August 9, 2015
When it comes to running races, most runners are competing against two things – themselves, and that darned clock. Everyone has their own specific goals in mind, but the underlying wish is usually pretty simple - to just be better than you were before.
Where you place doesn’t really matter to a lot of runners, unless it’s one of those races where cash prizes are offered to the top finishers. Even considering those, I don’t know too many runners who are in it for the money.
I remember some of my early races, coming home proud with a new PB in whatever distance I was running. One of my kids would always ask me, “Did you get first place?”
Talk about setting a high bar for their old man! I remember thinking, I’m gonna provide these two with plenty of disappointment in the years ahead.
I’ve never really thought much about where I place, because it’s so subjective. Some races have large fields, some are smaller. I consider myself a proud member of the B-level group: in the big races I can sometimes crack the top 20, in the small ones I can usually hit the top 10. But I’m always focused more on my time.
Despite that, when it came to the Age of Sail Marathon, my hometown race, I felt a desire to win it at least once. I believe I was fourth in my first year running it in 2012, then second in 2013, and third in 2014. Did I have what it took to pull of a “W”?
I will admit it crossed my mind when I registered for the 2015 race.
Like the previous year, the Age of Sail appealed to me as a marathon because of its familiarity, and mainly because of its proximity, i.e. I could sleep in my own bed the night before. I rarely sleep well in hotels or other people’s homes, especially when I’m all nerved up the night before a race. To run a marathon where you live mere minutes from the start line is an opportunity hard to pass up.
That being said, my training and preparation was becoming perhaps a bit too routine. I had reached a point where I could stand to shake things up, but that would have to wait for the following year.
For now, I had my mind set on continued improvement at the race that had challenged me since I started running. My training had gone reasonably well, with a couple shorter races thrown in for testers. I ran Leg 11 at the Cabot Trail Relay in May, and loved my race down French Mountain, despite the second straight year of miserable weather in the Highlands. I also ran another solid half marathon at the Johnny miles in June , which had become a nice Father’s Day tradition for our family.
When marathon day came around in August, I was definitely ready.
Looking around at the rest of the field as we lined up at the start line, I noticed two things. First, it was by far the largest marathon group of all the four years I had run the race. Although I can’t find official results or records, the pre-race photo shows a group of 21.
Second, aside from the P.E.I. faithful of Dianne Watts-Pye, Elaine Burkholder and Francis Fagan, I didn’t recognize any of them.
Side note: I would later recognize from this race Billy McEachern, a Pictou County runner who completed his 90th marathon earlier this year. He likes to run shirtless, even in winter races. I once saw him finish the Pictou County Hypo Half in a snowstorm, wearing nothing but his underwear, concluding his race with a headfirst slide across the finish line.
So I was the only local marathoner this time, and that suited me fine. I had completed every one of my training runs alone, and was prepared to run this race in the same company.
With that in mind, I took an early lead at the start, and soon lost myself in the zone. I was careful to control my pace early, as difficult as it is to not get carried away with nervous energy.
Not a lot else stands out from my recollection of this race. It went pretty much like the previous one, except slightly better. The wall still loomed around the 30K mark, but I dealt with it as best as I could.
One thing I do recall is feeling a slight sting in my nipples early on. For all of my long runs, I apply a generous amount of Body Glide anti-chafing balm to my sensitive areas, but it was apparently not enough on that day. By the end of the race, I looked like I had been attacked by a vampire with a fetish.
Despite the nasty-looking blood on my shirt, there wasn’t a lot of pain until my post-race shower, when I did some howling.
What I remember most from this race, however, is the gritty determination I had to just get it done. It was a very business-like attitude that came in large part from my familiarity with the race. I knew what had to be done and I had no fear.
I maintained my lead from start to finish, and crossed the line at 3:30:21, more than six minutes better than my previous year’s time, and my first marathon win.
I realized that I placed first because the fast runners who beat me in 2012, 2013 and 2014 did not show up that year, but I also took pride in the fact that I won in the year that saw the largest field of marathoners.
No, placings don’t matter a lot. But it felt good to win my hometown race, bloody boobies and all.
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