Buffalo Marathon 2019: I Swiped Right.

Well, despite my ambivalence about this race, I do owe you a race report, so here goes.  This might be the hardest race report I've ever done, simply because five days out from the race, I'm not really sure how I feel about it - I'm still processing the day, the result, and how I feel, both mentally and physically.

We all know the back story - seven weeks ago this was to be my redemption BQ attempt, and then everything fell apart 6 weeks ago, with this foot injury I just can't seem to shake.  I've spent way too much time in a black hole about it, albeit some resurgences (new half marathon PR) in an otherwise dismal month and a half of running low volume, likely filled with 99% runs I shouldn't have even done.

Yet, there was this whole Buffalo Marathon on May 26.  The taper for this race was weird, since there wasn't one.  Well meaning friends tried to cheer me up, reminding me of my strong base, that it was "just a run - no stress - just go", "forget the PR - you know it's not that kind of race" and to "race like I wasn't injured".  Well that was all well and good, except there's a big difference between just a run and 26.2 miles, even if you know you aren't going to PR or likely come close.  So when you have no goal other than to decide if you're dumb enough to run (I was) you feel a bit adrift about the whole thing.

The week of taper, I took a long drive around town to just de-stress and get my mind in the right spot.  I drove some of the Irondequoit Bay Runners run course, where I had regularly laid siege a few months before.  Along the bay, the roads had flooded considerably, and there was plenty of wildlife enjoying the added water volume.

  I stopped and stared at this swan for a long time, thinking about how peaceful it looked, even in the midst of a flood....it calmly glided through the water, one with its environment.  I thought about how, even feeling adrift, how much I damned loved to run.  And I felt a sense of peace, knowing that I would just be grateful to have the space to do what I loved in Buffalo, if my foot would let me.  And that whatever happened in terms of time, I would accept - some races are meant to be raced for another reason, and even if I didn't quite grasp it, I knew I would eventually figure it out.

Then, as luck would have it, my Garmin shot the bed in terms of elevation reading, so my buddy was kind enough to bring me a loaner the day before the race.....he freaking rocks.  I made the trek to Buffalo on Saturday solo (thank you Greg!), opting for a hotel stay due to the 6:30am start.  I had a flurry of texts, Facebook messages and even a phone call from some of my strongest supporters (I LOVE you guys - I needed that!) and despite the drunkies down the hall from me, managed to at least lay in bed for 8 hours, even if I only got 4 of sleep.

Look at that Badass with the double watches...I'm such a dork.

Which I re payed kindly the next morning with rousing renditions of "Shake that Ass" "Till I Collapse", "Superman" and "Renegade".  Somewhere in the midst of my foot anger, I decided to make my playlist half Eminem and I rocked that shit out....

 'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out

'Til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.

'Til the smoke clears out and my high perhaps

I'm a rip this shit till my bone collapse! 

LETS DO THIS!

My foot actually didn't feel too terrible, but I KT taped it up, ate a bagel, had my applesauce pouch, lime cucumber Gatorade, and made the short drive to the race site, arriving at 5:30.  Took care of business, and enjoyed the epic start scenery.

Downtown BLO was ensconced in fog, making it (e)erie (see what I did there), somewhat cool looking, and humid as shit.  Fabulous.  I dropped my crap off at my car, stuffed my key and a few Gu's down my bra (look, I can go from a B cup to a C cup in 10 seconds!) and made my way to the start corral.

The corrals were PACKED, so I lined up with the 4:00 hour guys.  I had no terribly crazy goals - I decided to try to run with the 3:30 pace guys  (8:00/mile)  if I could for as long as I could, then ease off.  The national anthem played, they set off fireworks, (which was AWESOME!) and before I knew it, the gun sounded!

And we were off!  Not really.  It took a good minute to cross the start line, so me, being of ample technology, hit the start on one Garmin when the gun went off and one when I crossed the start.  Look at me, being all cool and shit.

