1999 Falmouth Cape Cod Marathon
Buck Hales
Photo gallery: http://orik.com/dawgbyte/capecod_gallery.htm
Short version || Prologue || pre_race|| the_race || post_race
The short version: In the Clydesdale division, I placed 18th out of 62 overall and 6 of 26 in the men's masters Clydesdale division. Overall, I was 429 out of 817 finishers, 98/175 in the M40-49 division, with a time of 4:01:57, 9:15 pace. Janet was 251 overall, 39/193 in the F34-39 division, with a time of 3:40:39, 8:26 pace. She qualified for Boston! Al DNF'd after getting injured at mile 10. Paul, running his longest distance ever, dropped out at mile 20. For complete results visit the Cape Cod marathon web site, http://www.capecodmarathon.com/home.htm
Its been said before, a marathon is a journey-- a means to an end that is the means unto itself--a test, a challenge, a triumph over adversity-- a learning experience. All of these aphorisms can hardly describe my experience of training for and running the Falmouth Cape Cod marathon. Four months injured, then four months of training, all coming together on race day.
I suffered a stress fracture of the fibula just below the knee. I ran for six weeks in increasing pain until I finally couldn't run at all. I went to the sports medicine clinic and the doctor diagnosed the fracture in about ten seconds. The bone scan indicated that I had suffered the fracture some weeks earlier and it was already on the mend. But the pain was intensifying. I was instructed not to run for a few weeks, then start into a program of walking 3 minutes, running for 1 minute. The pain persisted. The doctor diagnosed myofascial trigger point at the site of the injury. To relieve the pain he took a 20 gauge hypodermic needle and stabbed the area of the trigger point, nicking the fascia. He removed the needle, moved an inch down my leg, repeated the procedure and I felt this huge spasm that traveled down my leg, out the bottom of my foot-- and the pain was gone! He told me that he had released the trigger point-- but that it would come back. His prophetic words haunted my entire marathon experience.
I gradually increased my mileage and the ratio of running to walking, icing twice daily and massaging the trigger point. I worked my way up to 30 miles a week and a ratio of 5 minutes of running, 1 minute walk with very little discomfort. The walking intervals preventing the flaring of the trigger point. I learned how to stretch my peroneus longus and tibialis anterior muscles by assuming a bent-kneed half-squatting position like a fighting stance. Finally, in July four months later, the doc cut me free. I ran 6 miles without stopping and it was such a joy-- despite the flare from the trigger point 4 miles into the run.
In my first week back I ran 48 miles, capping it off with the Chicago Distance Classic 20K. I ran it with St Stephen, also recovering from an injury-- and we opted to run a mile, walk a minute. This was great-- we managed to go 8:30 pace up to mile 10, then I ran the last two miles with out stopping. What a triumph! The next week I ran the Heart & Sole 10K, this time no walking-- and at mile 4 the trigger point fired off on me. This was the story of my longer runs-- at some point the trigger point would go off sending a sharp pain through my leg. It felt like being hit in the shin with a baseball bat. Just before it fires off, I would start to feel a spasm. If I stopped and stretched soon enough I could prevent the flare up. As my training progressed I began to anticipate the spasm, constantly probing my leg with my mind-- becoming preoccupied with each twinge.
