Eat Drink Run Woman

It was going to be epic — EPIC! I tell ya.  Snow, sleet, 45 mph winds, seagulls flying backwards — all the makings for a truly harrowing marathon experience.  But a funny thing happened on the way to the race.

First, some background.

In our post-marathon stupor after the Ghost of Seattle, my darling and I perused the Marathon Maniacs calendar of upcoming races.  Despite dire warnings from the race director — expect minimal aid and brutal weather — the Ghost of Birch Bay Marathon intrigued us.  Starting just south of the Canadian border, the race offers spectacular views of the North Shore Mountains, the Strait of Georgia and Vancouver Island.  As with the Ghost of Seattle, there were no rules; it basically was a fun run for a handful of antsy Maniacs.

Two days after running the Ghost of Seattle I emailed Scott, the race director, alerting him we’d most likely be running Birch Bay as well, barring crappy weather and family obligations.  But as race day neared the forecast went from bleak to bleaker — there was a doozy of a storm heading our way.  I knew things didn’t look promising once the weather became the lead story each night.  I checked Wunderground, Yahoo! Weather and Accuweather religiously, my hopes dashed as I saw the predicted temperatures would barely break 30 degrees.  Friday’s predicted precipitation was 100%, and while Saturday’s was less, it was still at 50-60%.  Given the temps, that meant snow.

My darling started voicing his concern at the beginning of the week, however, I remained optimistic.  But by Thursday it was clear we were in for a wild ride, so I emailed Scott again, saying it was unlikely we’d be running.  I was so bummed!  But when I awoke Friday morning to see the rain and high winds, I knew we made the right decision.  I had planned on getting in a 10-miler on Friday, but when conditions hadn’t improved by early afternoon, I wasn’t even up for a quick 3-miler.

However, things were again about to change.

Perhaps because we had been cooped up all day, but by late Friday afternoon my darling and I started talking about the race again.  Sure, it would be crappy, but wouldn’t that build character?  (Or at least prove what bad-asses we were?  AND make for a great blog post?)  We figured we could always cut it short and just run the half marathon (which actually was 15.1 miles), or even totally wimp out and offer to provide aid to those foolish enough to continue on.  By 5 p.m. we once again emailed Scott — weather be damned; we’re a’ comin’!

We prepared ourselves well for the anticipated frigid onslaught; not only would we be warm during the run, we also threw our sleeping bags in the trunk in case we needed to bundle up after the race.  I wore a full torso jog bra and my Royal Victoria long-sleeved technical shirt under an even warmer running shirt, along with my heavy L.L. Bean running jacket.  I also threw some long johns into my bag in case my Nike running pants wouldn’t be warm enough.  Wear nothing new on race day? Pish posh, I say!  I had two pairs of gloves — one heavier and warmer, one lighter — as well as a lightweight wool cap and a neoprene face mask.  Mother Nature — BRING. IT. ON.

When we took off at 6 a.m. Saturday morning it was raining, but we assumed it would turn to snow as we got farther north (Birch Bay is approximately two hours north).  Sure enough, within 10 miles the rain drops started getting slushy.  However, a few miles farther north the precipitation stopped, although the ground was covered in a couple of inches of snow.  By the time we hit Bellingham there was nary a sign of snow OR wind; in fact, we were greeted with several patches of blue sky.  WTF?

When we stopped at a rest area it was clear I’d probably be throwing on the long johns; we’re talking COLD, people!  A couple of other Maniacs pulled up and we joked about our sanity (or lack thereof) for wanting to go through with the race.  A little after 8 a.m. we pulled up to the start line where a group of Maniacs had gathered.  Several had chosen the 8 a.m. early start, however, we basically could start whenever we wanted; we’d simply provide Scott with our time at the end.

My darling took off about 5 minutes before me (he wanted to finish early in order to take some pictures), but after throwing on my long johns I too was off.  After about a mile I began to warm up, so I pulled off my face mask and replaced my heavy gloves with the lighter ones.  I hit a slippery spot on a small bridge over a creek, and again along the 2-mile stretch of Harborview Road.  It wasn’t terribly icy, but just enough to take notice.  Fortunately once I turned off onto Drayton Harbor Road the road was bare and dry.

As with other “training” marathons, I had hoped to finish within 4:30, but I saw no need to push it.  I’d run for about a mile, then take a minute or two walk break. I prided myself in running up the half-mile long Drayton Hillside each time (the course takes two loops), albeit slowly.  I also stopped at all the aid vans (at mile 7, the halfway point, mile 18 and mile 24) to take in boiled potatoes and potato chips.  But mostly I just took in the incredible scenery, serenaded by the Christmas music loaded on my iPhone.

Just as I was leaving the aid van at the halfway point New Guy was arriving.  I didn’t catch his name, but Birch Bay was not only his first marathon, but also his very first running race ever.  Now THAT’S crazy!  (He figured his mountain climbing experience would suffice).  He seemed to be doing well, and most importantly, he had a smile on his face.  He passed me about a quarter mile past the halfway point, but stayed within my sight.

Right after he passed me I caught up with my hero, Bob Dolphin.  He’s 78 years old and he’s run 430+ marathons (he started when he was 51)  He’s the co-race director of the Yakima River Canyon Marathon with his wife Lenore, and he’s hoping to run his 500th marathon at that race in 2012.  We chatted a bit, then I bid him adieu.

I saw New Guy taking a walk break up the Drayton Hillside, and then I caught up to him at the aid van at mile 18.  Although he was still smiling, he said things were starting to ache.  I saw he wasn’t carrying any fuel, so I encouraged him to eat some salt along with the water.  He seemed taken aback when I said he was almost to the halfway point, but I explained in a marathon that means mile 20.  We took off from the aid van together, but nature soon called so I ducked into the woods for a pee break.  That mile was my slowest — 14:22.

By now I was playing the “permission game.”  I’d give myself permission to take a walk break every half mile, but inevitably once it was time to take the break I’d say to myself, “Oh, you can wait until this song is over,” or “Just make it to that street sign down the road,” etc.  It was a great mental boost simply knowing I COULD take a break (the games we play).  I caught up to New Guy again at about 21.5 miles.  He was definitely fading, but refused my offer of a gel and Heed (I was carrying three bottles).  I took another walk break while he soldiered on.  I passed him for the last time at about 22.5 miles.

Although I was quite tired, I willed myself to make it to mile 23.1 before taking another walk break, since that would mean just a 5K to go.  My next target was mile 24ish, however, I ended up stopping at the aid van one last time for some potato chips and jelly beans.  Since that was parked just short of the 24-mile mark, I decided to wait until mile 24.5 for my next walk break.  But just as I was nearing that mark my darling called me, and that was enough to spur me on to the end.  I ran mile 25 in 9:52, and mile 26 in 9:38 — my fastest mile of the entire race.  The wind really picked up at that point, but fortunately it was a tailwind that literally pushed me on to the finish.  I soon saw my darling crouching down to take my pictures, so of course I had to ham it up a bit.

I arrived at the finish line in 4:39:01 and gladly received my homemade medal and a hug from Lenore.  As the wind whipped around us I wolfed down my hotdog and a Coke, but soon was scurrying to the car to get warm.  I would have loved to stick around to chat, but it was too darn cold.  As we were pulling away I saw New Guy heading in; he looked beat, but was still smiling.

The timing of the race couldn’t be better, as we woke up to a blanket of snow the next morning.