Around March 2014, I began running with Kenyan Way in Houston as a way to supplement my training (with hill and speed workouts) and to meet other runners. The decision paid off in both respects. I have a more focused, yet relaxed, attitude toward training, which has led to more skill, strength, endurance, and mental fortitude. I also have an incredible group of friends I cannot wait to see before sunrise four days a week. It was with this coach and these friends that I began training for the Chevron Houston Marathon in late summer/early fall 2014.
I must confess, I wasn't mentally ready to contemplate the whole "training to qualify for Western States 100" again. In fact, to this day I still chafe at that twenty-some-odd minutes. Anyways. Instead, I decided to focus on another goal with a sub-goal wrapped into it: I would train to qualify for the Boston Marathon (Goal No. 1), while simultaneously learning to become more comfortable with failure and the patience to try, try again (Goal No. 2) to reach Goal No. 1.
Training for Houston was altogether entertaining, exciting, challenging, and annoying. Hills upon hills upon hills for a flat course? Oh, but it helps with building speed. But then why speed workouts? Instead of fighting it, I chose to trust my coach's incredible talent, expertise, and experience. So, I scaled hills: short hills, long hills, parking garages. I ran fartleks, 400s, 800s, tempos. I worked on negative splits, hitting my paces on long runs, and staying within range on would-be recovery runs.
I also visited baa.org constantly, making sure I really did read that qualifying time correctly: 3:35:00, or an 8:12 minute per mile pace. As I described it to my best friend, this was about 0:45 faster than my happy-but-also-pushing-it pace. For 26 point 2 whole miles. So, I worked on a few pacing models for the marathon, based on how I tended to run my longer runs. Straight even pace for 26.2 miles, on the one hand. Start slow and consistently quicken my pace throughout the race, on another hand. Bank time with a lightning pace at the beginning so I could give myself some slack near the end, on one foot. Just run and see what happens, on the other foot.
At the start of training, my long runs looked like so: fast-less fast-cool it-ow-hobble. As Jose tended to put it: you burn yourself out, slow. down. So, I worked on that and forced myself to keep a slower pace near the front of my run so I could cruise at the finish. Would you believe it? It worked! By the end of the training, I was pacing myself to finish within my goal pace and with some energy to spare. Go figure. (P.S.: Thanks Jose!)
Ben and I discussed my race strategy ad nauseum beforehand. We planned to run together, as he wanted to pace me to a sub-3:35:00 finish if possible. Not only would it be an extremely supportive thing for him to do for his wife, but it also would be a PR for him: a win-win. However, we have different racing styles, so we had to be on the same page. Thankfully, Ben knows my style, having "crewed" for me at various trail races and being an all around awesome man who takes an interest in what I do. Given that, he was comfortable with whatever strategy I chose for the race. I decided to stick with my new-found training run style: start slow and continue to speed up through the finish. To help conceptualize that, Ben created a few different pacing charts that would get me to a 3:35:00 finish depending on what pace I started at and how the race progressed. I printed them, chose one, and taped it to my mirror for the few weeks before the race. Seeing the numbers and memorizing my splits turned out to be incredibly helpful benchmarks on race day.
As the race neared, it came up in conversation frequently and I often fielded questions about my time goals. I would explain my goal of qualifying for Boston and what that meant, especially with my prior marathon times and training. I would also explain that I was under no delusions that I could qualify given the difficulty of qualifying for Boston at all. And honestly, I may have daydreamed, but I wasn't delusional. I knew I had worked well on Goal No. 1 (to qualify) with consistent and dedicated training, but I also knew that I couldn't know if it would be enough or what race day would hold. So, with that, I worked on Goal No. 2: setting my expectations and being prepared to be-and being comfortable being-disappointed.
Okay. With all of that, let's get to race day:
Corral A, first starters. National Anthem. Oh look, the courthouse. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . . go. I focused from the starting mat and tried to set a comfortable stride without being distracted by those around me. It is so easy to get caught up in the excitement and fervor of the crowd and other runners, letting all notions of pace strategy go, especially in a road race. I tried to avoid that. As we merged on to Washington Avenue, my Garmin dinged to indicate the first mile: 8:07 pace. This was about 0:38 seconds faster than the strategy, and about 0:05 faster than goal pace, but I gave the thumbs up to Ben. It felt good, my breath was even, and the cadence was comfortable. We kept moving. I saw familiar faces along the course, soaked in the red-white-and-blue of the flag strung from a fire truck crane at our local station, and checked in with myself every quarter-mile or so. We turned on to Heights/Yale/Waugh (Pick one, Houston.). Clocked in about the same pace.
As we turned on West Gray, Ben mentioned he needed to stop for the bathroom. I knew it wasn't negotiable, or else he wouldn't have mentioned it. Coincidentally, I was in the same camp. We found a bathroom quickly, did our thing, and got back on the course. All told, maybe 2:00 gone. We kept moving.
As we transitioned on to Kirby, the field had thinned and we started talking to a young woman next to us. She was training for Boston (having already qualified), so Ben mentioned our goal for the day. She seemed to sense my focus, so she offered some tips, bid us good luck, and returned to her own race. As we continued down Kirby, our Garmins beamed our pace: steady around, if not slightly below, 8:07. This was going to be an interesting race. From that point, I decided to keep an eye on my 5K, 10K, half-marathon, et cetera splits rather than noting each mile split. I'd drive myself crazy any other way.
