how I can possibly be thinking of all the new ideas I have for training, to shave me down, to toughen me up, to quicken my step. It's all I can think about. And I'm not trying to put a bow on this post. I'm not amateur. I am incredibly happy and proud of what happened yesterday but also somewhat humiliated, and devastated, and that's what I'm locking onto - because I have somehow trained my body to lock onto and love and obsess in the things that make me stronger in this world, that keep me in a constant state of evolution...even if the result of those things appear to destroy me. Right now my body is saying rest up, enjoy December, have some cocktails and let those endless other dreams flourish.
Then...come January, come hungry.