Mile 1 was messy - dodging runners and little cluster groups all over the place.  I saw the 3:30 pace group in the distance and covered the ground to catch up bit by bit, with mile 1 in 7:26, which was way the hell too fast.  Mile 2 was a 7:41, which I attribute to the fact that the group crossed the start line at least 20 seconds before me.  I started to question the wisdom of staying with them, but miles 3-8 leveled out at a 7:55-8:02 pace, which was freaking perfect.  The first 10 miles, in fact, felt awesome.  The front stretch of this race was awesome - there were a few gentle inclines, plenty of gentle declines, and although it was muggy as shit, the water stops every 2 miles were great - until mile 10, when the guy in front of me threw his half full cup of gatorade on my shoes.  Dammit.

At the 10 mile point, I was feeling pretty comfortable with my pace, my nutrition (gel at mile 6, water every two miles), and the world.  Famous last words.  We did a U-ey by the water at mile 11 on some rough road and I wasn't paying close enough attention and tripped with my bad foot on a pothole.  Shit.  What was likely a poor choice before I even started became evident as my foot throbbed through mile 11, at an 8:42 pace.  I stopped for a second and stretched it out, and took mile 12 to contemplate my options.  My foot felt terrible.  I realized at that point there was a huge difference between running 13.1 and 26.2 on an injured foot and just couldn't see 14 more miles happening.  So I decided to pull at the half marathon finish and take the DNF.

I thought about this for the next half mile or so and realized that I had nothing to prove to anyone.  Checking my watch, I knew I could pull off a 1:44 half, which was legit, even if it wouldn't count (if you switched distances mid race, it was a DNF).  As I closed in on mile 13, there was a big divide in the road, like a highway - all 13.1 finishers to the left, all 26.2 to the right.  I pulled into the left lane and readied myself to not cross the finish line.

There was about a quarter mile of the divide until the 26.2 made a turn to the right that was the "point of no return".  With about .5 seconds to go before this turn....I realized I couldn't do it.  I've never DNFed in my life and today was NOT gonna be the except.  So...I "swiped right" and followed the full marathoners for 13.1 more miles of fun.

Spoiler alert - This was a giant mistake.  I knew by mile 13.5 my foot was in deep shit.  So at mile 14, I made the call and pulled off at the medical tent by the mile 14 aid station.  I hit the point of "no return" - which means I physically stopped (both) of my garmins at 14.06 miles.  This meant I was done.

I sat in the med tent and iced my foot while the awesome attendees brought me water and wrapped my foot.  I felt strangely detached as I watched the runners go by....knowing I had made the right choice.  I sat there for a good 7 minutes and asked how to get back and they told me unless I needed an ambulance, I had to walk the .9 miles back to the finish.

Well thats dumb.  I thought about it for a minute and decided, hell, lets see if I can make it to mile 16 (there were med tents every two miles).  I grabbed a gu, started one of my garmins back up (I'm not a total masochist) and was off.

No I wasn't.  I lasted 2 minutes before my foot got stupid and I knew the jig was up.  I sighed, stopped the watch, and turned around, trudging down the hill.  I saw a support bike who asked if I was ok and I said I was done and heading back.  And then, because the fates conspire, two things happened.  Andy Mineo's "You Can't Stop Me" started playing on my mp3 player.  And the 3:50 pace group ran by.  Shit.  I took a deep breath and summoned every ounce of stupidity I had, and turned around to rerun the .2 I just ran....and hopefully more.

After a few minutes, this was fine!  I took it easy, staying with the group and averaged about an 8:30 mile, which was super comfortable for me.  Miles 14-20 were pretty, easy, and my foot didn't want to kill me.  Aside from my nutrition gaffe (I didnt eat at mile 12 because I thought I was done), I did rather well, and felt decent!  I enjoyed the scenery, ran through hoses (it was in the mid 70s and still super muggy, and now we had sun, too!) and rather enjoyed the game my garmin and I played - I would hit a mile marker on the course at .8 of my watch, since my watch started up at 14.2 - so I really either had to do mental math or not give a shit about my total time (I went with the latter).

