The Results

Between Mile 16 and 17

Race Day

Predawn, my brother dropped me off outside a hotel in Downtown Denver a few blocks from the starting line. He wished me luck and I hopped out to meet my team in the lobby. Our group of purple-clad runners and walkers filled most of the space while clumps of other runners moved restlessly through the atrium with anxiety and excitement before the start of the race. One of our Team Heroes, Kelli, who had been diagnosed last year with lymphoma and would be running the marathon today, stood and thanked everyone for their commitment to the cause. We walked through the cool morning the few blocks to the starting area. Twenty minutes from the race start, I shed my warm-up clothes and put them in my gear check bag so I could recover them after the run. Thankfully, the weather was comfortable (about 50 degrees) instead of the 17-degree temperatures and blowing snow that Denver experienced just one week ago.

I joined about 10,000 others in the chute before the starting line. As the sun came up and a news helicopter buzzed in circles above the crowd, The Star Spangled Banner played over the loudspeakers. An announcer counted down to the start and the mass of humanity surged down Broadway. A few blocks that led to a sweeping right turn started the course and thinned out the beginning crowd. The early route had many twists and turns, passing by Union Station, Coors field, and the shops and restaurants of the revitalized warehouse district of Lower Downtown. My goal early in the race was to avoid going out too quickly and using up all my energy before the end of the race. I’d need to average 7:15 minutes each mile to meet my goal and my plan was to run the first half of the race at 7:30 pace. I found this steady pace and felt strong and comfortable. I waved to a few family and friends that had come to cheer me on. The first big hill of the course came underfoot and I climbed it confidently along with a half-marathoner named Adam that I’d met on the course. He said he himself was a cancer survivor and was happy to learn about our group. At 5.5 miles I passed one of the Team In Training Cheer Stations and the spectators there went crazy. I laughed out loud thinking that some of them might be working harder than me! A couple coaches ran along with me for a bit to check in.

The race entered City Park and I still felt good. I passed the first relay station; one of the racing options today was to run as a team of four, each team member running one leg of the race. I grabbed a cup of Gatorade at one of the hydration tables set up every couple miles along the route. My belly started feeling full so I determined to drink  less at later stations. The course entered Cheesman Park and followed an uphill before exiting the park and connecting to 17th Street. The half-marathoners cut off of the full-marathon course here to run their final mile to the finish. Don’t think I didn’t consider following them. I passed the Half Marathon mark at 1 hour, 39 minutes and 30 seconds, which was just as I planned.

Coach Greg Giving Support

Here, the course followed a long out- and-back on 17th Street with a gentle incline for a couple miles. I could see some of the top runners heading back while I was heading out. Making the turn at the end of 17th brought me back on a steady downgrade. Coach Rick joined me for a moment and suggested that I use this segment to recover some energy. The last significant uphill brought me to mile 17 and Washington Park. Keeping an eye on my watch, I knew I needed to drop my times to around 7 minutes per mile to stay on target to qualify for the Boston Marathon. Family and friends had relocated here and cheered me along again. Somewhere between mile 17 and 18 my legs started to ache. At the faster pace, I’d pushed myself to a place where the waste products of my exertion could not be removed as quickly as they were being produced and they began to build up in my muscles. My lungs felt great. My legs felt anything but. Coach Greg appeared again at mile 20 and I told him about what I was feeling. He said that this kind of thing happens, but that runners sometimes push through it to recover. I hoped that would be the case for me. My times were slipping though. I figured if I came through Mile 20 at 2 hours and 25 minutes, I had a shot at Boston. I came through at 2 hours and 31 minutes. If things kept up this way, my time goal would not be met. At mile 21 I left the park for what I considered the last segment of the course. My legs kept aching and I kept trying to get them to go faster, but they just couldn’t give me more. Other runners started to pass me at astounding speeds, or what felt like astounding speeds. Coach (and cancer survivor) Andy rode along with me on a bike for a mile or so and kept me positive about how I was doing. I ran the last couple miles alone. About one mile from the finish a runner in front of me pulled up short, clutching his hamstring and limped to the side of the road. I briefly wondered if the same would be ahead for me. When I passed through the Santa Fe Arts District and turned onto 13th street though I suddenly felt stronger knowing that I would be at the finish line soon. I passed cheering family one more time and then went into the final hairpin turn to the finish. This last turn revealed the finish line- suddenly very close. I dug for a little more strength and kicked for the final 100 yards to the end. 3 hours 23 minutes and 53 seconds. The announcer called my name over the public address system and asked  for a big cheer from the crowd for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

Someone handed me a bottle of water. Another hung a medal around my neck. Coach Tony met me at the back of the chute and we talked about my race. I was disappointed to not meet my qualifying time but in the context of why I decided to run the race, my finishing time was secondary. I continued through the post-race chutes, where Ronald McDonald of all people handed me some sliced apples, and other food and energy drinks were dropped into a bag for me. I plodded over on wobbly legs to the Team In Training booth to make sure the staff knew I’d survived my race and to see how my teammates fared during theirs. As the next few hours passed, other Team In Training athletes returned to the booth on bruised and blistered feet, with weary muscles and aching joints. Some dipped their feet in the ice  pool. Others laid around in the shade. All of us felt great about what we’d accomplished and why we’d accomplished it.

Thanks for following my journey over these last few months. I wish I could have told you that I’d completed my goal of qualifying for The Boston Marathon. Nonetheless, the season was a great success. As of this writing, I have $6,240 in my fundraising account! This is far beyond what I thought I’d raise and represents meaningful progress in the fight against blood cancer. You are still welcome to contribute if you’d like to by following this link. At many times throughout the race I thought about my Dad. I thought about the others I’ve met that have lost someone to a blood cancer or have family that are living with a blood cancer. I also thought about the many of you that have supported me by visiting my blog, donating to my fundraising efforts, or both. Especially in those final miles when my legs ached and no one was there to cheer for me, the thoughts of everyone who has offered support and appreciation for my commitment kept me strong. It has been an honor to be a part of a special group doing important work, and to share a glimpse of that with you. The season is over, but the effort to end blood cancer continues. I hope that you will keep supporting this cause. Perhaps you’ve been inspired to join your local Team In Training group (http://www.teamintraining.org/) and prepare for your own athletic event, be it a bike ride, triathlon, hike, or marathon. Perhaps you’ll look for other Society events that further the mission (http://lls.org/hm_lls). Perhaps I’ll undertake another challenge someday and you’ll support me again. After all, I still need to qualify for Boston…

Thank you again!

David