I may have mentioned this here before, but in case I did not, several months ago I decided to train for my first marathon. I had some options on which race I wanted to run, Grandma’s Marathon in my hometown of Duluth, Minnesota being one of the major candidates. However, after some thought, I decided, possibly optimistically, to sign up for the Leadville Trail Marathon.
I knew I was being ambitions picking one of the tougher marathons in the country for my first try, but I figured because a) much of my training is done on trails and b) I was interested to see how I could do in a long race at altitude that I would try for Leadville, which ranges from 10,000 on up to just over 13,000 feet. Training went well, including several 3+ hour runs on the Boulder OSMP trails, and when race day came, despite the rather hectic weeks I’d had leading up to it, I felt as ready as I could have been.
Having stayed in a friend’s condo in Copper the night before, I woke at about 5:15, ate my traditional pre-race breakfast (two packets of Quaker Maple and Brown Sugar instant oatmeal) and headed up to Leadville at 6. After a few detours around town (coffee!!) I finally discovered that the packet pickup had been moved to the more traditional Sixth Street Gym location. I duly picked up my gear, and was heading back to my car to find a suitable parking spot (where I wouldn’t get towed) when I saw Marshall Ulrich heading towards the gym.
I’d met him several weeks before, when he had been a part of the Naked Tour. I asked him if he was running, and sure enough he was planning to run the marathon. Great: now I was running against a running legend. He may be 60, but he’s definitely still a formidable runner. Mostly, though, I was just glad he remembered who I was.
After parking my car I suddenly found myself with more than an hour until the race started and very little to do. I had decided that it was relatively pointless to do any sort of warm up as a) I would not be running all that fast at any point during the day, b) I would have ample time to warm up during the first section of the race and c) I knew I would need every ounce of energy I could muster for the actual race. I would never think of neglecting a warm up for a shorter race, but this was a whole different animal.
Soon enough, though, they called us to the starting line. The guy next to me, apparently from Austrailia, asked how many of these I had done. When I said, calmly “this is my first one,” he seemed a bit disbelieving that anybody would pick this race for their first marathon. After a few minutes of jittery anticipation, the shotgun (yes they had a 12-guage) went off, and we took off up the road. It’s a mark of how focused I was on finishing the race and running at my own comfortable pace that it was about two minutes before I realized I had not started my watch.
At this point, all of my mental effort was pointed towards one idea: take it easy. I had never run a race this distance before, but I knew that I had to start out at a stumbling pace in order to have enough energy over the course of the day to finish the race. At this point, I was already up at the front of the pack within a lead group of 30 or so racers. About 12 minutes into the race, the Heavy Half course split off from the Marathon, and about 10 runners from the lead group took off up the shorter course, leaving 20 or so marathoners to take a right.
Until this point, I had held in my mind the desire to keep a running cadence over the entire course. However, when the guy next to me, a 3 time Leadville Marathon runner, start walking up some of the steeper sections, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and dropped the running cadence. At the time, the pace I set felt very comfortable and easy, but I would later decide that this was the section where I went too fast, too soon.
The first aid station came at about mile 4, and I ran through in 41 minutes. Up to this point, nearly the whole race had been uphill, so I felt good with that time. From there, after another significant uphill, the race course plunges into a loop around Ball Mountain. The short, sharp downhill was followed by a long, relatively gradual uphill, punctuated by the first snow we would see on course. The official course took a jog left and back right to traverse this snowfield, but already runners were cutting off the switchback and heading straight across, as I would on the way back.
The route then hit the only single track we would see the whole day. As a general rule, I feel far more comfortable on the muddy singletrack that we encountered than the rugged dirt roads we had been traversing so far. On those sorts of roads I always picture myself hitting a loose rock at a bad angle and twisting or breaking my ankle, so I slow down. On the single track section, though, I fairly flew along.
