First and Foremost - A Disclosure
It was unseasonably hot on Sunday, December 3rd. It had been unseasonably cool during the week, and it peaked to 87 degrees, but the conditions along Flagler Drive (a long stretch of unshaded black top road adjacent to the ocean) was about 90 degrees. No world records or PRs were set among the Elite Runners (ie the Kenyans), and even they had problems.
Basically, the longer you were out there, the more problems you were likely to encounter due to the longer exposure with the sun and heat. The people that came in by 9 AM were fine. The people who planned on showing up some time after the 3 hour mark were the ones with the problems, and that includes myself.
My Pace-Setter (Dave - goal time 4:30) is a seasoned runner having completed about 20 marathons, which includes 6 ultras (so its more like 26 marathons), got sick after the second hour or so, dropped his placard and revoked his leadership.
I ran past a guy lieing on the sidewalk with EMT trying to hook him up to an IV despite his protests involving a sentence that was something like "I'm fine, just a little dizzy."
There were scores of people under the medical tent at the finish line.
With that said, I will now go into detail.
For photos, go to this site - http://www.flickr.com/photos/overpronator/sets/72157594362778936/
*****
It was a warm and dark at 6 AM, and we were corralled by our goal time as opposed to our race numbers. We saw the sun rise along Flagler Drive over the ocean around 7 AM ... half an hour into our race, and one optimistic fellow in a group near mine yelled, "Only 24 miles to go!" People cheered as the para-marthoners zipped by, and we cheered a little bit louder for this one man without legs sitting on something like a skateboard and propelling himself forward with his fists covered in hockey gloves.
I was right behind Pacer Dave, and we felt confident about finishing the race by 11 AM. The 10:20-ish pace was leisurely, and my heart rate stayed at 80% (160 beats per minute). The homes we passed by after Flagler Drive were things of beauty, and the architecture were various. New England style mansions with a brick facade and wrought iron fencing would sit proudly next to a stucco neo-Gothic castle-like structure of a pseudo Italian influence - wrought iron spiral stairwell wrapped around a tower included. The display of wealth were at times completely without reservation or inhibition of any kind.
Around mile 8 I had lost my pace group - Pacer Dave would speed up before water station to buy a few seconds to spend drinking the water before starting off again with the group ... on time and on pace. I figured out how to double cup (one cup in each hand) and maintain a slow stride while drinking, so I found myself a bit ahead at times. By mile 8, and I was swept up by a crowd, and I maintained the 80% heart rate at 10 minutes a mile, so I was a bit ahead of my pace group. Admittedly, I was caught up with the half marathoners who were excited about being close to done, which may have affected my sensibilities.
After a few water stations, I found Dave again, and rejoined the group. Then, it happened. We had emerged from the shaded residential streets, came back on Flagler Drive, and crossed the half way mark. We lost the majority of the running population, and it was getting HOT. With just a few people within my group trailing on, the visual realization of what was to come was mentally disabling. I tried to count on the things that I had going for me - I was VERY hydrated, my legs weren't hurting, and I had a bottle and a half of Pedalyte in my system to burn. I knew that I would be able to finish, but just not with Pacer Dave due to the heat. So my group was way ahead, and I was trotting behind under the hot hot Floridian sun above me, and the hot black top under me. I accepted that things might become difficult when I realized the puddles that were pooling in my shoes from water showers ala sprinklers and volunteers of the past hour had completely evaporated within 15 minutes. If that didn't spell trouble, then there were more signs to come.
Along Flagler Drive, I think I may have looked like death. A cop was trailing me for a couple of miles, and kept on asking my if I needed help. I looked at my heart rate ... 83% ... at a pace that is far from 10 minutes per mile. I gave him a nod, and he wished me luck and looped back. Sign of Trouble #2.
Eventually, we crossed into another residential neighborhood. This one less opulent, and a bit more Floridian. Capes and ranch style homes of the northeast with stucco exteriors, and roofing materials that are not the type I'm acquainted with. Some permanent trailers were thrown into the mix, and an inflatable snowball was anchored down as a lawn ornament. Then I saw him. A muscular black man, sprawled out on his back with an ambulance behind, and an EMT guy trying to give him an IV. Sign of Trouble #3.
The headache came on some time thereafter. The nausea followed. We are looking at mile 18. I just kept on going, thinking that under no circumstances can allow myself to throw up because my Beau would NEVER allow me to run another marathon again ... and I was already making plans for redemption.
At an unofficial water station, the people advertised beer. This wasn't unusual. Some of the residential supporters were offering water and Scotch, but without the Scotch. One group was dishing out water and vodka, but without the vodka. So I figured that this was like one of the others. I grabbed just one cup this time (I only double cup at official stations), felt a pleasant icy coldness, downed a gulp ... and realized ... it was in fact beer. I said thank you, gave the crew a thumbs up, but I went into a mental panic. Will the beer depart some type of chemical imbalance in my system that's a mix of Sport Jelly Bean, water, andGatorade? Will it suck up all the water and turn into something else entirely and cause my to fail? Okay, so I'm closing in on mile 20, will I have to call it quits NOW? Stupid, stupid beer ... contaminating the fragile system that's to carry me to the finish line. My only concession in case I do punk out is my second go at this excruciating physical test that is a marathon.
Somewhere around my planning for my second marathon, I came across Pacer Dave ... without his placard. Sign of Trouble #4. He said that he was really sick, and he was planning on run / walking it to the finish. He said that it was heat stroke, and that it's about 90 on the course.
This coming from the man on his 20th or so marathon, who trains with world class athletes, and finished about 6 ultra-marathons. This man ... this athlete ... this Ultra-marathoner ... is punking out. WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSE TO DO NOW?
Well, I walked. From the 20th mile all the way till the 25th mile, I walked. The heat stroke started to settle in. The headache, the nausea, and the occasional wave of cold passed by me. Other marathoners ... all of whom are from Florida, complained about the heat. I learned that they have never experienced heat of this sort during their training at this time of year. All of them walked. So ... with a bit of shame, and plans for a second marathon, I walked. My heart rate dropped to 106 beats per minute (about 50%), and I felt wretched.
Sign of Trouble #5 - a flock of hawks circling the start / finish as I crossed over the 21st mile. I think they were waiting to feast on marathon carcass - it was just that scary and ominous. With that thought, I abandoned whatever lingering sentiment I had to continue running in spite of my buzzing Garmin Forerunner.
Around 25.75 I started to run again. I needed to look good for the camera after all. So I ran it in. The medical tent was full of people. My Beau was angry at me. He had wanted to go find me, yell at me for being stupid, and shove me into an ambulance, or in the very least, get some medical attention.
The thing is, I wanted to puke in private ... and I had failed at that. We went on the trolley to take us back to the pick-up for the shuttle back to the hotel. Apparently, I had scandalized a bunch of tourists who witness my puking out the side of the trolley. It was watery pink mixture of fruit punch Sport jelly and water. I puked again at the pick-up location a few times. By the time we got back, I had nothing left.
My finish time was 5:36, I placed 521 out of 615. I will be redeemed ... next year.
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