Whistlestop

                It was a blustery October evening when my husband, Chris, and I rolled into Ashland, Wisconsin on Lake Superior for the Whistlestop Marathon.  The high winds snuck into our hotel room through the air conditioner and made a continuous high-pitched whirring.  The windows rattled erratically drawing my attention and annoyance.  This was the night before my marathon.  How was I going to get any rest? 

At packet pickup, we ran into Victor and Bruce.  Both of these men are in my Minneapolis running club and both are old enough to be my father.  In running club, there are two groups of people: the group that I’m polite to and the group that gets me uncensored.  Bruce and Victor are part of the latter group and the uncensorship is, of course, reciprocated.  When you log hundreds of miles with such a group, you become bonded, for better or worse.  I was ecstatic to have these men run this race in Ashland with me.  Bruce registered 14 hours before gun time, one of the many perks of this small town marathon.  He also brought his own bag o’ noodles to the Pasta Feed and Lake Superior Fish Boil.  He can’t do gluten.

Bruce sneaking in gluten free pasta.  It looks like brains.

                The four of us ate dinner in one of the many long rows of tables.  Think church basement.  Victor’s red, squinty eyes begged for sleep, but he kept up with our banter.  He was up all night with a sick kid, but wouldn’t let that ruin his marathon weekend.  In fact, he didn’t even complain about it.  A few other Polite folks from running club sat with us.  It was fun having so many familiar faces there 200 miles away from home.  We discussed the cold weather that would wait for us at the start in the morning.  The wind was not supposed to let up and it was gusting 20-30 miles per hour.  What would we wear?  What time should we get on the shuttle?  How long would we be sitting out at the starting line Lodge?  Would there be room for us inside?  The cold starting line weather became the focus of my paranoia for the rest of the night and into the next morning.  Sure, Chris was around and could drop us off, but he couldn’t take us all the way to the start.  Cars are not allowed within the first two miles of the race and I wasn’t about to add 2 more miles to my expenditure that day.  Also, I never trust the sweats check and didn’t think to bring throw-away warm-ups. 

Victor, Me, and Bruce at the Pasta Feed and Packet Pickup

After I laid out all my race gear on the extra hotel bed, I realized I’d have to check some items that were very dear to my heart.  My running pants and my winter running jacket were going with me to the start and would get tossed into some guy’s trailer just before the gun.  There was no better option.  I’m a person who gets painfully attached to material items.  I give them personalities and reflect on the times we’ve spent together, so this was going to be difficult for me.  Those pants and jacket had gotten me through a long, cold, snowy, cold, long winter of Boston-qualifying training.  We’d been through a lot.  Even so, I’d invested too much into my training to risk having a bad race, so I had to trust the trailer.  Freezing at the start wasn’t going to get me a 3:40 marathon.

All the possibilities

The next morning, Coach Mitch woke me up, unintentionally, at 4:30 a.m. with a text.  “U ok?”  I couldn’t fall back asleep after that.  I was okay.  Nervous, but okay.  I’d done this twice before.  I knew what to expect, but 26 miles is a long way to run strong.  Running easy wouldn’t be so bad, but I couldn’t give up on my training.  I knew I’d have to go hard and I knew it was going to hurt.  I wasn’t confident about a 3:40 performance.  A half I’d run in August was slower than I’d expected and it didn’t predict a 3:40 marathon.   On the way out of the hotel room that morning, I told Chris, “I can’t wait until this is over.”  “Why do it, then?” he asked. 

Let’s go run a marathon!

Chris dropped me off at the shuttle before 7:30, 90 minutes before gun time.  I was SO relieved to see Bruce and Victor waiting for me there.  We hadn’t planned this, they were just THAT nice.  I was instantly calmer and happier.  The ride out to the start was L-O-N-G.  Crazy long.  I mentioned to the guys how it seemed like we were being driven halfway back to Minneapolis.  In reality, the school bus dropped us off somewhere 25 miles outside of town and we were supposed to run back via the Tri-County Corridor, an old railway path in northern Wisconsin. 