I cruised back into the first aid station, which was also the second aid station, as well as the second to last and last aid station, at about 1:10 (?). The course then took a turn down a long, gradual “improved road,” where I concentrated on keeping a fast turnover and minimizing the pounding on my legs. I was now 7+ miles into the race, and running still felt free, easy, and most importantly, slow.
After a few more miles, punctuated by the first water crossing of the day followed by a short uphill, we cruised down into the Res aid station. I start saying “we” here because by this point, the race had settled into the form it would take for much of the day, and I was trading pacing duties with another runner (whose name I never managed to get) with whom I would run for most of the rest of the day. Three was a rather raucous crowd at this station, which was the only one on the course accessible by car.
Until this point, we had been running through the Leadville mining district. Our scenery, save for the Ball Mountain loop, had consisted of mine tailings, old buildings, and pools of water stained by mine runoff. Despite its industrial nature, the area had its own sort of beauty, and it was a fun area to run through.
Now, however, the race turned from the mining district and took on a true alpine feel. At the Res aid station, the race sets its sights upwards and begins the long, steep climb up to Mosquito pass, the high point of the race at 13,184 feet.
When I think about that elevation, I generally think about gasping for air at such an altitude. Up until this point in the race, I had not even noticed that we were at 10,000+ feet the entire time. I did not seem to even be affected by the altitude. Of course, my body was working harder, and I was getting dehydrated and generally depleted more quickly than I realized, and that would come back to haunt me later on. However, at no point in the day did I feel like the altitude was affecting my breathing.
The climb up Mosquito Pass is a monster by just about anybody’s definition (the only possible exception being Matt Carpenter). The pass itself is a rough 4WD road, punctuated by stream crossings and culverts. At points, the grade is as much as 20%. It is long and unrelenting, but the views are spectacular.
I ended up walking much of the climb up to Mosquito Pass. Except for a few spots, it seemed more efficient and a much better idea for the long term than trying, for pride’s sake, to keep up a running cadence. At this point, my plan was still to relax as long as possible, keep my form efficient, and not attempt to really race until I came back to the “improved” dirt road section, which would be uphill on the way back. So I settled in to power hike mode, and ran wherever the trail flattened out for a little while, focusing on keeping the runner in front of me in my sights.
During the climb up the pass, I started passing the slower participants of the Heavy Half race. Each person I passed, most of who made some encouraging comment, gave me a little mental boost that helped keep me moving at a fair pace. One memorable participant, wearing a hot pink and blue outfit, asked “Are you planning on running the (Leadville) 100 this year? Because you look like you know what you’re doing on the uphill.”
Little things like that seem to make all the difference in the world.
Remarkably, after more than 10 miles of racing, this climb felt fairly easy to me. I was not taking a particularly slow pace, but I did not seem to be breathing hard or forcing too much at this point. So when the aid station that would normally be at the top came a mile and a half early due to the snow on the road, I almost went right by it without stopping. Four switchbacks later, I topped out Mosquito pass, was recorded by the race volunteers there, and took off for the pounding descent.
I do not like long descents. I do not like descents with lots of large, loose rocks. I do not particularly like crowded descents. This was all three. There was a lot of pounding, and I felt like I was crawling down the slope. I must have looked better than I felt, though, because everybody climbing up kept saying how fantastic I looked. And I was clearly not going as slowly as I thought, because I caught two runners on the downhill who had taken the turnaround a minute or so ahead of me.
I cruised back into the Res aid station, and heard a brief “Minnesota” from somebody in the crowd. I felt good, shouted out “I’m from DULUTH!” and asked if she would hold my wind jacket. Still feeling pretty good, I ate a piece of watermelon, refilled my water bottle, and took off down the road, having passed one more runner at the station.