As my training peaked with a 150 mile month in September, the distance before the trigger point started to talk to me grew longer and longer into the run. I had some great races, running a 45:30 10 K in October with nary a twinge. In between long runs and races on the weekend I had track workouts on Wednesday nights. I ran an occasional sub 80 quarter, broke 3 minutes on a half, and clocked a 6:20 on my final mile of the season. While the pain during distance running subsided, it returned with a vengeance after track workouts. I knew I wasn't out of the woods, and hoped I would be able to finish the marathon unscathed. Return to top
We flew to New Hampshire, joined our marathon hosts Al and Janet, and then traveled to Cape Cod on Saturday before the marathon. At the expo we were joined by our friends Susan and Paul who reside in the Boston area. Despite never having run longer than 13 miles once, Paul was so caught up with the excitement of the event he decided at the last minute to sign up for the marathon. He is an accomplished bicyclist, and hoped he could make it at least half-way before dropping out. "When else would we run a marathon together?", he asked. After checking into the motel, we drove the course. Yikes—just like the Courtney Bird, the race director told me, it was HILLY! I e-mailed him and he had described the course as being relatively flat in the first half, with a hill at mile 11, then starting at mile 15 the hills became "significant" with the second half of the course being much more challenging than the first half. His advice—be conservative, go out easy and save yourself for the hills. With this in mind, we were stunned to see the course. It is so beautiful! Beginning in the historic Falmouth Village Green, past the picturesque Falmouth Inner Harbor, along the breathtaking Nantucket Sound vistas of Falmouth Heights and Menauhant, across Green Pond and through the rustic wooded areas of Davisville and past Falmouth's legendary Cranberry bogs in Hatchville. The race then turns west towards the Buzzards Bay villages of West Falmouth and Sippiwissett and south through the internationally famous scientific community of Woods Hole. Winding through Woods Hole, the race then returns to the beaches of the Sound with a stunning turn around Nobska Point, past the lighthouse and along the beaches of Surf Drive and then finally back through the downtown streets of Falmouth to finish at the Village Green. We had the impression that after the sharp hill at mile 3, it was mostly down hill to the bogs at mile 10, then rolling hills up through Sippiwissett. But what we didn’t expect were the huge hills at mile 20, 22, and a killer hill at mile 23, coming around the lighthouse at Nobska Point. Our scenic tour put the fear in our troop—especially me, considering how little hill training I’d done in the flatlands of Chicago. We had a great meal in Woods Hole and settled in early, glad to know we had an extra hour of sleep due to the time change. Return to top
I got out of bed at 6 AM after a fitful night of worried sleep—dreams haunted by visions of hills. It was foggy and already in the 50’s. The weather forecast called for 70’s and sunny. Preparations made, toe tubes and vaseline on the feet, nip-gaurds installed, I was ready! I offered Paul bandaids for his nips, but he declined—a decision he would regret. It was great being so close, and with such a small field, it was quite easy to arrive just 30 minutes before the start. Since it was Halloween there were many runners in costumes, of note, the runaway brides relay team—some ugly looking "girls" for sure. I saw a Weimaraner near the start—his name was Ajax, and his "mom" was running the marathon. I saw Ajax three different places on the course and at the finish—each time I saw him I yelled to him and he was alert to his name. The crowd was great and I kept seeing the same folks a different spots along the way.
The temperature at 8:00 AM was 62 degrees as the cannon went off. I crossed the start line in less than 10 seconds. Mile 1: 9:13. I had decided to run 9:00’s early and then pick up the pace later. I wanted to run 8:45 pace but the hills, advice from the RD etc caused me to back off. We headed down Shore Ave towards the Sound and over the big hill at mile 3—my next split, mile 3 was 17:32, so we had settled into about 8:45 pace. It was quite flat as we headed inland and crossed mile 4 with an 8:40 split. It was quite comfortable early on and I had to consciously force myself to throttle back. I experienced low grade pain during the early miles, my old ilialpsoas injury from years ago was aggravated by the long steady down hill, and my calf felt quite tight. I was aware of this feedback I was getting from my legs and this added to my conservative pace. Paul and I ran stride for stride, chatting up other runners, having mild, banal conversation as we cruised past mile 5 at 8:44 pace, mile 6, 9:01, mile 7, 8:59—feeling great, holding back, moderating our pace. By mile 8 we found that tree we were looking for, and while stopped I stretched my calves for about 30 seconds, mile 8 split, 9:52. It was close and I felt pretty warm in the shelter of the trees. We had a more abrupt downhill as we headed into the open at the Cranberry bogs, and the breeze felt great. A little uphill out of the bogs, mile 9 split, 9:01. Mile 10 split, 8:43—feeling great, settled into a very comfortable pace, enjoying the predominantly down hill part of the course, despite the aggravation it was causing to my hip. I asked a volunteer where the next water was, she told us 200 yards ahead