                The first best part of the day:  It wasn’t that cold!  The starting line and 95% of the race is in the woods and protected from the wind.  The temperature was in the mid-forties and the sky was overcast.  In other words, PERFECT.  We found a spot in the lodge right next to the pool table, just like Coach Mitch told us to do.  It was comfortable.  With all that time to kill before the race, I ventured out to the porta-potties twice.  Inside the door, there was a small mirror, which I’d never seen in a porta-potty before.  This made me smile and I didn’t let the opportunity pass.  Instead, I got face to face with myself in the mirror, pointed at my reflection, and told myself I was going to have an awesome race:  “You can do this, Cristina.  This is what you train to do.  Don’t be scared.  You know how to do this.  Show some fucking discipline.  Be smart.  Let’s do this.”  The affirmations were an enormous help and all but extinguished my jitters.  Both times.  I really pumped myself up. 

                Gun time was fast approaching and I decided to get rid of my warm ups and get used to the temperature.  I stripped off my jacket and my pants and scrunched them into a garbage bag.  I wished them luck in their journey and tossed them into the trailer.  Spandex shorts, a singlet, and a long sleeve layer would be my race gear.  Not to mention my gloves and a ball cap.  Victor and I filed slowly to the starting line, a group of a few hundred people.  This was my second small-town marathon and I really appreciate the camaraderie and easiness of it all.  It’s much more of a community feel when you’re one of 300 as opposed to one of 12,000.  At Twin Cities Marathon last year, I felt alone in the masses, except for my girl and pace-buddy Tanya.  Here at Whistlestop, everyone was my friend.  Everyone was rooting for me. 

                Bruce found us just a minute before the start.  He gave me a big hug just before the gun.  It was just what I needed for a little added motivation.  I wasn’t just racing for me.  I was racing for everyone who helped through the last year of training:  everyone who kept my spirits up during sub-zero degree long runs last winter, everyone who watched my daughter so I could get my workouts in, everyone who had more confidence in me than I had in myself.  More than not letting myself down, I didn’t want to let anyone else down either.  A lot of people invested in me and I felt all of that encouragement in that hug. 

                Then the gun.  The race started.  Bruce began the race just behind me talking to another guy from our running club.  I didn’t see him again until after the finish.  Victor ran the first mile with me and we stayed on pace with my pace band.  This is my lucky pace band that I’ve used at all my marathons.  I picked it up at the marathon expo for Twin Cities last year.  On the front, it has even splits for finishing in 4:30, my goal for Twin Cities.  (I finished in 4:24.)  On the reverse side, I’d written the splits I’d need to finish in 3:40.  These were not even splits.  Rather, they were calculated by a program Coach Mitch and Bruce had sent me.  The idea is to ease into the marathon for 5 miles, hit cruise control for 15 miles, and add more time to the last 6 miles as the race gets unbearable.  I hit my pace exactly for the first mile and told Victor we were doing well.  He was feeling good, so he decided to take off ahead of me.  I opted to show some fucking discipline (a catchphrase in my run club) and stuck with my pace band. 

                Over the first half of the race, I saw everyone from my running club:  another 2 gals and a guy.  I stayed with them for a while, which was handy when I wanted to take my long sleeves off.  I needed someone to hold my gloves.  I had to reattach my bib to my singlet, which was entertainment for a mile.  It worked, though, and I was much more comfortable in my tank top, shorts, and gloves.

As the race went on, I targeted people to pace me.  For a long while between miles five and ten, I ran side-by-side with a woman in yellow shoes.  I never got her name, but I liked her a lot.  She called me the green machine because of my green top and my steady pace.  I eventually lost her at one of the water stops.  I’d hoped to see her again after the race, but never did.  That’s the thing about races, you don’t get to see people’s faces while you’re running.  I couldn’t have picked her out of a crowd if she wasn’t wearing her yellow shoes.

