My journey into the world of marathons and ultra marathons.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Lost Dutchman Marathon

4:30 a.m. and it was time to get ready for my 3rd running of the Lost Dutchman Marathon! My legs felt fresh and full of life as I tried my hardest to eat a muffin and drink some coffee. I had no appetite, but I managed to get some food down.
I donned the same running outfit that I had on yesterday (but freshly laundered), slipped on my road shoes and headed out to meet the bus. 30 bumpy minutes after getting on the bus, we rounded the corner and saw the magical campfires blazing against the Superstitious Mountains. After letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, I found the Seattle Maniacs huddled around one of the 20 or so fires. I knew most of them, and introduced myself to those that I didn’t. We talked about goals for the race… Mary was there to win, another woman was there to qualify for the Maniacs, Lesa was running her 50th marathon the first day of being 50 years old (and after running Pemberton with me the day before). I was there just to have a good time and finish. We were all laughing about the fact I had the same running clothes as yesterday when it occurred to me that last time I ran the Dutchman I didn’t have my suitcase either (Hmmm, maybe the Lost Dutchman has put some kind of jinx on me.)

We lined up for a shotgun start and soon were flying down the dirt road. The downhill start actually felt good and I decided to let myself flow with it. There would be plenty of time to adjust my pace later (or pay for early miles run too fast!)
A little ITBand soreness flared up in the first 5 miles, but by the time we hit the flat, paved highway I was fine. I forced myself to eat a gel at mile 8 and made a vow to eat something every 5 miles or I knew I would crash hard. I caught up to Lesa at mile 9, she stated that she wanted to finish in 5 hours: we agreed to do our best to make that goal. As runners know, a lot can happen over the course of a marathon and soon I was running by myself, legs tiring and starting to feel the effects of too little food yesterday. I still had almost 17 miles to run.

Mile 10 brought an unexpected blessing in the form of Maniac McGyver. He was running his trademark 11 mpm pace with a 3 minute run/1 minute walk ratio. I decided to join him and within a mile I was feeling refreshed. We ran together the next 5 miles, then I decided to continue on my own as he took a rest break. Even though I was now running by myself, I continued the walk/run ratio. I wasn’t totally alone either. Fred and Char Thompson from Texas, whom I met yesterday during the Pemberton came out to the course to cheer me on. They were at every spectator point, sending me high fives and encouragement. Every time I saw them I was surprised and touched that they came out to watch my effort. The last time I saw them on the course was at mile 22. Fred brought an assortment of goodies for me in case I was in need. He had gels, gummies and most importantly electrolytes that I needed badly. After downing an electrolyte and a bag of sports beans I headed down the dirt road to conquer the final and toughest rolling miles, including the hill known as the Dutchman’s Revenge. Reaching the top, I found myself a little teary-eyed. 3 more miles and I would complete my 39th race of 26.2 or greater, 3 years after completing my first marathon on this very same course.

Just the thought gave me extra energy, helped along by a nice cool cross wind on what can be a miserably hot final 3 miles. I crossed the line with more energy than I would have thought possible in 4:45:00. Lesa was waiting for me, suggesting that I run the Yours Truly 50k with her next Sunday. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson were also there, encouraging me to join them in Texas for a 50/100 miler or fixed time race. Mary was in the picnic shelter waiting for the awards. She had in fact won the Women’s race, an inspiring accomplishment for the 47 year old Maniac runner.

Mr. Hawk found me after completing his own training run on the desert trails. We made our way back to the hotel, sat on the lawn with a recovery beer and assessed the damage: one blistered pinky and a very happy Maniac impatiently waiting for her next race.

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