so we gobbled down our first Gu’s. She was wrong! There was a relay exchange but no water. We ran up the hill at mile 11, 9:45 split, dying for some water. Mile 12, 9:37, then water! Stop to stretch, and downhill again, mile 13, 8:58. I felt great. The pain completely subsided on the up hills, and used the rolling downhills to pickup the pace. Mile 14, 9:37, mile 15, 9:10—now anticipating the "significant hills". Since we had been saving ourselves for this part, I started to press the pace. Paul was starting to flag by this time, now having run further than he ever had before. Just past mile 15 we took another Gu, stopped and stretched and had 3 cups of water, mile 16 split 10:16. I took two ibuprofins and ate two salt tabs. Despite the nausea that followed, I felt great, no fatigue at all. Mile 16 was the first hill that challenged my cardiovasculature and I felt a bit anaerobic as we neared the top. Mile 17, 9:10, mile 18, 9:21. Rolling hills, feeling great, enjoying the scenic course. The pain in my legs was gone, the change in terrain offering relief. Mile 19, 9:02 and I felt very strong. Paul said he wanted to slow down and run the last half mile real easy to mile 20, where Karen, Susan and Miles were waiting for us, but I wouldn’t let him—I urged him on and we made it to mile 20 with a 9:10 split. As we descended a steep downhill we saw our crew! What a sight! Miles on Susan’s shoulders and Karen waving and cheering! I got a great smooch and ran on, leaving Paul behind. What a hero! 20 miles! He has a great future as a marathoner, no doubt about it. I know he wanted to suffer through to the end, but seeing the blood stains on the front of his shirt, and knowing how much his quads were killing him, it was wise of him to stop. I told Karen that I was still waiting for the hills to start. I ran on, attacking the big hill at mile 20, my mile 21 split was 9:20, then mile 22 was 9:45. Through Woods Hole up the big hills at mile 20, 21 and 22 I felt strong and steady. Many people were walking by then, even the relay team runners. I felt great! But by mile 22 I started to tighten up. My ilialpsoas was singing, especially on the downhills, and that spasming in my calf began. I had already stopped and stretched, I ate another Gu, I was afraid to stop, so I ran on. I reached mile 22 at 3:23 and calculated that if I ran 9:00’s the rest of the way I could still break 4 hours. Of course the worst hill in the course is at mile 23.
It is incredibly scenic—the quintessential Cape Cod scene, a postcard moment. As we came out of Woods Hole along the shore, the Nobska Point lighthouse loomed ahead, the waters of the Sound crashing on the beach, a cross wind blowing off the water—and the big hill around the lighthouse curved ahead. It looked like a mountain as the top of it was out of sight. I was toeing off, pumping my arms, and breathing into each stride. At that moment I regretted having been so conservative early on, as I felt so strong now—not fatigued, but I couldn’t muster much speed. It was remarkable to feel that good so late in a marathon, regardless of the pain in my leg and spasm of my trigger point. Mile 23 split was 9:30. I survived the big hill in style. I dug in and pressed ahead on the long straight away, the wind now at my back as the course paralleled the beach. I crossed mile 24 with a 9:32 split. My quads were quivering. I had reached that point in the marathon when I had out run my training. I dug in; pressed for all I was worth, nearly all alone on the course, passing dozens of runners who were walking or barely moving. Mile 25 split: 8:48. When I realized I ran a sub 9:00 split tears welled up in my eyes, I felt this huge emotional rush and I was charged with a triumphant energy. I pushed ahead, concentrating on my form, mustering every bit of speed I could manage. Around the bend and up the last road into Falmouth—mile 26 split was 9:03. I rounded the corner onto Main street and kicked, sprinting as fast as I could to the finish. My last 0.2 miles in 1:39, crossing the finish line at 4:01:57. I was ecstatic! Triumphant! I did it! I survived. Return to top
After I finished I saw Janet trussed in her silver blanket, Karen, Susan, Paul and Al— leaning against the fence. I threaded my way around the finish line chute, drank several cups of water and made my way toward the group. En route I encountered Ajax the Weimaraner who was anxiously waiting for his human to finish. As I approached the group, I saw that Al was unable to walk, hopping along, using the fence for support. Poor Al, he injured his ilialpsoas so severely he had to drop out of the race at mile 10. That long downhill got him. Janet had a great time, 3:40, qualifying her for yet another run at Boston. Paul looked just fine.
We ambled our way to the hotel, showered, ate a huge post race meal at Betsy’s diner where the neon sign in the window proclaimed "eat heavy". We did. Al and Janet’s kids had spent the night with Grandma in Merrimack, so we had to head back, skipping the post-race party which began at 2:30. It would have been great to meet the New England Clydesdales and Fillies who had a great showing at the race, more than 80 of them ran the marathon, but our day was done.
Usually the day after a marathon I am pretty crippled up. Not this time. I came through this adventure in tact, unscathed, and excited about running my next one. This was such an excellent adventure—I know I can run this marathon FASTER. I will be back.
Photo gallery: http://orik.com/dawgbyte/capecod_gallery.htm
Short version || Prologue || pre_race|| the_race || post_race