Me crossing the gorge where I saw Chris.  Did you find me?

                At some point in the first half, I realized I was feeling amazingly good.  This surprised me and it was the second best part of the day.  For every other race I have run, I hated it while I was running it.  Nothing but negative thoughts would fill my head.  But this day, I kept up with my pace band and even banked time.  It didn’t suck.  I told the guy from Running Club who held my gloves earlier I was going to try and qualify.  What does qualifying mean?  3:35 and not a second more would qualify me to run the Boston Marathon in April 2013.  When else was the weather going to be perfect AND when else was I going to feel this good in a marathon?  I didn’t really believe I could do it when I said it, but it still got me running a little bit faster.  Thinking about it distracted and encouraged me.  I slowly pulled away from everyone I knew and started cruising.  I paced off a short guy wearing blue running tights for a few miles.  Eventually, I caught him and panicked for a second.  Who was I going to pace off of now?  Everyone else was way up ahead, so onward I trucked.  It became a pattern to see a runner up ahead, catch him or her, and move on to the next target.  As I passed people, I would yell out some kind of encouragement.  “You’re looking good!”  They reciprocated with friendly words or, sometimes, grunts.  One man asked me what my pace was because he wanted to be sure he would get at least a 3:45.  I told him he was doing better than that. 

                I knew I was going to qualify at mile 15 or so.  The exertion was starting to wear on me.  My head was getting cloudy.  Up ahead, though, I could hear the pulse of techno music over fantastically loud speakers.  It was a beacon.  “What is love?  Baby don’t hurt me, Don’t hurt me, No more.”  The beat radiated through my body and lifted my spirits.  It was pure confidence.  It was elation.  That’s when I knew.   I didn’t come into this race with any intention of qualifying.  Qualifying was the plan for my spring marathon and I ended up with 3:55.  Jumping down by 20 minutes seemed like a stretch.  I’d taken it easy in Whistlestop training, only running 3 days a week instead of five.  I did all the workouts, but skipped the pickups on my long runs.  My heart wasn’t in it the way it was before.  I was just maintaining.  All of this proved to be helpful leading up to the race.  I wasn’t thinking “Boston” every minute of every day.  I still had a life.  There was no pressure.  My goal going into the race was to PR.  Yet, here I was, with the beat pulling me to Boston.  I ran on.  I caught up with Victor just after the dance party, at mile 16 or so.  I had a fleeting hope that he would stay with me and that we’d finish together, but he fell behind.  Like Bruce, I wouldn’t see Victor and his chili pepper socks again until the finish. 

                My plan was to keep steady until mile 20 then pick it up, but I was too impatient for that.  I accelerated at 19.  Almost all of my miles from that point on were sub-8 minutes.  I kept looking for Chris at the intersections to tell him I was going to qualify, but I didn’t see him.  When I finally did a few miles later, he was down in a gorge and I was up on a bridge.  There was no way I was going to waste energy yelling at him.  He’d have to wait.  I ran on. 

I was invincible.  Nothing was going to stop me from Boston.  Until mile 21.  My knee started hurting BAD.  I kept on, but limped more than ran.  I made deals with myself to get through the short term. “Okay.  Run to the sign and then you can walk for a bit.”  I kept running.  “Okay.  When you get to the water stop, you can walk for a bit.”  I ran through the water stop.  I’m not sure how, but after just one mile, this terrible pain went away, as if nothing ever happened.  This was the third best part of the day.  It was time to finish this.  I ran on.