We weaved through the Village and West U, had our photo snapped somewhere around there, and eventually came upon the half-marathon/marathon split. We veered right and suddenly the noise levels dropped. Here we were: in it.
By this point, we were closing in on my brother and sister-in-law's neighborhood and I was looking forward to seeing the bright faces of my beautiful nieces. I also was ready for the young families that tend to cut up oranges and bananas for their kids to hand out to runners. While I did get an orange or banana (can't quite remember), I scanned and scanned but wasn't able to find my little ones. I was disappointed, but re-focused on the race.
Right on Wesleyan. Left on Westpark. We were nearing the half-marathon point and, more importantly, mile 15 where my dog would be waiting for me. Having missed the girls, I was very much looking forward to this. It is incredible what a smiling face-even of a stranger-can do for a weary runner.
Miles 12 through 14 were rough. Up the incline on Westpark, around a hairpin (WTH, CHM?) turn at the 610 Loop, and toward the Galleria. As we got closer, I scanned the large crowd at knee level for that bright golden puppy face. I spotted him, beelined, and without stopping grabbed his furry face in my hands, kissed him about a dozen times, told him I loved him, startled mom, and kept going. That was the shot of energy I didn't know I needed.
From there, we cruised. We cruised through Briargrove, down Chimney Rock, right on Memorial. By this time, we were still ahead of pace. I began worrying what the final 10K would look like for us. The final 10K is when things get dodgy and the most unpredictable, even when you've stuck to your plan. Plus, the sun was coming out, the day was warming up, and the tummy was a bit more volatile.
I consoled myself with the knowledge that the final 10K was completely known territory for me: Memorial Park, Allen Parkway, downtown. These were my stomping grounds, literally; I run those areas nearly every single time I lace up my kicks. Unfortunately, that didn't make them any easier. Rather, it just meant I knew how long they would last.
As we made it through the Park and toward Allen Parkway, all the while staying between 8:00 and 8:05, I decided to pull the trigger: "Okay, let's ease down to race pace." Ha! My race strategy had been turned on its head. I had started fast and in the final 6 miles planned to slow down to race pace. Cute, Kim. Just precious.
As Ben knows though, when I verbalize that I am taking it easy on pace, nothing really happens. I think it is more of a mental thing, actually. If I verbalize that I am struggling with the pace and would prefer to go slower, I somehow take the edge off and just deal with it? I'm not sure, but our pace didn't change. Oh well.
Finally, Allen Parkway: downtown in sight, rolling hills, so close. I was struggling though. I wanted to call it quits, stop right there, sit down, cry, and find a sandwich. My energy was a mere flicker, fumes in the tank, ready to abandon me with a giant scoff. Ben kept me in the game as he always does. Stride for stride he was there and knew when to start with the phrases that I (personally and without judgement to those who like them) find ridiculous. Bless him. It is uncanny how he knows the exact moment I need those.
As we entered downtown, my understanding of how much further we had to go became hazy. I was disoriented with dehydration, the noise, and the crowd. The shadows from the buildings confused me and I wasn't sure where in downtown we actually were. Finally, I saw the last distance markers and at least I could focus my tunnel vision accordingly.
That is when I heard Ben say the following: "Boston is in reach, babe. You just have to take it."
Oh, bless him again. Up until that point, I realized, I had refused to let myself believe we were pacing to a BQ finish. I hadn't let the thought enter my mind. All I knew was one foot in front of the other. Anything could happen.
The finish line. I glanced at my watch and holy expletive: not only a BQ finish, but a well-sub-BQ finish. We crossed at 3:29:24, a solid 5:36 under my Boston qualifying time. A BQ, a PR, a resounding success.
Months later, reliving the elation remains exhilarating and overwhelming. I don't quite know what to do with it, other than prepare to run the 2016 Boston Marathon. For a while, I tried to understand why it felt so strange.
On the one hand, I realized that I tend to be a one-more-time kind of person. I fail, try to learn from my mistakes, and try again (sometimes more than one time is necessary, naturally). I anticipated as much with this race and my BQ goal. In fact, that was part of the process: becoming more comfortable with the failure, the trying again, and again, and readjusting. All the while knowing any one of those failures did not define me. But I wasn't expecting that trying again (and again) wouldn't be necessary for this goal.
On the other hand, my 2014 resolve (to run for the joy) had done more for me than I had anticipated. I had run with joy and without the pressure I had placed on myself in 2013. I had trained with dedication, and a light heart. And at the end of the day, at the end of the race, I met my goal without sacrificing the joy derived from the passion.
All told, I'm extremely proud of myself, of my training, of my race, and of the finish. I also am extremely grateful for everyone I trained with (Ben, Christene, Camille, Jose, Brian, Amira, and every other KW runner who joins us along the way), everyone who encouraged me, and everyone who cheered us as we ran.
I will never forget this race. It is one of the best races I ever have run. Not only do my splits prove this (smooth and even, mile by mile), but the results, recovery, and attitude thereafter do too. In contrast to my experience after Cactus Rose 50M (those twenty minutes!), despite my disciplined training, the toughness of the race, and the painful finish, I still am ready and anxious to train for the next Goal No. 1. I have enough mental fortitude to forge ahead and test my limits. Oddly enough though, I hope the next Goal No. 1 gives me a bit more opportunity to work on Goal No. 2. Whatever that next Goal No. 1 may be, all I know is I will continue to run with joy and with passion.
Chevron Houston Marathon
3:29:24
Gender: 140
Age Group: 24
Overall: 752
Personal Record
Boston Qualifier
