The TOWPATH Marathon.

Often in life we find ourselves floating along in a state of extreme contentment with nothing to disturb our serene and peaceful attitude. Get up, run, go to work, eat lunch, go to work, come home, bike, shower go to bed. That usually equals Monday through Friday. Saturday I leave for the marathon. Sunday I get up and go race. REPEAT. This docile pattern has its redeeming qualities. But in such a state of contentment, I wondered if I was missing something. Is the grass greener on the other side?

I had a relationship in college that was very serene and peaceful. We talked, went out, danced. No debates. No arguing. It lasted 3 months. We just told each other that it was too easy. We were not working for it. We just meandered along. The best things in life are worth fighting for.

Grades in college were very similar. I just meandered along and made decent grades. I went to class, read homework and repeated this for about 8 years and two degrees worth of books and class time.

During high school, college and even now running seems to be the one thing that still offers me a great challenge. For me the ½ mile in high school was too short. I quickly outgrew the mile and would run the two mile. I graduated to the 5K and 8K in college and continued to float up the running evolutionary chain to the ½ marathon. I even jumped backwards into a shorter 3000m steeplechase to see if I had missed something. This first glance back allowed me to earn my first All American. It was a great challenge along the placid journey of endless circles. (Thanks to Aaron Pogue, R.I.P)

In 2000 I looked to the next challenge in running and that ushered in my career into marathon running. I was a big fish in a little pond in Mississippi and decided to step away from the doldrums of local 5K’s, 10K’s and ½ thons and challenge myself with the Tupelo Thon. Nearly 100 marathons later I found myself floating again. With more than one month off from running other than a feeble attempt to jog 13 at Air Force, I ran in Johnstown to a comfortable 2:48 and change. Shortly after the race, I realized how comfortable my body had become at running just under 3 hours. I could relax and run sub 3 as if on autopilot.

After making that comfortable return to the marathon last weekend, I was looking forward to racing a flat fast race in Akron at the Towpath Marathon. I was very aware of my floating issue and so I jumped out to an early lead. I took a quick pit stop right at the mile mark (6:20) and fell to 11^th place. I clambered back to the lead back by the second mile (5:47) and cut to the inside grass of a double track trail to pull back into the lead. The talk of a pace group in the race had me curious. I eased off at mile 5 and soon I was running with a field of 6 runners. During the next mile I learned that three were racing and three were merely pacers. We clipped along at exactly 6:20 per mile according to my Polar, but according to the mile markers we were running anywhere from 5:50’s to 7:12’s. Now I have done a few marathons lately and I think I know how to pace myself pretty well at this point in time. The fact that the course was a flat as Tybee and Foot Traffic left me a little perplexed as to my actual splits versus my Polar splits. I quit looking at mile markers, trusted my watch and floated amongst the group of 6 runners. By mile 9 one of the racers had fallen off. I wouldn’t have noticed but a pacer yelled back at him and that caused a little jostling amongst the leaders.

At mile 11 I stopped for my 4^th or 5^th potty break….way too much water for such a cold day….and the lead pack pulled away to about a one minute lead. With no one to do the thinking for me I found myself alone in the motley colored and densely wooded forest. Other than the occasional well staffed water stop I was on a peaceful jog through one of the most scenic and comfortable river valley trails that I have been on. Nearing mile 18 of the newly designed course I was aroused from my dream like state by a mountain biker careening toward me with two charging runners behind. It actually startled me. One of the runners shouted something about a ribbon but I was still fixated by the foliage and crystal clear streams along the trail. I kited by the 18 mile mark and felt the trail seem to soften under my foot strikes. I felt so comfortable in the cool air and dense woods. I was a little too comfortable and the ribbon comment soon came to my mind like the onset of a blister. I looked at my watch and nearly 4 minutes had elapsed since I passed the leaders and I still hadn’t seen the turnaround point. Let me reiterate in this journal that it is always the runner’s responsibility to know the course. I become nervous and felt a cold sweat coming on. My stomach turned over a few times and I simply stopped in the middle of the path. I didn’t see any marks on the trail nor did I see any person on the trail ahead of me. My floating had done it’s damage once again. In a panic I charged quickly back toward the 18 mile marker. No one in sight. I knew I had really goofed up. I quickly came upon mile 19 and clicked my watch to get a lap split. 9:52 for the past 1.74 miles. Woo hoo. At this point seeing that my bladder, ego and comfortable pace had cost me about 7 minutes I decided to shut down and continue my daydreaming and stroll through the park. Truth be told I even walked a few steps at the remaining water stops. I fell to fifth place. The little pride I had left kicked in and said that was enough. The finish time of mid 2:50’s left a bad taste in my mouth. The only salvaging that could be done is that I felt so good due to the excessively slow pace, and yes I realize this is relative, that I ran 12 miles on Monday.

Since I spent most of the weekend enjoying my floating I figured I would continue on the path and take my time getting home. I sauntered by my old child hood home, and the site of my first job, the Seville Sweet Shoppe. Yes, we did stop and enjoy some pumpkin spice ice cream and vanilla dipped in cherry. As I passed by the “spokes” of Westfield Center I saw a mountain biker jumping the curb of the street and rolling through the grass. I could see wisps of red hair coming from under the biking helmet. Could this be one of the Clark children roving about the streets? In my joyride through old stomping grounds had I coincidentally stumbled onto one of my running mentor’s children? I slowed and quickly turned into my high school coach’s driveway on the main road in Westfield Center, Ohio. As I jumped from the yellow jeep I saw that notorious Yosemite Sam mustache and new all too well that it was Coach Todd Clark himself. It was as if I had just finished a disappointing 13^th place in the regional meet and he was called in for the pep talk. He stated “ I saw the license tags that showed “RUN MORE” and I had a feeling it was you.” Like the coach I always new he invited me and my guest into his home for a brief chat. We laughed and reminisced and it was just the quick re-charge that I needed.

There have been nearly 100 hundred marathons and close to 40 wins. But when the media fades and the last race is run, it will never be about how I floated, or worked hard or beat so and so. It will always be about the people who have been there for the whole race.

To Coach Clark: I hope to see you in two weeks in Chicago.

To my parents: See you in Columbus on Sunday for the next one.