A Boston Tea Party in Tucson

Here's an obvious observation: it's both dark and cold at 4:30 in the morning, even in Tucson (the cold, I suppose is relative, but the dark is absolute). That's pretty much all I'm thinking when I walk outside on Sunday a.m. at the aforementioned time. The stars are shining, the air is still, and I shiver in the chill, wondering (not for the first time) what I'm doing. The idea of running a marathon is much easier than the actual running of a marathon, and it all begins with hauling your bones out of bed way before dawn and forcing yourself to eat something. Which I do as I drive to the shuttle, feeling groggy and slightly disoriented and a little bit nervous about what's to come. After parking, I walk to the shuttle, climb aboard, and settle in for what I know from past experience is a fairly long ride (over 26 miles) to the starting point of the race, which is up above the town of Oracle, north of Tucson. The good news? The bus has heat. The bad news? The driver, who's wearing a Santa hat (actually, he looks a lot like Santa) decides to "amuse" us by telling jokes he's either read in Reader's Digest or heard from his granddaughter, who is in kindergarten. Since my wife has taught kindergarten, first, and second grade for a lot of years, I've surpassed my quota for this kind of humor, and they're even less funny at five in the morning. So he tells the jokes, and people groan/laugh good-naturedly, and we make it to the starting line without incident (unlike last year when we were supposed to go to the half starting point and the driver mistakenly took us to the full, then realized his mistake, made a quick u-turn (on a highway), drove back to the turnoff where he should have turned, then refused to drive up the road because it was "too narrow" and made us walk about a mile-and-a-half (uphill) to the starting point).

Anyhow, after the usual pre-race rituals, I join the starting group (right around 1000 people) and wait for the signal to start. I position myself right behind the 3:30 pacer, figuring I'll stick with her as much as possible since that's the time I'm shooting for. As usual, people run fast at the beginning, especially since the first mile or so is down a pretty big hill. I soon lose sight of the pacer, but I'm not too worried, because I know I'm going faster than my goal pace. We wind around the Oracle area, up and down hills, and I'm enjoying the views (the sun is up by now) and starting to get in a rhythm. Overall, I feel pretty good - I'm working, but my stride feels loose and relaxed, so I figure I'm okay. Within a couple of miles, I catch sight of the pacer again, and I settle in about ten yards behind the group that's clustered around her. I have my IPod, and I'm not in the mood for conversation. I like to run with people on training runs, but when I'm running for real, I'd rather turn my focus inward and ignore everyone around me as much as possible.

After about 6 1/2 miles of ups and downs (mostly downs) we hit the edge of town and turn onto the highway, which we'll follow all the way to Catalina. For the next three or four miles, I concentrate on maintaining an easy pace, remembering the old advice about how to run a marathon - run the first 10 miles with your head, the second 10 miles with your legs, and the last 6.2 with your heart. My mile splits are all between 7:45 and 7:50, so I'm actually a couple of minutes ahead of my goal pace when we hit the 10-mile mark and turn onto Biosphere Road. This is the part I knew was going to be a challenge - a four-mile up-and-back with a pretty good climb for the "up." My pace slows for these two miles, but so does everyone else's, including the pacer's, so I don't worry about it too much. The worst thing about these out-and-back sections is that when I'm going out, the people who are faster than me are coming back, and I'm always tempted to pull a Rosie Ruiz and join them (which is not possible, since they put timing mats at the end of the "out" so people can't cheat - plus, I don't really want to cheat… okay, maybe a little).

Once I finish the "out" portion, I pick up my pace again on the "back" part, and pass the 13.1 mark in 1:43, which is still two minutes ahead of my goal pace. So I'm still in good shape, but I'm starting to feel tired. My left hip is beginning to hurt, and my feet are getting sore. I could slow down, but I've decided that I'm going for it today. I'm going to push it for as long as I can and see if I can make it. We turn back onto the highway, and there's a long downhill stretch to Oracle Junction. Actually, it turns out to be longer than I remembered, and I keep thinking it will be at the bottom of the next hill. The pacer switched with a buddy at the halfway point, and the new pacer is obviously feeling energetic, because she pulls steadily ahead of me, even though I'm still doing my miles at a regular 7:45-7:50 pace. I decide to stick with what I'm doing and not worry if she gets ahead. She'll probably slow down at some point. Either way, I'm still on track for my goal.

