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2006 Yakima River Canyon Marathon Race Journal
I had wanted to do the Yakima River Canyon Marathon for several years. The buzz around it was very positive : a small, well-organized marathon, known for drawing some very good local runners. I'd planned to do it back in 2003. About a month before the race, I came down with a cold. This pushed my long run schedule back a week, so I decided to do the Whidbey Island Marathon which fell a week later. In the back of my mind, I was also worried about the hills in the Canyon. I reasoned (incorrectly) that Whidbey was probably a little easier. That'll teach me to act on fear. I ran Whidbey, crashed and burned late in the race, and came in at 4:01. After running well in New Orleans in February, I considered Yakima River Canyon again. I'd have a couple of months to recover. I didn't think another PR was likely, but it'd be a nice day out anyway. The training ramp was a little daunting. There was essentially no time off between races. By the time I decided to try for it, I had time for two 20+ milers, spaced two weeks apart, with a two weeks taper prior to the race. It was a bit steep, but hardly reason not to try. I tweaked by back pretty badly in a yoga class in mid-March, which led me to procrastinate about registering for the race. I felt I needed to try for about 22 miles in training in order to feel good about the race. The morning after St. Patrick's Day found me driving out to the Snoqualmie Valley Trail. Rachel was sick, and hadn't slept well - so neither did we. I was tired, and my stomach was sour. But there isn't really a better way to spend a Saturday morning than to run a long way with friends. I got some miles in early, then joined the ESR folks for a while. I felt pretty well done after 18, but stuck it out for another 4 1/2. I felt lousy, but gained the confidence I needed to cover the distance. The week before the race, the cold that had waylaid Rachel hit Kayla and I. I had a low-grade fever part of the week, and just felt lethargic. I thought that the last thing I needed was to try racing 26.2 miles. On the other hand, I hated to go all the way up in distance, only to back out at the last minute. There wasn't another good opportunity for at least another month. So the morning before the race, as I packed my stuff for work, I threw in a change of clothes, and made sure I had my racing stuff with me. I was able to book the last available room at the hotel nearest the start. I finished my meetings by 3, got in the car, and headed for the race expo in Selah. I made pretty good time getting there, and really enjoyed the pretty drive down I-82 from Ellensburg. I'd come up this way when I'd moved to the Seattle area in 1994, and was struck by the landscape then. After a minor adventure, I found the Selah Civic Center.
The palatial Selah Civic Center. On the way in the door, I ran into my friends May Cheng and Eric Gierke. May had asked me about the race the week before, and I'd been too chicken to commit to it. I registered, got some pasta and joined May, Eric, and a group of other runners from Seattle. The folks at the table were amused by my culinary choice - plain pasta and dry salad. They appeared more amused when I took a small bottle of olive oil from a bag, and sprinkled it over my food. This was my nod to a key marathon superstition that I have : I have eaten this the night before 8 of my ten marathons. It works. On the other hand, owing to the last-minute nature of my decision to run this race, I'd had to forego several other key superstitions (getting a haircut, last workout ritual). Would it matter? I'd know soon enough.
Dick Beardsley talking to the crowd of marathoners. During dinner I wandered over to meet Joe Henderson and Dick Beardsley - both of whom would speak later, and both of whom were selling their books. As I'd not packed something to read, I picked up a copy of Beardsley's Staying the Course. The book is a pretty quick read, detailing his rise to the elite marathoning ranks, his struggle with injuries, and then a subsequent series of serious misfortunes (near-fatal farming accident, car accident, being hit by a truck while running) that culminate in his addition to pain medication. While not as literary as Andrew Sheehan's Chasing the Hawk (a beautiful book), Beardsley's story will speak to anyone who's ever tried to overcome serious adversity. He details the physical and emotional recovery processes honestly, discussing his own journey, as well as his family's. Beardsley spoke after dinner - he was an entertaining and motivating speaker too. He was still going strong when I picked up and headed back to the hotel to settle in. The race goes point-to-point, from Ellensburg to Selah, just north of Yakima. I'd booked a room at the hotel nearest the start, and would take a bus back after the race. After laying out my clothes, pinning on my number, and filling my water bottles, I climbed into bed and got some sleep.
