Thanks to Runner's Edge of Kansas City ("the Original"), I had the chance to run this marathon as a Pacer for the 5:45 group. Unlike at Denver last month, this time I was set to pace for the entire 26.2 mile distance, but at a pace almost 2 hours slower than my marathon PR. ("And, in fact, my finish time sits as my slowest marathon time ever." "Yeah...by about 24 minutes." "Shh!") Thanks to the Walker Group Coach from Runner's Edge of the Rockies, I had a good race strategy, which I'd spent the last few weeks practicing: walk for 0.35 miles, then run for 0.15. I set my Garmin for an interval workout to give a beep every time I had to change speed--without that, I would have driven myself crazy watching for those splits or, more than likely, forgotten to look entirely.
My co-pacer Carla and I discussed our strategy race-day morning. Since I had more pacing experience than she, I would take the lead and be responsible for holding the pace. She would fall back and act as sweeper. At the start line (well, about a quarter-mile back of it, really), we found we had a good-sized group of runners planning to run with us, a dozen or so. There was a mixed bag of first-timers, long-timers, maniacs, and folks who'd run marathons before but decades ago. I hoped that all of them would stick with us for the whole race; but I told them that if they were feeling strong and wanted to run ahead to the next group, they wouldn't hurt our feelings. Quite the opposite, in fact! Likewise, if they started ahead of us but needed to fall back or run behind us, that was okay too. "Run your own race!" One first-time runner who was going to start with us did exactly that: after hanging with me for less than a quarter mile, he pulled ahead. I never saw him again, and he finished in 5:29:29.
There were, however, eight or ten runners that stuck with us for most of the race. There were six that stayed with me pretty consistently as we wound our way through Kansas City, sometimes falling back a bit but mostly keeping right up with me, and a few more that hung back with Carla. As we went, I did my best to provide encouragement as well as distraction: after every run break I congratulated the runners with me, and shared with them a few of my funnier ("At least, to me...") running tales. I told them the story of the end of the Phoenix marathon, how spectators at every corner in the last half mile would say "Only one more turn!" until I threatened to punch somebody in the nose. I mentioned that a co-pacer friend of mine "back home in Denver" had as her gimmick a joke she would tell every mile when she paced half marathons, but that I couldn't do that because I'd never remember 26 jokes unless I wrote them down. ("Besides which, you only really have, like, four.")
Not that I entirely dominated the conversation, at least in the early miles. I wanted to hear about the people running with me, get some of their stories. At the same time, I didn't want them to expend too much energy talking with me as we ran, knowing they'd need it in the race's final miles. Still, I was able to get to know a few of the more gregarious and talkative runners keeping pace with me. One in particular, a 61-year old who was running his first marathon in many years, had some terrific stories to tell of his decades of military service.
As the morning and the race went on, I was pleased to see that we were keeping very much on pace, thanks to the walk/run strategy. A 5 hour, 45 minute marathon means an average pace of 13 minute, nine second miles, which would have been very difficult for me to manage for the whole distance: not because I'd have to push myself to keep it, but because I'd have to concentrate hard on holding back the entire time. With the system I used, we could walk (deliberately; we weren't strolling, we were definitely racewalking) at an even pace, and then run faster or slower depending on how much time we had to hit our splits.
After about 18 miles, the group of six that was with me had dwindled to three. However we caught up to a few runners who had started ahead of us and were slipping back. More than a few of them, upon being passed by me and my pacer sign, would rally themselves to pick up the pace. At mile 21, I told the 61-year old, who had kept pace with me for the entire race so far and seemed to have as much energy left in him as I did (if not more), that he should run on ahead. "As much as I've enjoyed running and talking with you this time--and I really have," I told him, "I think you can definitely try pushing yourself to run on ahead of me. Don't hold yourself back on my account!" After thanking me for sharing my racing wisdom and leadership, he took off. I checked later: he finished his race three minutes head of me. I probably should have told him to make his move sooner!
Meanwhile, another of the runners who'd stuck more or less with me for the entire race was starting to have some troubles. She was pushing herself pretty hard, and stayed pretty positive, but was definitely struggling. I told her I'd stick with her to the end of the race (at this point, less than 5 miles away, with a nice downhill to look forward to), and offer all the encouragement and support I could. I looked back; Carla likewise was keeping pace with another runner who'd been with us from the start (a friend of the one running with me, in fact). True to my word, I walked and jogged alongside Melissa for the rest of the race, doing my best to keep her distracted with my four jokes and a retelling of the Phoenix story, among other things, and motivated. This was her first marathon, and I told her how proud of her I was for doing something that only a very small portion of the population ever considers, let alone accomplishes. I shared with her a comment that had been shared with me just before my first marathon, that in spite of all the support and encouragement my friends and family (and even running friends) had given me, that in the end, *I* was the one doing all those miles. I told Melissa, "You're not doing this for them. You're doing it for yourself. It's your victory, it's your accomplishment. It's something that you'll always remember, always be able to look back on with enormous pride. And, since it's your first, it'll be your PR! Until the next one..."
In the last 5k, I gave her a few of my remaining Honey Stinger chews. I rallied her to jog down the long hill in mile 24, and kept up my encouragement as she slogged through the last few miles. Even at the small bridge that we had to get over in the last quarter mile, I pushed her as hard as she could go. "Hill? What hill? There's no hill here!" We topped that and had the downslope to the finish line, and she picked up her pace to cross with all the energy she had left--which wasn't much. After we got our medals, she turned to me and thanked me for pacing and encouraging her and pushing her as much as I did. I told her she had nothing to thank me for: she'd done it all on her own.
I was very pleased with how the day turned out. We'd had a good sized group that had run with us for most of the race, and a few people who managed to pull ahead of us. Carla and I each stuck with a runner who needed some support, and we got them across the finish line. It is true that I didn't hit my targeted time of 5:44:59. I certainly could have; but I felt it was more important to push a first-timer to her first finish, to encourage her and support her, rather than leaving her in my dust so I could get my own time. That support mechanism was as important a part of my job as the actual pacing, if not more so.
Official Time: 5:47:18
YTD Race Miles: 133.9
YTD Total Miles: 1183.4
Worth a punch in the nose: In the last mile of the race, I told Melissa that the upcoming turn was the last one on the course, that she'd see the finish line as we came around it. Turns out, there were two more turns ahead of us.
Bookworm at Edwards CO signing
6 months ago
