My Marathon – A day I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

It seems surreal to look back on this.  As if it didn’t really happen but it was too painful, too costly to ever deny or forget.

In the spring of 2002 I had returned from a month long deployment to Las Vegas with the USAF.  I was an occasional and recreational bicycle rider but it was too difficult to travel with a bike and the required riding gear.  On these roughly once a year deployments, I’d take up jogging a few times a week.  Once home the running shoes would be tucked away and the biking resumed.

This time, a few days after returning from Vegas I told my wife that I wanted to look into becoming a runner.  A few hours later I had surfed the web and I came up with another proposition.  “Let’s do a marathon!”  The answer was a willing and excited OK.  We reviewed Runners World’s top 20 marathons and noted that St. George was within a day’s drive and far enough out that we’d have time to train for it.  We signed up.

After breaking a bone in my right foot at a track meet many years earlier in high school, I was convinced that I was not built for the sport.  Thus my focus with our training was for us to build up slowly and do everything possible to avoid injury.   I took one of Hal Higdon’s longest marathon plans and stretched it out to cover the entire time between spring and the October race.  We ran over 750 miles in preparation for St. George.  It was all completed at a conversational pace.  No stamina runs, no LT runs, no speed work and no race pace mileage.

When the gun went off I settled into a pace that I felt I could run all day long.  This turned out to be right around 8 minute miles.  St. George is known as a fast marathon but it isn’t a flat or purely downhill course.  At around mile 7 there’s an intimidating hill that can really pack a punch if you’re not ready for it.  One thing we did do in our training was hill work.  My focus was on being prepared for any punishment the course held and the race was known for being brutally down hill in the later miles.  We ran down many long mountain passes in prep for race day.  The uphill climb at mile 7 didn’t faze me.  I actually increased my pace there and pushed over the top.  I was having a lot of fun and things were going well, really well.  Tick, tick. tick…if I only knew what was soon to come.

The weather was great and I couldn’t imagine my first marathon going better as I cruised past the half-marathon point, maintaining my 8 minute mile average.  I was feeling good and thinking 3:30 was easily mine.  The temperature was on the rise though and I started seeing some runners having problems cramping.  Me? All systems go!  Mile 14 gone.

Somewhere just past mile 15 I started feeling pressure at the ends of each big toe, with every foot strike.  Over a short span of about a mile or less this went from pressure to pain and grew in intensity.  What was going on?  I simply couldn’t get my head around it.  I stopped repeatedly to retie my shoes, pulling the laces back and resnugging my heal.  Nothing saved me.  Now, each time my foot transitioned to flat, fire erupted, again and again.  And oh my gosh, there are 10 miles left in this race!

I didn't put in the effort to cross the last 15 miles to have it all fall apart now.  It’s not over.  It’s not.  (Just wait, “It’s not over” will gain new meaning).

I forged on.  My pace naturally suffered because I was always bracing for impact.  It was terribly painful but I took my mind elsewhere.  I talked to people.  I looked for others in pain and offered any encouragement I could, never mentioning my little issue.

Do you remember what I said this race was known for? “ …known for being brutally down hill in the later miles.”  The pressure being exerted on my toes increased.  The more my resolve grew, the more the course put the screws to me.

That last mile seemed to take forever.  Slow motion with real-time pain.  As I approached the tape, I pushed it up.  I had been held back and had plenty of energy for a sprint to the line.  Yeah, the faster I went, the more it hurt but hey, it’s all over now.  …no, it’s far from being over actually, but I don’t know that.

I crossed the line and immediately sat down to lose the shoes.  It wasn’t much relief to get them off but it was a different kind of pain.  I walked around in the grass waiting for my wife to come in.   She had a good and uneventful race, coming in a little slower than she’d hoped but was happy with her first marathon.

My time was 3:43 and some change.  I feel good about that under the circumstances.

Speaking of change, this race turned out to be the most expensive event that I’ve participated in.  What happened was that my already flat arches somehow got flatter or some similar occurrence that would cause both of my feet to gain a half size in length.  I started the race with size 10.5 feet and matching shoes.  I finished the race with size 11 feet in size 10.5 shoes.

Now, the more hobbies one has, the more specialized shoes/boots one has.  If your shoe size changes, the more shoes you have the more expensive it is.  To have an idea, go get prices on upper end downhill ski boots, mountain and road biking shoes, 3 kinds of xc ski boots, Gore-Tex hiking boots, motorcycle riding boots and every other shoe you own.  In the end, I simply couldn’t believe how much this race cost me! 

And yeah, I lost both big toe nails too.

A race to remember!  A race to forget!


If anyone reading is thinking about their first marathon or training for their first marathon, I wouldn't worry about this too much.  I'd never heard about runners feet permanently changing in size until it happened to me.  It's uncommon and guess I was just running the wrong way, again.  :)