I still felt good on the improved road section. In fact, I generally felt better running than walking, and so kept up a running cadence, albeit a slow one, up all but the steepest sections of the road. But I started getting the feeling that my stomach was none to happy with me. Maybe it was the watermelon, maybe it was the gels, maybe it was the change in drinks (why did they have multiple types of electrolyte drinks on the course any way?). Whatever it was, I knew my legs needed fuel, but my stomach didn’t want to take anything in, so I let it slide.
I ran into the “Loop” aid station feeling pretty good, though I had already drained most of my water bottle, and had to refill it again. On the climb out of the station, though, my legs started to quit on me. I had realized that I would be walking a lot of this climb, but even on the flats, I now had difficulty breaking into a run again. On the singletrack portion of the Ball mountain loop, I started being passed by runners who had been behind me until this point. The guy I had been pacing with all day left me behind, then two more runners passed me.
It was definitely the low point of the race.
After the snow crossing, where I slipped, fell, and slid several feet before I could right myself, I slowed to a walk, on a flat, and even downhill portion of the course. Another runner came up from behind, and asked if I needed anything. I still had gels and chews, and so I waved him on, but thought, not for the first time that day, on how nice runners are as a group.
If there was a make or break point to the day, this was it. It was the point where I could decide to give up on my time goal, or even give up on the race entirely. I was in a bad state, with legs that didn’t want to move and a mind that got the first little thought of “what did I get myself in to?”
So I took out a gel, kept walking, and forced myself to get it down. Quitting never really entered my head. Giving up the sub-5 hour goal was a possibility, but I didn’t take it. I hit a smooth, downhill portion, and got my legs moving in something resembling a run again. I still was not feeling great, but the gel helped, and I downed my entire water bottle on the uphill to the aid station.
Mile 22. Save for one or two small sections, it was all downhill from there. I didn’t take the downhill that fast, thinking, as much as I could think at that point, that the last thing I wanted to do was roll or break an ankle in the last 4 miles. At one point, I got confused and was not sure which way to go until two runners coming up from behind pointed me in the right direction.
I kept going. When I hit the point where the two races converged again, I knew that I would achieve both my goals: finishing the race and coming in under five hours. Another racer, one who had run twice before, came up and we cruised back down towards the finish together. He offered to race to the line, but having secured my time goal, I opted not to.
Had I known we were racing for a place in the top 20, I might have felt differently. As it was, I came in 3 seconds behind him, for a 21st place finish, 3rd place in my age group, in a time of 4:46:23.1.
Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I had forgotten to look up at the clock as I passed under the finishing arch, and my own watch was off. I only knew that my watch said 12:46PM, and that meant I was in under 5 hours.
Then came the release. Physically, mentally, and emotionally I was spent. This race was easily the hardest thing I had ever done physically and mentally, and emotionally, it had been a tough week, and with the finish line, everything kind of let loose. I wandered around for an hour or so, going to my car, and back to the finish area, and back to my car. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to stay for the awards ceremony or not. I was in a bit of a daze. Then I realized that I didn’t have to decide. I went back to the condo where I’d stayed the night before to take a shower before deciding.
Ultimately, I left before the dinner and awards ceremony. I learned just today that, for getting third in my division, I would be getting some sort of award (what it is I don’t know). So perhaps I should have stayed.
Over all, I would say the race went reasonably well. For a first marathon effort, I could have done a lot worse.
Things I did well: I took enough fluids, did my best to take enough carbs. I paced myself reasonably well. I did not allow myself to quit when the task ahead seemed overwhelming. I chose to walk the uphills rather than hold to my normal conviction that I should run every step.
Things to improve: preparation-wise, I did not eat enough or take in enough nutrition during my training runs. This left my stomach unprepared for mile 19, when I had been taking in fluids and gels all day, but my stomach didn’t want to take in what my legs needed.
I think I caught the marathon bug. There is something about pushing that hard for that long that is appealing to my personality. I am already looking ahead to my next race: perhaps the inaugural Aspen Marathon on August 27th should I recover enough. I will consider my options, but I have no desire to run a road marathon.
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