The miles pass. I see my wife and a friend on the side of the road - they wave and shout encouragement, and I wave in return - sorry, no time to stop and chat. By the time I reach 15, I need to start setting sub-goals. I can't think about having to run another 11.2 - especially at this pace. There's no way I could do that. Instead, I focus on managing one mile at a time. Just make it to 16, I tell myself. Then 17. 18. 19. When I reach 20, I'm getting seriously tired. I've managed to keep my pace under 8's, but my right calf is starting to hurt, my hip has gotten worse, and my feet are starting to burn. Plus, my legs are beginning to feel a little numb. Only 6.2 to go, I think. It's only a 10 K race. This is the part you run with your heart. It's okay if you're hurting. Everybody is hurting at this point. You've been through this before. All you need to do is hang on for another 50 minutes and you'll have it. So I keep on pushing, one mile at a time.

It's tougher to run through the water stops now. I walk through every other one, pausing just long enough to swallow some water and sports drink, then forcing myself to start running again. It feels so good to walk, even though it's only for a few seconds. All I want to do is stop running and walk. I can't think about that. One more mile, I keep telling myself. All you've got to do is make it to 22. Then 23. 3.2 to go. It's only a 5 K. I've got to run a 5 K in 25 minutes to make my goal. How easy that would be if I was fresh and rested. There's nothing to it. But after 22 miles, I'm feeling spent. I don't know if I'm going to make it. I see my wife again - she's smiling and cheering me on, and all I feel is frustrated and mad. Easy for you to cheer, I think. I've definitely entered into the "bite me" zone. And then I hear the song on my IPod - it's "I Run for Life," by Melissa Etheridge. Could the timing be any more perfect? This is exactly what I need. The song starts, and I turn up the volume and force my legs forward as the lyrics from the chorus blast into my ears - "I run for hope / I run to feel / I run for the truth for all that is real / I run for your mother, your sister, your wife / I run for you and me my friend / I run for life." Okay, I think, this is tough. I feel sore and tired and like I can't go any further, but so many people have done things that are harder than this. This time, I'm going to push through the pain and discomfort and go as fast as I possibly can. I'm not going to stop for this last section. I'm not going to pause to take some water, because if I stop to walk, I may not be able to start up again. I don't have any time to spare if I'm going to hit my goal. The pacer is in sight, but she's at least a full minute ahead of me, so I don't have room to mess around. And I run. I'm mad, but I'm determined, and I grit my teeth and go as fast as I can till I reach 24. Then 25. Only 1.2 more. I know where the finish is. Down this road, a right turn, up a hill, then turn right and the finish line is right there. Now I'm starting to believe I can do this. I don't have any time to spare, but all I've got to do is keep up this pace. I've got 10 minutes to make it. Stop thinking about it. Just run. One step at a time.

I run past the final water station. There's a guy right in front of me, and I'm pretty sure he's got the same goal I do. We're both struggling, but I focus on staying with him, then I pass him. I can hear him right behind me. We're going to make it, I want to tell him, but I can't afford the energy it would take. Relax, I tell myself. Smooth and easy and relaxed as I make the turn and start up the last hill. Not even a hill. Just a slight rise, but anything seems daunting at this point. Still, I can sense the finish line. People are standing along the course cheering, encouraging, urging us on. "Finish strong!" they yell. "You're almost there!" And I am. Almost there. I hit the 26 mile mark and glance down at my watch. I've got two minutes to cover the last .2 - I know I've got that much left. And then I'll be able to stop. My anger evaporates and I start to feel a rush of what I guess is adrenaline. I round the final turn, and there's the finish line. I'm focused on the clock. It's passed the 3:30 mark, but I only have to finish before it hits 3:31 and I'll qualify for Boston. I realize I'm going to make it, and I almost smile, and then I'm crossing the finish line and finally, blessedly, slowing to a walk, which is little more than a shuffle, as I accept my medal and a bottle of water.

There's nothing like the feeling that washes over me as I sip my water and shuffle around, trying to figure out which part of my body feels the worst. I did it, with 26 seconds to spare. 26 seconds - one second per mile. How amazing is that? For awhile, there, I didn't think I could do it, but somehow I pulled it off. I talk to several people I know, basically telling them how wiped out I am, but at the same time, how great I feel, wipe the salt off my face, hug my wife, who is probably more excited than me (or just not as exhausted), and continue to shuffle around. I think about eating something, but there's no way. Not yet. I'm going to be really sore in a couple of hours. But it was worth it. Without a doubt.