This lasted up until mile 20, when the heat, humidity, and mother nature called (dammit).  I swung into a porta pottie and as soon as I sat down, my foot rebelled again.  I hobbled out, grabbed some ice, and tried the run thing again.  Nope nope nope. DAMMIT.  I looked at my watch and then gave up trying to figure out a logical goal, as the 3:50's had left me at the porta potty.  My best guess was to try come in before 10:30am for a sub 4 hour finish, which seemed reasonable and more than I deserved at that point.

The last 10k went by in a bit of a haze....I was averaging about a 9:15-9:20 mile - running when I could, walking when I couldn't - getting drenched by garden hoses and squishing with every step.  At the final 5k I knew that unless I totally fell apart, I would finish under 4.  The last mile was downhill (thank god) but the wind....was in our face.  Crap.  At that point, there was only one savior.

You know it.  This little gem found its way to my playlist after Rob and Biz found it the day before the race (THANKS GUYS) and I "beep beeped" my way through the last mile.  At mile 26, my foot completely seized, as if to remind me that it would let me finish, but hell if I got to run there.  Fine.

I limped my way in for a 3:55:27 finish, or an 8:59 pace according to the official results. 

I look like crap.  I am in pain.

Post race the girl that finished right behind me came up for a big hug and told me she had been pacing me for the last 10k and it was a huge PR for her and her first sub 4.  That immediately made me feel better and I took a pic of her ringing the PR bell - Way to go Hillarie!!

Got my pic taken in the classic "I'm soaked, really out of it and a giant GD mess", then walked badly the .5 miles to my car where I anti climatically (after stripping down in the parking garage because I am Rico Suavee) drove back to the Roc.

I ended up finishing in the top quarter of females (93/401) and the top 20% of my age group (18/96) which is pretty good for how badly I fumbled and the fact that I spent 10 minutes of the race literally not going anywhere!

After showering, icing and doing the mom thing, I got to hang out with some new friends and do a "let's celebrate my poor life choices" bonfire, which was a great way to end the day.  When asked how the race went....I was vague.

 I don't know.

I do know a few things.  It was likely a terrible decision to run the race, and an equally poor decision to finish it.  I'm not sure why I did it except I'm stubborn as hell.  I also know I raced nowhere near my potential, which is interesting - I felt fine the day after, sans foot, and five days later, could totally race again (Don't worry, I'm not).  My actually forward moving time for the 26.2 (I ran 26.4 since I ran .2 of the course twice) was a 3:42, which is right off my PR.  I'm not sure what to do with this except my overall moving pace was an 8:30 - which, after 7 weeks of crap training, really DOES mean your base has something to do with it..

Oddly enough, Buffalo made me realize that I do have that BQ in me.  I just need some time to walk away from it, heal up, and do a few other things (Oh wait, there are two other sports to triathlon??)  right now I have my eyes set on either Steamtown PA (October) or Indianapolis (November).  We got time.  

Regardless of the ribbing from my, ahem, FRIENDS, I declared that I would stay off the foot running wise until at least the day before Keuka, which is June 9.  I have abided by this for 5 days and am damned proud of myself.  I will NOT be aqua biking this year, thank you.  I respect the hell out of aqua bikers, but it's time to heal this damned foot and get back to business.

Does this mean I'll actually do some legit swim training?  Did a 20x100 main set yesterday, cause I'm still stupid   badass a follower of the guys I train with.  Does this mean I'll get on my damned bike?  Why yes.  I actually rode outside today, thank you very much.

Buffalo was a huge learning experience, a slice of humble pie, and in my mind, a turning point.  It's time to get back on that horse bike and go for what I want, while being intelligent about my life training.  

Buffalo.  I swiped right for you.  I think.  While I still debate that it was a terrible choice to make, I'm not sorry I did it.  We didn't match the way I wanted us to, but I think you set me up perfectly for my next true match (yes, I mean BQ, people!)