Mile 25, Out of the woods

                At mile 24, I saw a couple girls from running club who raced the half marathon that morning.  They had hunkered down flat on the grass to keep warm.  It was still windy and cold if you weren’t moving.  They popped up to cheer when they saw me coming.  It was awesome.  Then I saw Chris and finally told him, “I’m going to qualify!”  He said he knew.  It was after this that I finally switched modes on my Garmin.  Up until this point, I had only looked at my mile splits.  Now it was time to see if I was really going to qualify.  At mile 25 it said 3:24.  It was actually true.  I could do this, but I’d have to go as hard as I could.  So I did.  The route left the woods and entered the city of Ashland.  We were now running up and down curb ramps and this was painful for me.  There must have been eight or ten pairs of these.  They did nothing to help my race.  Finally, I saw mile 26 just after a left hand turn in a city park.  I glanced at my watch and noticed my window was shrinking.  I powered on.  I was outside myself.  My body was flying through Ashland and my mind was along for the ride.  I could hear the finish.  I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it.  It had to be close.  There were endless turns in those last .2 miles.  The grand finish is adjacent to an enormous steam engine on display in the town.  Just before I saw the engine I looked down at my watch.  It ticked past 3:35.  I was still running.  I didn’t make it. 

Without missing a beat, I told myself how awesome I was doing.  The elusive, elite Boston Marathon was no longer out of the realm of possibility.  I ran Boston-fast that day.  It just didn’t work out in the end.  I knew I could do it and I knew I’d try again someday.  My official time was 3:35:27.  I missed Boston by 27 seconds.  Huge bummer!  Regardless, I was thrilled to be done.  I’d never run so hard in my life.  I’d never done anything so hard in my life.  (Had I not had a C-section, maybe I’d put childbirth up there, but C-sections don’t require much mental toughness.)

                I was ecstatic about my time.  I didn’t know I had it in me.  What a thrill!  In a year, I cut 49 minutes off of my marathon time.  Unbelievable!  And I’m still improving. 

A race volunteer covered me in a silver blanket and it was cozy warm.  Another gave me a medal.  Oh yeah!  I’d forgotten I get one of those.  I found Chris within a minute of finishing and it was a good thing.  I was not well.  I started getting REALLY cold and lightheaded.  He helped me hobble into the post-race tent where the finisher shirts were.  I got one and carried it with me.  I didn’t have the energy to put it on.  Then we shuffled back to the finish to look for the other guys.  We saw Victor sitting on the curb across the street.  He finished a few minutes after me.  We watched Bruce come in a little bit later, but he didn’t look happy.  He didn’t hear us cheering for him. We found out later that he was hurting throughout the whole race.  He didn’t have a good day. 

                The four of us found each other and made our way back to the tent.  I still was not well.  Nausea and constant shivering kept me leaning on Chris.  Victor brought me a printout of my race results for me.  I didn’t have the strength to get one myself.  Chris pointed out, “All you needed was one second per mile.”  I was so close. 

The printout of my race results

We walked over to the ice arena/race headquarters and sat a while.  Victor left to take a shower.  Bruce ventured out to his truck to change clothes.  I sat on the bleachers with Chris and continued to feel ill.  He gave me his coat and that helped quite a bit.  Together, we decided I needed to eat something, so he left me there while he ran back to the tent.  In that moment when I was alone, I panicked.  I was still light-headed and nauseas and didn’t have my phone.  With a great effort, I moved myself from the bleacher to the adjacent step because I expected to pass out.  I wanted to be closer to the ground if I did.  Thankfully, it never happened.  With tremendous effort, I started digging through my sweats check bag, which, by the way, made it safe and sound to the finish, and started piling on the layers.  The warmth brought instant relief.  From then on, I was happy.  And so very proud of myself.  

We finished.

                I love marathon days.  They are emotional and they are hard work, but in the end, it’s a celebration.  Once the finish line is crossed, it’s time to relax.  Months worth of training and a high intensity race warrant, at the very least, an afternoon of indulgence.   On marathon days, I feel invincible.  There is no guilt.  There is only pride and introspection.  Chris wanted to know why I do this.  I do it because it makes me happy.  It challenges me, both physically and strategically.  I do it for the friendships.

                Having the guys there made this race very meaningful to me.  Their experience, support, and companionship were invaluable.  We may not ever run the same race again, but we’ll always be bonded in Whistlestop.