Death by asphalt....

Or the Pittsburgh Marathon as the signs called it. What can I say? This was the worst performance of my life and my biggest disappointment so far in my racing career. I kept doubting my training and feeling underprepared. I was half looking for an excuse not to run. I don't know why I doubted myself so much but I guess it was just foreshadowing on the tragedy that was my first marathon. My husband thankfully took today off work to be there for me otherwise I probably would have just stayed in bed this morning.

The morning started at 2AM which is just way too early. I got ready and then couldn't find anything I wanted to eat. My stomach was in knots and I couldn't tell if it was nerves, hunger, or something worse gnawing at my gut. I would soon find out is was a mix of everything and it would only get worse. I'll spare you the gory details but it was pretty horrendous.

We arrived at the parking garage at 3:45AM. Oops, it didn't open until 4 so we sat around for awhile and then parked and sat some more. After a while we hit the bathrooms and walked over to the starting line about a mile away. We found my corral and found a seat on some concrete steps. My stomach continued to wreak havoc on me and I tried to eat a bit of a snack bar but I felt like it was going to come back up. We watched the walkers 6AM start and sat some more. I started to get stiff and sore so I stretched and walked and went to the bathroom again but nothing made me feel better. Then it started raining and I got just a tad more miserable.

Finally the runners started to line up. I jumped in with the 4:45 pace group and figured out that would be a 10:57 average pace. That was about my goal and I figured it would give me a safety net to still break 5 hours. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Once the gun went off it was about 14 minutes until I crossed the starting line. It was all false starts and quick stops. I could feel the frustration rising around me and I started to worry that I wouldn't be able to get a good rhythm for a long time. Thankfully things thinned out pretty quickly but I still couldn't find a rhythm.


I looked to my Garmin to judge my pace and it was worthless. The tall buildings and overpasses were messing with the signal and my pace reading was all over the place. I tried to pick someone that looked comfortable and stick with them until we got to a more open area. That went okay but when we got free my pace was still all over the place, 10:15, 11:30... everything but that 10:55-11:00 that I was aiming for. To make it harder the skies opened up and the rain began falling harder over the next couple miles.

After a few miles I was really starting to worry. My stomach downright hurt and I felt like I could eat a small horse. I looked for GU at every aid station and it just wasn't there. There was nothing besides water and Gatorade for the first 9 or so miles. It was here that I really started kicking myself for relying on the aid stations. I felt a little better when the rain let up and thought maybe the worst was over. HA!

Luckily, I caught two women from New Jersey, wearing Team Lyme shirts, who were running right about where I wanted to be pace-wise so I started chatting them up and we got on really well. We made promises to stay in touch and run another marathon together someday (Holly and Daniella, if you ever read this, I'm not sure I'm willing to subject myself to this again!). Daniella even shared her shot blox with me to help calm my stomach. It somewhat worked and I was able to keep my mind off the pain as we chatted. I hit the 10k point at 1:11, a little behind pace but not bad overall. The sun started to come out and things started to heat up. The humidity in the air was thick like fog and hard to breathe. Runners were already collapsing and being loaded into ambulances. I was determined not to be one of them.

The Team Lyme girls kept me going for over half of the race! Heartfelt thanks to them!


I finally found some food, pretzels and GU, a few miles later and started to feel a little better. I kept drinking Gatorade knowing that I tend to overdrink water. The Gatorade messed with my stomach a little bit but I had gotten a grip on the pain and it wasn't messing with my running anymore. We hit the half at 2:34:32. I had slowed down a little more overall but I was still generally happy with my work so far. It wouldn't last for long.

About a mile later (14) the wheels came off. I started walking, my calves started cramping, my right knee started tightening up just like it did in my 50k and last half marathon. I was reduced to a snail's pace for the next mile. I ate and drank and ate some more. I hit mile 15 in 3:01. It finally started to come back together around mile 16-17 and I was able to get back to running more than walking even though it was slower than before. By this point I had lost Daniella and Holly and I knew I wasn't hitting my goal. I decided I would just aim to finish before the 6 hour cut-off and do my best to hit 5:30. The sun was out with much thinner cloud cover now and I was feeling really warm. I wanted to take my shirt off but I was afraid my bib chip wouldn't read if I did or that the police would think I was a bandit and pull me off the course.

I seemed to be okay for the next couple miles. My stomach calmed down, my calves and knee loosened. Then, halfway through mile 18, I totally came undone again. Another runner asked me how it was going at mile 19 and I couldn't even answer. I just burst out in tears and did my best not to just stop and quit right there.

I started setting tiny goals just to keep going. At first it was 'get to mile 20 then you can walk' but before long it became 'run to the stoplight and then you can walk'. I hit mile 20 in 4:17. The 5:30 pace bunny passed me somewhere after here but I just kept telling myself it was just another 10k and I couldn't quit now.

Every mile ticked by slower than the last. I started walking all of the uphills, speed walking the flats, and flat out running the downhills (which at this point meant an 11-12 minute mile pace). I got to mile 23 by some miracle and started to bawl again. This time I just felt relief. I couldn't believe I was going to finish. Just a 5k left! I started to run again.

The next 5k was the most irritating of my life. I did the math and realized I was closer to 6 hour pace now than 5:30. The 5:30 pace bunny was out of sight and I was edging closer and closer to a meltdown. To top it off a woman walker came up and asked me if the cut off was course time or chip time. Being that it had taken me 14 minutes to cross the starting line I started to panic realizing I might not get a medal if it was based on course time. Finishing after everything I'd been through and not getting any kind of recognition seemed like a slap in the face. I HAD to get that medal!

I did some quick math and realized I had just over 2 miles left and I could come in just under 6 hours course time if I found some way to keep my pace up. The panic fueled me and I made it to the last major obstacle, the 4th and final bridge crossing, with few walk breaks. The 26 mile marker was just on the other side of that bridge and I was determined to make it. However, the incline of the bridge quickly took me down a notch. I realized I wasn't going much faster than walking pace and I was expending twice the energy. I walked to the top and then floored it down to the 26 mile marker and the final turn to the finish.

At this point, the final downfall was of my own making. I saw my husband there, waiting patiently with camera-in-hand, and started bawling one more time. I couldn't breathe so I stopped to walk again and my husband snapped some pics. I promised him I would just walk to the intersection and then run to the finish and I did.

As I got to the last 100 yards or so I set my sights on a girl about my age and a guy running with his son. I was determined to pass SOMEONE, ANYONE at this point. I gave it every last drop I had and passed them all, not even able to smile as the announcer referred to me as a 'speeding bullet'. I crossed the line (5:49:40 chip time), looked around, and saw no medals!

I started to cry again as I looked back and saw 6:04 on the clock (my course time was 6:03:43). Then one last good thing happened to me. I looked up and saw a volunteer with an arm full of medals standing in front of me. He put it over my head and congratulated me on my finishing kick. I started to cry harder and then headed for the exit to reunite with my husband.

Overall, this was a completely demoralizing experience. I feel like six months of training was wasted and that maybe I just shouldn't be a runner afterall. Yet, somewhere deep inside I feel satisfaction knowing I stared the worst possible race day scenerio in the face and still finished. Among 217 DNF's, my name is not on that list. I was not DFL and I wasn't even last in my age group. Everyone suffered today and we all overcame no matter how long it took. I'm not sure if or when I'll put myself through a road marathon again but it definitely was a whole different experience!