A few days following my return from Geneva, I ran Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, Minnesota. Ever since I ran the Twin Cities Marathon for the first time in 2009, I've wanted to try my hand at Grandma's as I'd heard it was a tougher course, but stunningly beautiful.
The course curves around Lake Superior between Two Harbors and Duluth, which makes for a pretty breathtaking first 15 miles. After that, honestly, it's kind of a blur, but by then I was running through residential areas and eventually downtown Duluth, so the "breathtaking" element was probably substantially reduced.
This was not my greatest race, by a long shot. Throughout my training I'd been pacing to beat my previous times (5:17 and 5:19 for 2009 and 2011, respectively). I was shooting for anything below 5:15, hoping for something sub-5:10 (my goal is to eventually run a sub-5:00 marathon) and barely eeked out a sub-5:40 race. 5:36 hurts a bit, to be honest. I'm almost embarrassed. Almost.
I was working with a couple of variables I hadn't dealt with before, sleeping in a dorm the night before, and, most glaringly, a 2 week trip to Geneva that landed me back in the States 4 days prior to the race. That meant my training was not only thrown off but, more importantly at that point, my nutrition/hydration. By the last two weeks before a race I've done all of the important training runs. I'm not building mileage anymore, I'm tapering away from it to give my body time to rest after weeks of abuse. But for me, those two weeks are crucial simply for getting my head/body in a state of (what feels like) tip top shape. I sleep a lot more. I don't drink alcohol. I nurse a bottle of water all day. I load up on fruits and veggies and protein. And I keep my carbs at a low-ish level until a week before the race and then I start to ramp them up each day. I'm deliberate about my diet, obsessive maybe.
That obsession, however, did not stand a chance when faced with evening business dinners and white martinis, rich sauces, chocolate croissants, and restaurants that charged more for water than for a glass of wine. It was definitely a gustatory playground that I thoroughly enjoyed, but I also knew I'd pay for that revelry. And I did pay, from miles 17-26.2.
Geneva, however, was worth one bad race. Grandma's was my third marathon and even before I started it I knew she wouldn't be my last. I knew there were other races I had my eye on (New York, Marine Corps, Big Sur, Chicago, that-one-in-France-with-wine-at-every-mile). So a dismal showing this past weekend doesn't feel like failure, just a learning experience along the way. I enjoyed the first 15 miles, enjoyed spending time with my favorite cheerleader (my Marmee), and enjoyed the freedom of celebrating 26.2 miles with several beers, a burger, AND a corndog, at a concert later that day.
The more I run, the more I appreciate how it makes me feel. I appreciate the effort, despite the frequent disappointments and frustrations with my slow little legs. I appreciate the ache after a task attempted, even if that task didn't quite succeed as I had hoped.
There will be other races.
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