My gear, ready for marathon morning. I slept somewhat fitfully, and woke up between 5:30 and 6 to the rattling of heavy rain outside. I peeked and saw a pretty heavy downpour. While it wasn't terribly different from the weather during some of my training runs, I didn't know whether we would run under any tree cover, and suspected that the wind might be an issue if it came up from the south. After tossing and turning for another 45 minutes, I got up, ate, and got dressed. Then I shuffled over to the breakfast room to get a couple of cups of tea. By now, I really should work from a checklist, but I don't. I more or less have the habit down. However, I had forgotten to bring some green tea (my ordinary morning ritual), so had to make due with the stronger, more bitter Lipton black tea. As it was, I probably overdid it, drinking two cups in succession. In addition to the higher caffeine content raising my heart rate, I had to take a bunch of trips to the bathroom too. Next time, I'll keep it to zero or one cups. By now, the lobby was crowded with runners, and the atmosphere was very much like that at a starting line. People were huddling inside to stay out of the still-heavy rain and stiff wind. The temperature was about 45, but felt colder because of the elements. I visited the men's room one final time, donned a plastic garbage bag and headed for the start, about a third of a mile from the hotel. I jogged after May for a bit, then thought better of the warmup, and walked. Both Eric and I were recovering from colds, and we didn't really have high hopes for the race. May claimed that she was merely trying to avoid a "PW" (personal worst). As we lined up, I wished the two of them luck, knowing they'd run ahead of me. We waited for the rest of the folks to file in, and finally, we were off.
The scene at the start, before and after the gun. We started out, heading north a short stretch on Canyon Road. It was still raining a bit, and the wind seemed to be coming from the north. The first couple of miles had us winding around the roads just east of SR 821. The crowds thinned pretty fast, and I watched May and Eric go out ahead as expected. My heart rate crept up above 160, and I forced myself to slow down a bit - I'd pay for that if I kept it up. Somewhat surprisingly, I did the first mile in 8:02 - I hadn't realized I was going that fast. The key for me would be to take things pretty easy, and run a conservative race. There was enough downhill to try to make up time later, I wanted to make sure I had some kick left for the hills. By the time we passed the third mile marker, the landscape had changed. There were only a few houses around, and you could see the road snake through the mountains. I don't know when, but at some point we'd begun running alongside the river. I tried to settle into a steady, patient, pace, but kept running a bit faster than I should have. My heart rate was still running high - the best I seemed to be able to do was to keep it in the mid 150s, about 10 beats per second faster than I really wanted it. Over time, my splits slowed to nearly a 9 min/mile pace, about my target. As we encountered the first climb, around mile 4, I first noticed my fatigue (not a good sign with 22 miles to go).The hill really wasn't a bit deal, I throttled back, and kept an even effort all the way up. I think my heart rate stayed below 165 most of the way. Still, I felt apprehensive about my stamina. I tend to view the race in three parts. For the first ten miles, I would just as soon be asleep. The goal is really to settle into a nice easy rhythm and put lots in reserve for later. For the second ten miles, I usually get a real sense of what kind of day I'm having. Ideally, I don't feel any fatigue until after mile 16 or 17. I'll be able to tell whether I'm likely to have enough for a late kick or not. By now, it's usually late enough in the morning that I have a sense of the weather too. For the last 10K, I'll throw in some bursts, or just gut it out, depending on how I'm feeling. Dividing the race into these three parts allows me to adjust to the conditions, and forces me to be patient. So, feeling as I did in the early miles was discouraging. The rain had stopped, and I was not aware of any wind. The conditions were perfect, and the course was stunning. I just didn't feel good. And the miles seemed to crawl by too. Early on, I got passed a lot. By now, people were settled into their packs and chatting along the way. I didn't feel very social, which was unusual for me.
Holding up eight fingers at mile eight. It sort of looks like I'm wondering what I was thinking when I decided to run the marathon. There were some stretches of nice downhill, but where the course was more level, I felt as though I were running uphill. Right around mile eight, I was joined by a friendly guy named Michael. He was 35, from Everett, and was running in his (I think) 96th marathon. His goal was the same as mine : to finish in under four hours. His training had been pretty sketchy, topping out at 14 miles over the past few months. I admired his spirit and optimism, and enjoyed his company for the next three miles or so. Just before mile eleven, he dropped back to eat some gel. I didn't see him again after that - apparently the second half was a bit slower, and he ended up about 25 minutes behind me.
