THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 19, 1995 TAG: 9503190160
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C14 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY PHILIP WALZER, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 73 lines
I barely got any sleep after 3 a.m. My stomach's still in knots. But I think I'm ready to run the Shamrock.
This will be my second marathon. I ran the Marine Corps in D.C. last fall, but it took me slightly over six hours to get to the finish line because of a bum knee. I have no grand expectations for this race - just to finish with my knee intact. I'd like to do it in under 5 hours, but we'll see.
The start: I feel a bit sluggish already. Maybe I picked up that bug from my kids. Maybe I overdid it with carbo loading last night. Maybe I'm just too nervous. But something's not right with my stomach. Not a good sign.
Mile 3: The wind is bitter as I run north on the Boardwalk. Who ever got the smart idea to hold a marathon near the ocean? Even so, I'm maintaining 10-minute miles, which was my goal for the early part of the race.
Mile 6: A pleasant surprise: I see Mary Ann and the boys earlier than I thought. Jacob is holding a sign that says ``Go Daddy Go!'' Benjamin has one on his back that says ``Future Runner (Like My Daddy).'' I kiss them all and move on, a bit faster.
Mile 8: I'm feeling a little queasy and I slow down. I start to think the 5-hour marathon may be a dream, but I'm determined to push on, no matter how long it takes.
Mile 11: My willpower is fading a bit. I succumb to the thought: Maybe I should stop and walk a little. I wouldn't lose much time the way I'm running now, and maybe it might revive me. But I vow not to start walking until the halfway point.
Mile 13: True to my word, I start walking at 13.1 miles. I'll start running at 87th Street, I think. Make it 86th Street. No, 85th Street. No, no, the trash can midway between 84th and 85th. That's what I do. It doesn't feel so bad. Maybe I can alternate running and walking the rest of the way.
Mile 14: The loneliness of the long-distance runner. There are people ahead of me, a few tough souls behind me, but right now, I can't see anyone either way. I wish I had someone to talk to. Amazingly, I overtake another runner. ``Hi, sweetie,'' she says. Her name's Amy, and we take turns passing each other the rest of the way.
Mile 15: I have a 15-minute running spurt, my longest since the walk. But when I stop, I feel nauseated and I double over for a second. ``You need help?'' a volunteer asks. ``No,'' I say, somewhat miffed, and plod on.
Mile 20: I've been walking more than I've been running, but now I start running 7 minutes, walking 5. I feel amazingly decent. My goal now is to finish in 5:45.
Mile 22: The cheering from fellow runners and spectators has really made a difference (``867 - lookin' good,'' ``You're almost there, captain''). But a jerk in a car going down Atlantic Avenue looks at me and makes a sound imitating a chicken. I shoot him an obscene gesture and keep rolling on.
The finish: I'm still mixing running and walking, which pleases me this late in the game. I speed to the finish line. I'm so out of it, I can't tell the woman who writes my marathon certificate what my time was. We place it at 5:47.
I tend to put the best face on my endeavors, and the Shamrock is no different. I have completed two marathons. Two marathons. And this time, I cut 20 minutes off my old time (not hard to do, admittedly) and came away without injury (I think). I'm happy.
I see my family. I hug Mary Ann in a long embrace. Jacob asks me: ``Did you win the race?''
``No,'' I say. But in my mind, I did. ILLUSTRATION: Photo
Philip Walzer, a Virginian-Pilot staff writer, ran - mostly - in his
second marathon Saturday.
by CNB