Ode to the Portland Marathoners

On Sunday as any real marathon runners in the area were heading out on the Portland Marathon, I headed out for my Sunday 9 mile run. Just a horizon away I could imagine the hordes of marathon warriors heading off to face their 26 mile battle. I decided to dedicate my measly run to them… to harness a bit of my energy, toss it up over the west hills and be the cool wind at the right moment.

I certainly hope all achieved their dreams. One of the things I think is so great about running is that everyone has their own unique reason for running or wanting to run a marathon. Some want to challenge themselves physically and mentally, some run in memory or honor of a loved one or lost loved one, some run because they just love it… there are as many reasons as runners. I am still not sure why I run, but I figure before I hit the finish line I will know, and the reason at that time might not be what I expected when I set out on this journey. Foreshadowing?

The run Sunday was a lonely one for me… I knew the marathoners would all be downtown, and sure enough… only passed one runner jogging with a dog. I might be stereotyping… but probably not a marathon runner. Can dogs run marathons?
I was still recovering from being sick. Heck… I still am… but the training schedule waits for no cold.

The pace I was shooting for was 9 minute miles. Simple enough… but maybe not when recovering from being sick. At about mile 7 I began fading, and I quickly saw I was a good 250 feet behind where I should be at that point… and I was fading fast. I reasoned since I was recovering… that was fine… to be expected. But then I remembered the people running the Portland marathon… struggling along stride after stride… how I dedicated my run to them… and I quickly picked up the slack and finished at 8:58 pace.

Now… I know my body was recovering, but I also know when my mind said giddy-up, my body responded. I need to learn when my mind can dig the spurs in and get on the communicator to Scotty in the engine room demanding ‘More… power… Scotty!’ and when I really should back off. I think on Sunday, my body was faking.