Runners heading into the canyon. There was another mild climb, and then we were at the halfway point. I went through in just over 1:55 - theoretically on target for a 3:50. I knew myself better though, and was aware that my legs were quite tired. The most significant climb of the race to that point occurred around mile 14.5. In the chart below, you can see my splits oscillate a little, then get pretty slow for a while. This was kind of a low point. Here the upward trend in my splits really starts to show, and even going downhill doesn't help me make up for it much. From time to time, I try to remind myself to disconnect from the negative messages my body is sending, and to open up my heart a bit (as we do in yoga class), and to try leaning a little forward. When I remember to do that, I feel noticeably better for a few minutes. There was a long stretch between the climbs, following a steep downhill at mile 18, before the big climb near mile 22. We were heading a little downhill, but all I could really think about was the climb. I managed some fairly brisk splits, but after a while started going over 9 min/mile regularly. I wasn't terribly worried, knowing I'd put enough sub-9's in to be able to absorb this. What worried me was that my hams had begun feeling tired and tight. This was a new level of discomfort. It was in this mindset that I passed miles 20 and 21. Although my time was suffering, and my body tired, somehow the miles felt like they were ticking by more quickly. I knew to expect a long haul as I began climbing around mile 21.5. I also knew to expect it to go on around a couple of corners, having been forewarned by my Eastside Runner friends during a run the previous week. They'd nearly talked me out of doing the race, so graphic was their description of this hill (which was long, but not as bad as I'd feared), and of the canted road (which was actually pretty bad). As I climbed, I slowed way down. In trying to keep a steady level of effort, I managed to keep my heart rate below 170, which really helped. The problem was, despite the reading on my monitor, I felt like my heart might have been beating much faster. About a quarter or third of a mile from the top, I began to walk a bit. My hams were really tight, and my calves were starting to complain too. The thing is, we run tougher hills than this during training. It was the damned cold sapping my strength. We crested the hill, and began a long downhill run. I'd known that the rest of the course was downhill, so felt okay kicking things into gear. I'd pay for it later (after the race), but managed to make up for some of the slower splits around mile 18-20. So mile 23-24 was about 8:09, followed by an 8:33. Oddly, I felt great now, even as my quads got pounded as I went downhill. Passing by mile 25, I had a great pace, greatly aided by the incline. I covered mile 25-26 in 7:49. By now, I was going as fast as I could. Because of the downhill grade, my heart rate averaged in the 160s. Still, I logged a new max HR right around mile 26, when my monitor registered 184. Heading out from the canyon, I continued to pick up speed, and passed a number of people. By the time I hit mile 26, I still couldn't quite see the chute. The course had leveled out, so my heart rate climbed quickly. The last 0.2 felt a bit longer than 0.2 miles, but finally we turned to the left a little, and I could see the finish. As I crossed the finish in 3:54:16, I felt really good about my effort. The time wasn't anything to brag about, but I'd felt I'd done nearly as well as I could have on that day.
The four stages of finishing : peace, clawing, flapping my wings, and running into the photographer. I think there were a some key things that I did to make the best of things :
I'm sure the olive oil with dinner took several minutes off my time, but was counterbalanced by me not getting my lucky pre-race haircut. As expected, May and Eric finished well ahead of me, and had already taken a bus into town by the time I finished. May PR'd, which is getting to be a habit for her. Despite his protestations, Eric ran a strong race, finishing just behind May. Climbing onto the bus was an adventure. I just about needed to walk backwards up the steps. I grabbed a nice hot shower at Selah Junior High (one of the greatest amenities of the whole event), and hitched a ride to the Civic Center to catch the bus back to Ellensburg. I rode in the back of a pickup truck for the first time since I was about 14, and chatted with a Seattlelite named David Jones (who finished second in his age group, and would run the Whidbey Island Marathon the next day). When I got to the Civic Center, there were a few nice folks cleaning up, and the sound of crickets. I asked about the bus, and the woman issued a deeply concerned look and said "the last one just left". Oops. But she was kind enough to call up the race director, Lenore Dolphin, who had the bus turn back around to pick me up. Then I passed the trip talking with John Lent, of Vermont (apparently one of only two people in the US to both run marathons in all fifty states, and climb to the highest point in all fifty states). As you'd imagine, he had lots of great stories to share. And so, this is how the Yakima River Canyon Marathon ended for me. It wasn't my best running day, but was filled with beautiful scenery, mostly top-notch organization, and a real sense of community. Some days, the race time has to take a back seat to all of the other things that keep us running. Charts and Graphs for Running Geeks
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