I wanted to share my experience as a part of the 2012 Grandfather Mountain Marathon, and I've been putting it off for some time. So before some of the recollections fade too much, here is a recap. I am hoping that some of you who will read this will be inspired to join me next year, God willing that I return to race in '13.
I began my journey by heading up to North Carolina 10 days prior to race day. I am a "flat-lander" (though I have an affinity for hill running) and I was in need of some elevation and some incline. I knew that I was getting close to my cutoff for logging mileage that would be beneficial, being this close to race day, so I stacked my hard runs at the beginning of the trip. Wanting to find the highest altitude possible, I headed to Mt. Mitchell and indulged in a challenging 9.6 miler to the summit and back.
The rest of my pre-race runs were spent rambling through forests on single-track trails and winding my way through some of my favorite parts of Asheville. I took it easy, soaking up my surroundings. Perhaps the most beneficial bit of it all was getting the chance to commune with nature, taking advantage of the chance to free myself from all of the constant chatter that inundates our heads. A few days before the race I headed to Boone to take advantage of my favorite trail (Fire Tower Trail at Moses Cone Memorial) for some shake-out runs. I never take complete rest prior to a race, as I like to keep mobile, keeping my legs in regular motion.
RACE DAY
The morning of the race, I woke to my 4:00 am wakeup call. I sprang lightly out of bed, splashed in some hot water and threw on my gear: a pair of shorts and my flats. I arrived at the starting line at 5:00 sharp, greeted by misting rain, lighting and rolling thunder.
I set off for an easy one-miler around the track, chased that down with some fluids and nutrients, and then awaited the start, soaking in the vibes. There's something about the excitement that leads up to the moment when "the tribe" gets unleashed and the amoeba of runners moves out onto the course. Nothing beats going out in the lead pack. Nothing except being confident that can stay in the lead pack.
We hit our first mile at about 6'30" and it felt comfortable. Almost too comfortable. I wanted to keep my pace just a bit on the conservative side, knowing that a mile and a half in we'd start some of our first climbs. But I wanted to go faster still, and I wanted to take advantage of the flats while we had them. Instead of worrying too much about my pace, I decided to just flow with what felt good. I was running about 10 seconds behind the leaders, and at this point in about 6th place. Within another mile, I was running third, trading with fourth, a guy by the name of Brian Fowler. This "trading" ended up going on for about 22 miles, and ended up being critical to my race.
I focused on not paying attention to my splits, which is not a common practice of mine. However, it's hard to mark your miles on this course even if you wanted to, as not all of them are discernible (and I don't carry a watch equipped with GPS). Instead I focused on my body, listening to it more than ever. I also focused on Brian. We talked about efficiency and form, hill strategy, the whole gamut. At around mile 7/8, Brian pulled away from me on a particularly steep and long down hill, but by mile 10 I was back on his shoulder, charging a 3 mile uphill. At the mile 11 aid station, Brian and I were side by side, preparing to enter the Parkway section of the course. I later learned that he leaders, Glen Mays and Stephen Cowie, had caught sight of us as we approached the Parkway.
The next few miles were critical to the remainder of our race. Brian and I decided to work as a team and trade off the lead position about every 5 minutes or so. I later learned from Brian that we were hitting sub 6 minute miles ( for about a 4 mile section), and that set the standard for the rest of the race. (note: we did not maintain sub 6 minute miles, but we did base our remaining effort on that standard)
At around mile 15, Brian and I still ran shoulder to shoulder. The hill on this mile really hit me in the gut, even though it was not a significant incline. But like every run, you run in the moment and overcome with each stride. After the next aid station, we hit gravel road that meandered through some dense forest. I felt great. It suddenly felt like I hadn't even run a mile. It was nice to get off of the tarmac for a while. Nice until about a mile along the gravel road where we hit "the wall". I'm not talking about the infamous runner's wall that happens around mile 20, but a wall in the guise of a hill. It's a short climb, but it feels like you're on a 45 degree pitch (which it might have been). You really have to dig in deep here. Brian began to put about a 10 meter lead on me here. He was really booking it up this one. At the top we hit an aid station that played as the welcoming committee for more tarmac. But about a quarter of a mile into our next climb, which incidentally is immediately after "the wall", Brain abruptly stopped and straightened up in a rigid posture, looking like someone getting hit with severe hamstring cramps. He said he was fine when I inquired. I took 3rd place back. It was short lived. He was back within 400 meters, running as if he hadn't missed a stride.
The next section are the doldrums of the course. It's not a terribly steep cluster of miles, but it's hard to focus when you get there. These miles seem long and it becomes as critical as ever that you focus on the moment, acting in the present. If I had been flying solo at this point, I'm not sure I would have been able to keep the pace. Brian really kept me going. "This is where economics is everything!", I said to him. We kept moving, side by side, one of us taking initiative, one of us following, continuing to switch positions.
It wasn't until about the 22 mark that it came down to it: Who had more? Who was more prepared? Who had the guts? And which one of us could go with the guy who put on the afterburners? Brian began to pull away. I gave it everything that I could to maintain his pace. But then I had to question myself: would I be able to finish with the vim that I needed if I went with him now? It was decision time. And then it happened. I got hit with stomach cramps. Did it matter now if I wanted to hang on to Brian's pace? He was really moving, and uphill. I did not have what he had, and that was clear. I decided that it was now me and the clock.
Funny how you can be moving and feel like you're in limbo. I couldn't hear anyone behind me in the stillness. No hooting from the last aid station. No one behind me. No visual of Brian up ahead of me for the next bend in the road. I was in no-man's land, all alone. I wanted to be pushing my pace and working with Brian. He couldn't be too far ahead, could he? It was a winding section of road, and the last I had seen of him, he was about 30 seconds out. He looked strong. I still had hope for myself to reel him in, but when you are alone, that is a tall order. Beware of head games. After all, hitting the wall is more of a mental thing than it is a physical one (and I'm ready to argue that).
In miles 23 and 24 I dug as deeply as I could, letting out bellows of rage at my obstinate stomach cramps. The cramps finally subsided and I was able to put more focus back on my turnover and fluidity. I began to recognize landmarks and realized that I was about a mile out from the finish. It's a blissful moment, seeing the entrance to the park at the turnoff for the finish and hear the bagpipes droning; a wave of emotion wells up inside of you that is indescribable. Now for the short, muddy down hill, followed by the short, muddy uphill and a lap around the quarter-mile dirt track and across finish. My watch was reading 2:58 and change. I could find no more than I was giving, and yet, I'd never felt better. My stride, pace, my state of mind, my emotions flaring like loose flames inside of me. 2:59 and change as I entered the track. I had nothing left, but I gave it all anyway. I hit the line at 3:00:31. I was only a few seconds off of the ppm of my previous PR on a fast course. I officially averaged 6'53" per mile, with a 4th place overall finish.
It's hard to be a matter of seconds from your race goal, especially when you have faced up to such a challenging course and gave it your heart and soul. But I could not have been happier. I shared the day with some amazing people and gave it all the love in my heart. That's what running is all about. Sharing in that love, that pain, that joy of giving.
I learned so much more about myself that day, and so much more about what it takes to chase goals and achieve them - the training, the commitment, the strength of character, both on and off of the course, the compassion that we live with everyday. The experiences that we have offer up invaluable lessons, and I urge that we actively seek them out so that we may thrive. Continue to set new, higher standards for yourself and work on finding that love and passion, that giving spirit that will spur you on.
Always searching for the next key experience,
J. Brewer
